Page 27 of Lucky
I grin and rise from the couch, intent to put on that cute outfit, maybe some more makeup and possibly curl my hair.I type back a quick message.Pick you up at 6.And bring your foam finger.
I turn to Buttermilk.“We’re doing this.We’re going.And I’m not going to worry about the what ifs.Deal?”
He thumps once.
I take that as approval.
CHAPTER 9
Winnie
The energy insidethe arena is… a lot.
I expected noise.I expected overpriced nachos and a sea of Titans’ jerseys.What I didn’t expect was the feeling that hits me when Lucky Branson skates onto the ice for the Titans’ warm-up.
Kelsey nudges me hard with her elbow.“There he is.Mr.Not Average himself.”
I follow her gaze and spot him instantly—dark jersey, #27, moving across the ice with a power that makes it hard to look away.His stride is confident, effortless, like the rink is an extension of his body.The crowd screams with approval as he drops a puck over the glass to a little Titans fan on the other side.I try not to, but I can’t help smiling a little.
What I really want to do is stand up and scream, “I know him.I’ve had a date with him,” but that would only point out the fact that this world is foreign to me.
In my mind, an average guy is steady and reliable.A not-average guy—one like Lucky—has no reason to be steady and reliable.Ergo, he’s not the one for me.
Except even entertaining that thought makes my heart sink a little because no matter if he’s a professional athlete or stock boy at the grocery store, I learned enough about him last night to know he’s simply a good man.
That’s the draw right now.He seems genuine—both in word and action—and I can’t discount the reality of that.I also keep reminding myself… I may only think I’m good enough for average, but I deserve so much more, and here this guy wants to offer it to me with a second date.
“Lucky seems like a really good player,” I say, trying to come up with something that sounds semi-intelligent about the sport.I have never watched a hockey game in my life and I know nothing about it.
This was a fact that Lucky found hilarious last night.To my surprise, he didn’t attempt to teach me about it.In fact, I think he decidedly kept talk of his career away from us, not wanting to draw attention to the one thing that I think might make us incompatible.
Kelsey snorts.“Oh, Winnie… you’re adorable in your ignorance.He’s not just good.He’s poetry with a slap shot.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t argue, because I don’t know what a slap shot is.Kelsey is a hard-core hockey fan so I expect she’ll teach me a lot during this game.
♦
I learn thatthere are three periods, not four quarters as I had assumed—I know a little about football since my brothers played in high school.
The first period moves fast.My eyes cut back and forth between the clock winding down with only two minutes left and the on-ice action.I also learn there are three player shifts that rotate on and off the ice, and while all the guys seem quite accomplished, it’s my (biased) opinion that Lucky’s the best.His shift is currently out there, and I basically hold my breath the entire time, although it comes out in a short burst each time he touches the puck.
He glides like it’s his natural habitat.Nothing but power and grace in a way that feels unfair to all men in the universe.And then, something happens—I mean, a lot of somethings happen, very fast—but it starts when Lucky steals the puck from a guy who was skating toward our end like he meant business.There’s a loud crack when their sticks hit and then Lucky is racing the other direction like he has rocket boosters strapped to his skates.
The crowd roars.I think someone behind me yells his name, but it’s hard to tell over the pounding in my ears.He’s weaving past guys like they’re cones in a parking lot—one, two, three of them—and then at the very last second, he flicks the puck sideways with this magical wrist motion.It slides across the ice like it’s got GPS, and one of his teammates with the name Turner on the back taps it in like he’s done it a hundred times before.
The red light flashes.Horns blare.People leap to their feet like they’ve just won the lottery.
I’m up too, clapping like a lunatic and half laughing because I have no idea what I just saw—but I know it was impressive.I shout over the roar of the crowd to Kelsey, “Did he score or… did the other guy score?”
She’s grinning so wide her cheeks might crack and then she hugs me.“Lucky got the assist.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he gets a point for setting up that goal.That pass was insane.”
“That goal wouldn’t have happened without it,” I exclaim proudly.
We grab each other’s shoulders and jump up and down screaming, the adrenaline shooting through my veins.
