Page 95 of Notes About Vodka

Chapter Twenty-Seven

LAURA

“Vodka and hockey share a truth: both are ice-cold, hard-hitting, and best enjoyed with the right people.”

The arena is packed, buzzing with energy. Val weaves us through the crowd as we make our way to our seats, and I can feel the excitement building in my chest.

This is my first professional hockey game, and the atmosphere is electric.

My grandfather took me to plenty of the minor league Cottonmouth games when I was a kid, but that arena is nothing compared to this one.

The sheer scale of it—the lights, the noise, the overwhelming number of people—is exhilarating.

Fans are decked out in their team colors, including Val and I in our new red and black hockey jerseys. Everyone is chanting and shouting, and waving banners in the air.

Val squeezes my hand as we settle into our seats, in the middle, not too far up, and I can’t help but feel a thrill at thethought of being here with him. I glance over, seeing his face light up with excitement, and it makes me feel lighter too, like all the stress of the past few years can take a backseat for tonight.

The game starts with a burst of speed. The puck flies across the ice, and players crash into each other with bone-rattling force. The boards shake with every hit, the sound of skates slicing through the ice is sharp and fast. I’m immediately caught up in the intensity of it all, my eyes glued to the action, my heart racing. Val leans in close, his breath warm against my ear, his excitement infectious.

“Watch number 19 on the Panthers,” he says, pointing. “That’s Pyotr Petrov from Moscow, and he’s a beast. See how he handles the puck?”

I nod, trying to focus on the player he’s pointing out, but it’s hard with Val so close. His arm is resting on the back of my seat, and every time he leans in, I feel his warmth, smell the hint of cologne on his skin. His excitement pulls me in, and soon I’m cheering along with him, our voices blending with the roar of the crowd. The game is a whirlwind of motion and noise—goals scored, penalties called, fights breaking out on the ice.

I’ve never experienced anything like it, and I love every second. Especially when one of the players tooth goes flying and hits the wall in front of me.

During a break in the game, Val buys us hot dogs and sodas, and we eat them in our seats, laughing at how messy they are. He gets mustard on his chin, and I reach over, wiping it off with my thumb. He catches my hand, his eyes locking with mine for a moment, and there’s something unspoken there, something that makes my stomach flutter.

I look away, smiling, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks before he grabs my chin and kisses me deeply.

The arena fades away in that moment until everyonearound us cheers. I look up to see we have been caught on the Jumbo Tron by the KissCam. I laugh as Val pulls me in for another kiss, this one more demur and kid friendly.

By the time the final buzzer sounds, the Panthers have clinched a victory, and Val jumps up, pulling me into a tight hug. I laugh as he lifts me off my feet, spinning me around in celebration. “Did you have fun?” he asks, setting me back down gently.

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly, still caught up in the excitement. “I really did.”

After the game, we decide to walk around the stadium, soaking in the afterglow of the win. The crowds are starting to thin out, but there’s still a buzz in the air, a kind of lingering energy that makes everything feel alive. We stroll past concession stands and souvenir shops, our hands brushing against each other, and I feel a warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the night’s chill.

It finally snowed and New York City has an ethereal glow amongst the Christmas lights.

Val nudges me with his elbow, a sly grin on his face. “Want to take a little detour?”

“What kind of detour?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, intrigued by the playful glint in his eyes.

He glances around, then pulls me toward a quieter corner, down an alley next to the stadium. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out my small dugout.

I laugh, shaking my head.

“Seriously? You brought weed to a hockey game?”

He chuckles. “What can I say? I like to keep things interesting.” He takes a hit, makes a new one, and then passes it to me. I hesitate for a second, then take it, bringing it to my lips. The smoke is warm and earthy, and I feel the familiar relaxation start to creep in almost immediately.

We pass the dugout back and forth, taking a few hits each, and soon we’re giggling like teenagers, the world around us seeming a little softer, a little more vibrant. The neon lights of the stadium glow a little brighter, the laughter of the lingering fans sounds a little sweeter. The walk back to the car is a blur of laughter and whispered conversations, the cool night air feeling amazing on my skin.

By the time we climb into Val’s Speed6, I’m feeling loose, a little floaty. We could have taken the subway here tonight, but Val insisted that his all-wheel drive and turbo engine could handle the snow-covered roads. Val turns the key, and the engine roars to life, vibrating through the seats. He glances over at me, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Ready?” he asks, and before I can answer, he floors it, the car surging forward. The tires screech as we peel out of the parking lot and onto the toll road.

“Val! What the hell! Take it easy,” I cry out, but I’m giggling.

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