Page 40 of Sin Bin Daddies
I grab a hot dog and a soda, sliding into one of the empty stands, watching old games on the big screen. It’s kind of fun watching the team move, seeing their strengths, their strategies.
I might not love hockey yet, but I can see the appeal.
But when I look down at the ice I’ll be performing on tonight, nerves kick up in my stomach.
This is happening. Game night.
Let’s fucking go.
The arena is packed. The crowd is buzzing, energy high, electric. I slip into the mascot suit, adjusting the massive headpiece, already sweating my ass off.
“You good?” Daisy asks, helping me with the last strap.
“Yeah,” I say, voice slightly muffled. “Just—if I pass out, don’t let them trample me.”
Daisy laughs, slapping my back. “You’ll be fine.”
Then it’s game time. And holy shit.
It’s a fucking rush.
The roar of the crowd, the pounding of sticks on ice, the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I dance, wave, and hype up the fans.
At one point, Beau skates past the boards, grinning, smacking his stick against the glass in greeting.
“Look at you!” he calls. “Natural-born mascot!”
I flip him off.
The crowd loses it.
Once the puck drops, I settle in near the benches, watching.
The team moves like a fucking machine.
Ford blocks every shot with precision.
Asher and Tanner dance around the defense, setting up plays like they’ve been doing this since birth.
Beau is relentless, fast, aggressive as fuck.
And Leo.
Silent. Focused. Barking orders from the bench, pacing like a caged animal.
Every time the ref makes a bad call, his jaw ticks.
Every time the other team gets too close to our goalie, his hands flex.
I watch him more than I should. And he watches me back.
At one point, our eyes meet.
And something hot, tense, and heavy passes between us.
But then Beau rips a slapshot into the net, the goal horn blasting through the arena, and the moment is gone.
Final score? 4-2. Miami wins.
