Page 27 of Forecheck
Rising onto my tip-toes to look through the peephole, I was met with a mass of orange. Tentatively, I opened the door to find a delivery boy holding an enormous bouquet of tulips.
“I’m looking for Berkley Daniels.”
“That’s me.”
Unceremoniously, he shoved the bouquet into my arms, bid me a good day, and disappeared toward the elevator.
“Who wa—” Kimber began, stopping short when I re-entered the living room.
“Who are they from?” Lexie asked, then held up her hand. “Actually, don’t answer that. They can only be from Brent.”
“Let me find the card before you get all annoyed over something I can’t control,” I snarked at Lexie, who only folded her arms over her chest and stared me down, a single dark brow arched as though daring me to prove her wrong.
“Dear Berkley,” I said aloud as I read the card. “I know they’re not peonies, but they were so gorgeous, I couldn’t resist. Just like I couldn’t resist seeing you one more time before you leave me for three weeks. If you don’t have plans tonight…you do now. XOXO, Brent.”
“What does he mean, ‘you do now’?” Amelia asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
I slowly opened the back flap of the attached envelope, somehow already knowing what I’d find when I peeked inside. I kept my expression neutral as I withdrew the tickets and fanned them out for my friends to see.
“Anyone feel like going to a hockey game?”
I could admit, I was nervous about seeing Brent again. Although I’d had a great time on our date, fancy, expensive, hella exclusive dinners weren’t exactly my thing. Being around him made the night magical, and I couldn’t blame him for not knowing I preferred hole-in-the-wall diners with greasy burgers and sticky booths. Places where the milkshakes were as thick as the scent of fried food in the air. Going forward—if this became a full-blown thing between us—I’d simply have to make sure he did.
And, God, I desperately wanted it to become a full-blown thing. More than I was willing to admit to anyone but myself.
We’d seen each other twice since that date—once in a rushed lunch between his morning skate and my classes, and another when he’d come over to watch a movie. All we’d done was make out a little, mostly because everything was still so fresh. I loved that he didn’t push me on it, that he didn’t ask for more than I wanted to give. It was refreshing to be with a man who respected my boundaries.
But damn, I was falling hard and fast.
By the time we’d arrived at the arena that night—my friends had to go home and change before meeting me back at my place, and I took forever and a day to decide what to wear—we were already running late. I’d ultimately settled on my replica Brent Jean jersey, hair in loose waves down my back, light-wash skinny jeans, and my favorite combat boots.
The entrance line snaking around the arena and moving at a snail’s pace didn’t help matters. When we broke free from security at last, Amelia and Kimber stopped at concessions to get beers while Lexie and I rushed through the concourse in search of our section.
I should’ve known Brent wouldn’t fuck around when it came to seats.
Still, I was shocked to discover we were seated right on the glass. I hadn’t studied the tickets all that hard before arriving, too caught up in the excitement of going to a game—which I hadn’t made time for in ages, despite being a lifelong fan of the franchise. I felt exposed here, as though anyone could take one look at me and know I hadn’t bought these seats, and the man who’d given them to me was the city’s most eligible bachelor.
Although…maybe not so eligible nor a bachelor anymore?
Mentally, I smacked myself in the head.Don’t get ahead of yourself, Daniels.
The Warriors were playing their division rivals, the Boston Golden Bears, and it was immediately clear that it would be an intensely physical game. The Bears’ self-proclaimed “enforcer” kept running into the Warriors’ goalie or showering him with ice well after he’d made a stop and the play was blown dead. Brent and his teammates became increasingly agitated; hockey players were protective in general, but more so of their goalies than anyone else. There were a few extra shoves and words exchanged after whistles, but the first period ended with neither team having scored.
The second period was more of the same. With about five minutes left, defenseman Chase Olsson was sent to the box for hooking, creating the first power play of the game for the Bears. Thankfully, the Warriors killed the penalty, and just as time expired, Brent sent a beautiful lead pass saucering across the ice to Chase coming out of the box. A heartbeat later, the lamp behind the net lit and the goal horn sounded.
Twenty seconds into the third period, a rival defenseman took a gnarly slapshot from the blue line that beat the Warriors’ goalie, tying the score at one. Barely a minute later, though, Brent put one top shelf on a perfect pass from Cole, which proved to be the game winner.
After he’d scored, after skating down the line, fist-bumping his teammates, Brent came back out for puck drop with his line. As the ref approached center ice, Brent skated to where my friends and I sat, tapped the glass with a fist and shot me a wink, mouthing, “Hi,” before returning to the game.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
“He’s so hot,” Lexie agreed, correctly interpreting my curse.
Before I could bask too much in the glow of Brent’s attention, whispers from behind us reached my ears.
“Who is she?”
“She’s gotta be some random puck slut.”
