Page 55 of Hot As Ice

I can’t help but laugh at her excitement and enthusiasm. She’s also saying some of the craziest things I’ve ever heard, laced with a healthy dose of profanity. After one long tirade against the referee, she turns to me and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, hon, I get really into these games.”

“No need to apologize,” I tell her, meaning it. “It’s exciting.”

“Damn straight it is. And fuck that ref, honestly, excuse my French, but what the fuck is he doing?”

Since I have no idea if the ref is making a bad call or not, I just nod vigorously. “Yeah, fuck him.”

“Damn straight.” A moment later, she’s on her feet and screaming her head off again. I decide that I like her very much.

The first two periods go by quickly. During intermission before the start of the third period, I wait in line for the bathroom with dozens of other women. Then I finally get a soda to drink, and I feel a lot better about being here by myself. It’s actually not so bad. The earlier awkwardness is gone. I’d underestimated how fun doing things by yourself can be sometimes. Even my melancholy seems to have lifted. It’s just plain old fun to watch a hockey game and get to witness Hunter kick ass. Maybe we’ll never speak again, and I’ll have only these memories to hold onto. Oh lord, I sound like an old timey wife waiting every day for her husband to return from sea. I shake my head and tell myself to get it together.

Back in my seat, I try to concentrate harder on what’s happening out on the ice. I’m determined to understand the plays better. Sometimes the players crowd around the net and it’s absolutely impossible to understand what’s going on. I feel bad for the goalie every time that happens, because how on earth is he even keeping his eyes on the puck when there are half a dozen players in his space? But that’s why he’s the goalie and not me.

“Cruise is really killing it tonight,” the lady next to me says.

“Really?” I look at her profile – she never takes her eyes off the game.

She nods. “He must be mad about something.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s more aggressive than usual, taking more risks. But it’s a controlled kind of aggression. It just feels like he’s channeling some type of rage into his playing tonight.”

I sit back in my seat and consider her words. What would Hunter have to be mad about? I hope he’s okay. Maybe it’s something to do with his dad, or a fight with a friend. It could be anything. I’m more impressed that this woman gauged it just from watching him. I’m a little jealous.

The Ravens are up 3-0. I’m pretty sure the other team has no chance, because there’s only a few more minutes left in the game. The other team also seems to be getting more aggressive as time runs out, obviously hoping to at least score one goal before the game is over. A fight almost breaks out. A Ravens player – I think it’s Hunter’s friend Ryder – shoves a player from the other team and gets shoved back. They get into each other’s faces. The crowd roars, people jumping to their feet and egging the players on. It’s completely insane. And exciting. A linesmen skates over, coming between them, and pulling them apart.

The woman next to me cackles. “I love hockey!” she hoots.

Fifteen minutes later, the cheering in the arena is absolutely deafening when the final buzzer sounds. The Ravens win in a shutout, and all the players go up to the goalie and give him a pat on the back or a hug or a tap on his helmet. It’s kind of adorable.

I’m reluctant to leave the arena, but eventually everyone starts to head out and I have to follow them. Once outside, I take a deep, deep breath and let it out, feeling lighter than I have in days. Seeing Hunter win was the lift my mood needed, apparently. I don’t even want to explore what that really means. I need to be in denial about my feelings for him for a little while longer. Because once I fully acknowledge them, there will be no going back.

I’ve never been in love in my life.

In junior high and high school, I liked having crushes on boys from afar. It was fun to fantasize about them when they had no idea that I liked them. It felt so much safer than actually being with them for real. Plus, my vivid imagination ran wild and made up all sorts of exciting scenarios that would never, ever happen in real life.

Now in college, Hunter is my first in so many ways. Not just my first lover, but the first man I’ve allowed even a little bit into my heart. Some would say I’m a late bloomer but having a father that abandoned my mother and me, and then seeing my mom go through a string of abusive boyfriends didn’t exactly make relationships seem like a good time.

In high school, I went on three dates with this one guy and let him kiss me, but I couldn’t muster up any strong feelings for him, and it fizzled out. Sometimes I wonder if I’m afraid of intimacy.

That’s probably what a psychologist would tell me anyway.

I walk to my car at the end of the parking lot. I wish I’d gotten a closer parking space, but I’d arrived kind of late and all the good spots had long been taken. But it’s a nice night. The weather is cool but not cold, and some stars are out. I’m staring up at them occasionally as I walk, and that’s why I don’t notice someone behind me until it’s too late.

They grab me by my hair and push me forward, shoving me into the tight space between two parked cars. I try to fight them off, grabbing at their hand on my hair, but then I’m whirled around and slammed into an SUV. The wind is knocked out of me.

My assailant presses his body hard against mine, his face inches from my own. “You fucking bitch,” he snarls, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Where’s your pretty boy hockey star to save you now, huh?”

My heart stops when I realize it’s Joe.

He puts a hand over my mouth before I can think to scream, and I don’t know why, but I freeze. His eyes are bloodshot, his breath almost making me gag, but I don’t try to fight him off. I just stand there, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights.

“Where is he, huh? Where’s your white knight? I could fucking rape you right now if I wanted to, you little slut.” His hand presses hard against my mouth, his entire body weight heavy on mine. I should try to kick him. I should do something. But it’s like my body is not listening to me.

He laughs, realizing that he’s got me right where he wants me. “No, I won’t do it here. I want to make that fucker watch.” He smirks and it’s the ugliest look I’ve ever seen on a person. “I’ll see you later, princess.”

He releases his hand from my mouth and I still don’t move or scream or anything. He sneers as he walks away, and it’s several minutes before I can get my body to obey me again.