Alec pauses, a hot dog poised right in front of his open mouth. “How very Canadian of you.” He grins. “Especially for the south, right? It’s not like y’all were born on skates down here like our more northern friends.” He looks around. “How does this place not melt in the New Orleans heat?” He has a point.

“Now that you mention it, Dad’s Canadian. Never played pro though. Gramps did, for a while. I’ve always loved the game.” I scoop a tortilla chip through the pile of jalapeños dolloped on top of the nachos and guide it into my mouth. Of course I picked the messiest food while I’m wearing my favorite shirt. It’s a white Harrison Fournier Phantoms jersey. And it’s about to go down in a blaze of salsa and queso glory.

“Harrison started hockey when he was little, he’s played his whole life. I never wanted to play.” I flick my hair. “I was way too girly to want to get my face smashed in by pucks, sticks, shoulders, skates… but I’ve loved the game since the first time I watched it.”

Alec nods, falling silent as he eats his dog in a few quick bites without spilling a single drop of ketchup or mustard. What a dick.

When the teams come out for warmups, I clap. I can’t jump to my feet because that would be an absolute disaster for my beloved nachos and Alec’s popcorn. Shit. I might knock it over anyway when my knees start jittering as my trio of roommates skate out onto the ice. Fuck, they’re so… big.

“You’re going to have to explain the rules to me.” He leans toward me so I can hear him over the roar of the growing crowd in the stands.

I pat his thigh. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” I bump him with my shoulder. Maybe there’s no spark there because I directed him straight to The Friend Zone. We’re just friends.

I mean, we could probably be pretty good friends, granted, but friends all the same.

“That’s Roman.” I point at the hulk of a goaltender between the pipes. He’s big in real life, but when he’s suited and booted for the game, he’s a fucking beast. Has the stats to back it up, too. And many other attributes I find myself suddenly way more interested in than when I used to come to games. His lips are super soft, his hands are huge, and yeah, I can’t share any of this with Alec, so I stick with stating the obvious.

“He’s the goalie. It’s his job to keep the puck out of the net.”

Alec chuckles. “I think I could have figured that out.”

My stomach clenches as Harrison skates by. Hopefully he doesn’t remember where, exactly, my seats are and doesn’t make a scene. Shit. What if he waves, or shows the guys where I am during the warmup?

Crap. Crap. Crap.

“And Harrison? What’s his role out there? I mean, I know he plays, but…” His face goes pink. “That’s about it.”

“Harrison’s one of the top defensemen in the league. He’s a wild son of a bitch who makes a living by literally diving in front of a frozen three-inch disc of rubber as it flies at a hundred miles an hour toward his body.”

It takes a beat for Alec to register, then his jaw drops. “Wait… what?” He turns his head to me. “He doesn’t.”

I nod, scooping up another nacho. “What did you think he did? Skated around the rink waving a flag? I mean, that’s the extreme, when he helps keep the puck out of the net, but defensemen have pretty physical roles. And then there’s the fighting.”

He shrugs, but his eyes widen. “I-I hadn’t thought about it. Mad bastard.”

He’s not wrong there either.

Warmups finish without incident. I don’t think Harrison remembers where the fuck I’m sitting. He barely remembers his car keys most days, which usually drives me mad, but at this moment, it’s working in my favor. It means I can relax during the game and not worry that I’m gonna get busted by the totally temperate trio—who wouldn’t overreact at all to my current situation and cause a scene.

As soon as the game’s over, I’ll tell Harrison I’m done with Alec. I’m not interested in his friend, or in being set up on blind dates. I won’t tell him about the boys, just that I’ll find my own Prince Charming.

I can’t keep dating Alec just to make Harry happy. Thanks for trying, A+ for effort, but your matchmaking services are no longer required, big brother.

First period goes off without a hitch, too. Alec seems to have a strategic mind. He’s interested in the gameplay, the fundamentals of the game, and how it all connects together. He’s asking so many questions I’m starting to wonder if he’s considering taking it up as a hobby. Playing, I mean, not even watching. He’d probably get shattered into a million pieces his first time out on the ice. He’s a little… wiry.

After the first period break, the puck drops, and we’re back in the thick of it. We’re tied at zero, but barely a minute into the second and we go down by not one, but two goals, back-to-back in under a minute.

The first one was a bad rebound that Roman’s going to want back, and the second looked to be some kind of miscommunication between Jace and Mateo.

I wince.

They’re usually so fucking good together, but this… this is peewee stuff. Jace overshot the pass to Mateo as they crossed into center ice, and it was intercepted by the opposition and taken all the way to the fucking bank.

Two stupid goals, one minute, and three surly roommates scowling at the scoreboard.

Woof.

Luckily, we still have more than half the game to make a comeback, and if anyone’s going to do it, it’s my Phantoms.