BLAZE: Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance by Eddie Cleveland (ebook reader macos .txt) 📕

“I’m just giving my support, man. Chill.”

“This isn’t support, you fucking clown. We’re fighting to get to the play-offs, and you’ve gotta make it all about you. This stupid back and forth with Prissy is just another distraction. How about you get out so we can focus on something other than you for once.”

The guys start averting their eyes from me. All of a sudden, they’re preoccupied with tightening skates and wrapping sticks. Player is the only one who doesn’t blink. He doesn’t look away. He keeps staring me down.

“Whatever.” I try to shrug it off. “Good luck, boys. Even you, Player.”

Of course, I leave. Player made it clear I’m not welcome. I’m not ready to sit back down. I hate sitting in limbo between being a player and fan. Beer makes everything more tolerable, so I get in line at the stand.

I still haven’t seen Prissy. I’m starting to think she isn’t coming. It would be a total boss move if she doesn’t bother checking in. I’m not gonna lie, I’d respect it.

My phone dings with a text alert. There’s a picture of my winter jacket on the seat.

Prissy: Is this a joke?

Prissy just went from boss to babysitter in one text message.

Me: No, that’s a jacket. Unless there’s a punchline you forgot?

Prissy: Not funny. Where are you?

Me: Chill. I’m at the game

Prissy: You’re not. Your jacket is

Me: So am I. You think I dropped my jacket and ran?

Prissy: Wouldn’t put it past you

I buy my beer and fire off one last text before I go to my seat.

Me: I’m impossible to miss.

Prissy: Cocky

I don’t need to type anything else. My walk back to the arena seat is a short one. Prissy is still huffing and puffing down by my empty seat when I get to the top of the stairs. Her eyes are drawn to my neon-pink glory. I make my way down to her, smirking. I won this one. Hands down.

She waits until I get beside her before she opens her mouth. Until then, she just lets the anger radiating off of her express all the words that are boiling up inside.

“Is that beer?” Prissy knows the answer before she looks into the red, plastic cup.

“Yeah.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Prissy is very aware of all the people watching us. The suit is hard to miss. She keeps her voice low, but her quiet tone doesn’t hide her frustration one bit.

“What? You told me to show up. I’m here. You told me where to sit. That’s my seat. You said to wear a suit. Well…” I turn open my arms to give her a better view.

The mother who told me she would keep an eye on it is shamelessly listening in. So is her mini-me. So are a lot of people. Prissy opens her mouth but closes it again. I’ve never seen her speechless before. It’s pretty cute.

“Yes, this is a beer, but I’m not breaking your underaged drinking rule. And look, no clip-on tie in sight.” I smile. Malicious compliance at it’s best.

“This is over-the-top ridiculousness,” she hisses. “Where did you even get this?”

“I had it lying around.” I shrug. “From Halloween a couple years ago.”

“What did you dress up as? That Canadian hockey clown? You know, the commentator guy. Oh, what’s his name… Don Cherry?” She snaps her fingers as it comes to her.

“Do I look like I’d make a good fucking Don Cherry?” That’s a low blow, and she knows it.

“Yes.”

“I dressed up as Connor McGregor.” I connect the dots for her. Everyone who watches MMA has seen him peacocking around in his custom-designed suits.

“I can see that, actually,” she responds.

“Yeah, it was a hit. We both have the muscles, the tattoos, the rugged beard.”

“Why are you describing yourself like I can order you out of a magazine?” she interrupts. “That’s not why it was a good choice for you. It’s because you’re both epic assholes.”

She’s got me there.

“You know what? I’m not doing this with you. I’m actually happy you want to dress up and play games. Tomorrow, Westbury is sending athletes from all their teams to visit the children’s hospital. And guess what? You just signed yourself up as a volunteer.”

“I’d love to.”

“Great. It starts at eight, so meet us in the parking garage by seven-thirty.”

“Seven-thirty?” That makes her smile.

“Yeah. Seven-thirty sharp. Oh, and I know you’re twenty-one, but how about you don’t show up smelling like a prom night limo?” She cocks her hand on her hip and arches one eyebrow.

“Can’t make any promises,” I answer. “It’s my signature scent. That’s how I get all the cute chicks.” I wink at her.

“Just sit in your seat, drink your beer, support your team and get your butt to the children’s hospital. We’re meeting in the parking garage at seven-thirty tomorrow. I’ll text you all the details. I expect you to be on time and dressed appropriately. Got it, Don?” Prissy storms off before I can answer.

She’s had enough of me, apparently.

I take my seat and watch the Warriors skate out on the ice. All of a sudden, it doesn’t feel right to be sitting here like an attention-seeking, pink flashing sign. I put my winter coat back on and slump back in my chair. This beer, this suit… it’s not a victory. Not really. Not when I’m still forced to sit on the sidelines.

15

Blaze’s Balloon Bonanza Priscilla

Shoving my hand in my purse, I wrap my fingers around my phone and clutch it tightly. My eyes are closed as I pull it out, silently praying that it has no signal. The thick cement walls in the parking garage might be blocking my cell signal. I take a look and disappointment washes over me. Three bars. The awesome reception might make good bragging rights in a commercial, but it's bad news for me.

Three bars mean there’s no traffic jam of texts waiting to come through from Blaze. Three bars mean he’s