Page 60 of Never Sleigh Never
Willa
Not because you want to see a certain professional hockey player?
Brie
No, but I like hockey, and I want to watch him lose.
Willa
Nope. I checked my receipt. I didn’t buy any of your bullshit.
Brie
Better check again. Because that’s what it is.
Willa
HA! Alright, I’ll meet you there.
I shove my phone in my pocket and turn to Lauren. “You can hold down the fort for a little while, right?”
Pure panic takes over her face. “Uh. Um.”
“Great! You have my number if there’s an emergency!” Before she can respond, I spin around and sprint down the walkway and out of the festival.
I meet up with Willa at the only available parking, which is a quarter of a mile from the carnival entrance on the side of Snowflake Lane. Thankfully, the sun is shining, and the temperatures are above zero. When we enter, it’s bustling. Minnesota loves hockey, no matter if it’s professional, junior hockey, high school, or in this case a fun weekend tournament. There’s no way I’d be able to compete with this. Might as well enjoy it while I’m here.
“Who knew Mount Holly would love watching a bunch of thirty-somethings play hockey?” Willa says over her shoulder as we meander through the crowd.
Four sections of bleachers are full of spectators. People are even standing shoulder-to-shoulder along the boards. A thin netting surrounds the entire rink to protect the crowd from flying pucks. A few rows up, she finds us an empty spot on the metal bleachers.
She pats the bench. “This is fancy. He sprung for the extra luxurious foam padding.” Both of us sit, our butts sinking into the vinyl-covered extra-soft foam.
Immediately, I scan the players on the ice, mostly searching for one in particular. It takes less than five seconds to find him gliding across the rink.
Willa leans over, playfully bumping my shoulder. “I dare you not to stare at Logan while we’re here.”
I scoff. “You say that as if it’s a challenge.”
Willa laughs. “We’ll see.”
Players get ready for the next game and skate around the ice taking practice shots into the net. Logan’s on the far end. I’m mesmerized by his effortless gliding across the ice. His powerful thighs push him forward. I imagine his thrusting force is just as powerful. He lines up a shot, flicks his wrist, and the puck smacks the top corner of the net with surgical precision. My breath hitches.
“I should have placed a bet,” Willa whispers.
“Huh?”
“You’re staring.”
“No, I wasn’t.” I drop my gaze and tug my knit cap farther down on my head.
“You’re glued to the left side of the rink. Guess who’s the only player there?”
There’s no way I can lie my way out of this one. “Fine,” I grumble. “I was staring. But he’s a professional athlete. It’s hard not to.”
She smirks. “Because he’s so hot and manly. All you want to do is rip all his pads off and play with his stick.”
“No.” I groan. “That’s not—” Except yeah, it is. Exactly that. “He’s a professional hockey player. It’s hard not to stare when he’s on the ice.”
