Page 20 of Ice Ice Maybe
I breezed past him and entered the Zamboni room as Nolan was about to climb onto the massive ice resurfacer.
He paused, a surprised smile playing on his lips. “Zena. I wasn’t expecting to see you down here.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve only got a minute before I need to get to work resurfacing the ice. I’m guessing Mr. Dalton isn’t thrilled with the game.”
I nodded grimly. “That’s why I’m here. We need to do something.”
“You’ve got thirty seconds to fill me in,” Nolan said.
“That’s more than enough,” I replied, luckily coming up with an idea. “When you’re done smoothing out the ice, don’t come back here to the Zamboni room immediately. Stay just behind the goal and wait there for the players to go through the tunnel and enter the ice for the warmup.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m not supposed to do that.”
“It’s okay,” I assured him with a smirk. “You have the owner’s permission.”
Nolan nodded slowly. “What am I supposed to do after that?”
“I’ll be waiting there for you and will give you further instructions,” I said. “Got it?”
“Got it,” he said as his radio crackled to life, calling him to the ice. He hopped onto the Zamboni and drove away, leaving me to wait behind the goal.
As Nolan worked his magic with the ice, I waited patiently, glancing up at 18,000 people in the arena, my mind racing with the potential consequences of what I was about to do. Nolan didn’t look my way even once, his concentration solely on the task at hand, smoothing out the surface for the players.
Finally, he finished and drove the Zamboni off the ice in my direction, stopping in front of me as an employee closed the doors behind him.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Wait,” I said, my eyes fixed on the player’s tunnel.
A minute later, the Sea Lions emerged to a chorus of cheers and boos from the home crowd, hopping onto the ice to prepare for the third period. That was my cue. I sprang into action, climbing the Zamboni and pressing my body against Nolan’s.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Hang on,” I whispered, watching Mitch skate onto the ice toward the goal directly in front of us as he warmed up.
Please—look this way, Mitch.
Luckily, my wish came true. As soon as he looked up and saw us both on the Zamboni, I made my move. My hand slid up to cup the nape of Nolan’s neck. I pulled his head down, crushing my lips against his.
This kiss was even more electric than the one at the taqueria. My fingers tangled in his hair as I poured every ounce of pent-up tension into the kiss. It was deep, passionate, and urgent, almost like we had both been waiting for another moment like this. Nolan responded in kind, his strong arms wrapping around me,pulling me closer. For a moment, the arena and the crowd faded away. It was only the two of us, lost in a whirlwind of sensation.
When we finally came up for air, Nolan was looking as dazed as I felt. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to the ice, in time to see Mitch slam his hockey stick against the boards, snapping it clean in half. As he skated back to the bench to grab another one, I smiled.
“You can go—our work is done for now,” I told Nolan.
As Nolan zig-zagged back to the Zamboni room, I rushed through the concourse and made my way back up to the owner’s box, slipping inside as the crowd erupted in a deafening roar. Everyone in the suite went crazy, jumping and cheering. It was obvious the Sea Lions had already tied the score.
“Who scored?” I asked Jing as I sat back down, trying to act nonchalant.
She smirked knowingly. “You did, apparently. I saw you on the Zamboni.”
Dad looked a little more relaxed and gave me a thumbs-up, but there was still work to do with the score tied 3-3. We needed one more goal. As the clock ticked down in the third period, I found myself on the edge of my seat, my heart pounding in sync with each passing second.
“Come on, guys,” I muttered under my breath. “We need one more.”
“We can do it,” Jing said.
The tension in the arena was high as the final minute approached. Suddenly, with ten seconds left on the clock, Mitch stole the puck at center ice. Time seemed to slow as he pushed forward and found himself one-on-one with the goalkeeper. He raised his stick high, winding up for a slap shot. The crack of his stick against the puck echoed through the arena, followed by the unforgettable sight of rubber hitting the back of the net. The horn blared, and the crowd exploded in celebration.
“Yes!” I screamed.
