Page 6 of Body Checking
I deadpan her with an annoyed look and tell her, “Watch a game. I am not in any rush to find myself another boyfriend. I’m taking a man-cation, a vacation from men. Just me and my job and my best friend. That’s all I need for now.”
Sasha high-fives me and we step into our ride and off towards a hot night on the cold ice.
The seats Sasha scored us are absolutely amazing. We’re seated several rows up from the players bench and it has the most delectable view of Cade Hamliin. I can practically see the vein on his forehead pulsing from here.
The men of Havoc are playing outstanding, but it’s the coach that really has me hot and bothered. He’s dressed in a killer suit and a Havoc purple tie. But as the game has progressed, the tie has loosened around his thick neck and the suit jacket is bound to fly off at any moment.
“Here,” Sasha says when she returns from her trip to the snack bar.
“Mmm. Thank you.” I take the box of kettle popcorn from her and lick my lips.
“You’re welcome. I had to fight an old lady for the last box, so you better eat every damn crumb.” I laugh but not because I think she’s joking.
There’s a very high probability that what she just said is one hundred percent true.
“And now Havoc fans,” a loud voice booms from the speakers. “Please direct your attention to the jumbotron. It’s time for Fan Superlatives.”
Everyone in the arena shouts and claps for their favorite Havoc break moment. The camera starts scanning the crowd and lands on a man with a harsh side part and large glasses. Next to his face it reads,‘most likely to be on the run for tax evasion.’The laughter in the arena roars and the camera moves on.
It next lands on a guy –probably my age– with his hat backwards, one hand high in the air, and the other holding a beer that is sloshing over the edge. Bright purple letters light up saying,‘most likely to date your mom.’Then the screen splits and a shot of a gorgeous woman appears and above her reads,‘your mom.’The fans holler and the little game continues.
I’m shoveling handfuls of popcorn into my mouth when the camera stops on a very familiar face. There on the largest screen I’ve seen, one hundred feet up in the air, is a closeup of me, my cheeks packed full of popcorn like I’m a chipmunk storing up for winter.
The bright letters pop up and say,‘most likely to marry a hockey player.’Just like the party dude, the screen splits and a live shot of Cade Hamlin appears. In large flashing letters the words‘or coach’grab everyone’s attention.
I watch in horror, and mouth full, as a player taps Cade on the shoulder and points to the screen. He looks up, drops his jaw, and starts swiveling his head this way and that way. I. Am. Mortified. I hold my popcorn box up in front of my face and wait for the laughter to subside.
When the attention is back to the players on the ice, I turn to Sasha and demand, “We have to leave. Now!”
“Absolutely not,” she replies. “It just got good. I want to see how it plays out.”
“How what plays out? The game, or my death by embarrassment?”
She takes a sip of her can of wine and looks at me with an arched brow. “Both.”
I glare at her and contemplate dumping my popcorn over her head, but it’s good and if we’re staying, I’m going to need something to cry into.
I watch the game, but mostly Cade, and notice that every so often he looks around the arena. He’s probably looking for an employee to choke for doing that to him. I highly doubt Cade Hamlin would be into a girl like me. He probably dates skinny supermodels with huge boobs and two percent body fat. Not a plus sized girl with wide hips and cellulite on her ass.
No. Men like Cade Hamlin never settle with girls like me.
I LOOKED everywhere around the arena last night, searching for my video girl. But with thirty thousand fans packing the seats, it wasn’t likely I’d spot her.
At first, I thought it was a wild coincidence that of all the women in attendance, she’d be the face that the camera would land on. And then I started thinking about my picture next to hers, and the words flashing on the screen. It was too coincidental, and that’s when I knew it had to be set up.
I flip on the lights in my office and drop my bag next to my desk. The first thing I do is fire up my laptop, then I begin scrolling through the arena employee list. I find the name of the crew that runs the scoreboard and try each extension, but got no answer. It’s a bit early so it’s possible they aren’t even in.
I look through more contacts who might be able to give me information and then I remember the arena manager.He would know everything that goes on in his house, so I assume he’d know about the girl.
I call him but only get his voice mail. I leave a message, asking him to please phone me, then flop back in my chair, disappointed that I wasn’t able to find the answer I was looking for.
I pull up the link to her video once more, and look for any clues that might lead to her identity. I check out each hashtag but it only leads to a dead end. I click on her page and watch a few videos she has posted –as I have several times already– and fall further in lust with this woman.
She doesn’t have a lot of videos posted, but one in particular grabs my attention. It’s from a year ago and it’s of her at a Havoc game. She shows herself cheering with a blonde woman. They laugh and then the camera pans to where I stand and zooms in. When it faces her again, she mouths‘Oh My God’then toasts with the blonde. At one point in the video, she turns her back to the camera, showing off her jersey and the number thirteen along with Santos’ name on it. That’s when it hits me.
I pull out my phone and dial Joaquín’s number.
“Coach? Is everything okay?” Joaquín’s voice is groggy as if I’ve woken him from sleep.
