Page 41 of Blocked Score

I bite down and demand more from my body than I ever have. I’ll probably throw up the next time I’m relaxed enough for my chest to unclench, but as for now, I’m working my legs and arms to the breaking point, fending off the attack.

Right as I’m scrambling in front of the net trying to help Hudson stave off the goal that’s going to rip this win out of our hands, the sound of the buzzer cuts through the air to end the game.

A collective groan of disappointment whooshes from the crowd, my teammates celebrate, and I just fall to my back on the ice, exhausted, relieved, but with a smile on my face.

I fucking missed this.

If I play this way for the rest of the season, we have a problem. But for my first game back after nine long months? I’m going to pretend Scarlett’s right by my side giving me advice, because I know she’d tell me to chalk it up as a win. So, I do.

Scarlett.

As the guys pick me up from the ice and crowd me with hugs, pats, and body slams of celebration, there’s one question ringing in my mind: I wonder if she was watching?

20

SCARLETT

Idon’t know the name of the person who I’m hugging and jumping up and down with, and I don’t care.

After the experience of watching that game, I may have to become a hockey girlie. Guess it makes sense given that I’m literally living with a bunch of the players. Watching that game in this packed Cedar Shade bar was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.

A lot of the college hockey games don’t get shown on any national or local TV stations, but this bar is signed up to a service that lets them air all the Black Bears games. The place is called Loser’s Luck Tavern. This is the first time I’ve been here, but it won’t be the last. The vibes were incredible.

All game long, I couldn’t take my eyes off Lane whenever he was on the screen.

After a strong start, he seemed to struggle. I kept my fists clenched, like I could physically will my thoughts into his head, telling him not to lose confidence, to believe in himself, to remember what we talked about the other night.

I know it’s silly to think that my rooting for him so hard had anything to do with the way he recovered and played amazingin the last couple minutes of the game. But my heart still swells with pride as I join the flow of jubilant fans leaving the bar, like I somehow played a tiny role in the outcome.

Of course, I’m sure I’m the furthest thing from Lane’s mind while he’s celebrating a victorious return with the rest of the guys.

People are still in high spirits on the sidewalks outside as the overflow crowd disperses.

My stomach rumbles, and I realize I haven’t eaten dinner tonight. I don’t have any of my own groceries in the house right now, and I don’t want to raid the refrigerator and steal someone’s food, so I decide to head to a pizza place I’ve heard about.

There’s a line inside, not surprising for a Friday night. I aimlessly scroll through social media as it slowly files forward, until my attention is pulled to a conversation a couple places behind me.

A group of three guys just entered, and I groan internally, because I recognize them.

They’re infamous on campus for trying to “go viral” by filming obnoxious “pranks.” Or doing interviews where they barge up to women and ask them invasive, sexually explicit questions.

I’m no prude, but walking up to someone, pointing a camera at them, shoving a mic in their face, and asking about their sex lives out of the blue is just super icky.

The guy holding the tiny microphone sidles up next to this girl who seems to be alone. I quirk an appreciative eyebrow when I see her, because her style is awesome. She’s rocking the coolest leather jacket over a blue blouse paired with tight black jeans that make her legs look amazing.

“Yo, what’s your body count?” the guy next to her blurts out, without even so much as an introduction or to ask if she minds being filmed.

Her expression is flat, and the look she levels at the guy pointing the mic at her is something that could strip paint off a wall.

“Higher than your IQ,” she says with dry irony.

The guy looks confused. “Uh … so, a lot?”

“No,” she answers flatly. “That definitely doesnotmean a lot.”

My lips tick. Some people close to her in line snicker, while the guy she just insulted demonstrates that her words flew right over his head. Not only do I like this girl’s style at a glance, I like her attitude, too.

He’s not discouraged, though, because he follows up by asking, “How long do you wait to smash?”

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