Page 43 of Playing to Win

Chapter 15

Izzy

Little blog. I’ll show him.

I pull up the hood of my black zip-up, which I’ve teamed with black skinny jeans for the task at hand. I’m definitely more unobtrusive in the low light of dusk than if I were wearing my luminous yoga pants.

I had a cab drop me a couple of blocks from Sky Rink and I’m walking, with my head down, along the sidewalk to the building. It’s seven forty-five. I figure if I can get into an inconspicuous position before Brooks and his friends arrive, I’ll be able to take pictures of him entering the building. Hopefully, I’ll follow them inside and catch him in action, playing hockey after I’ve expressly told him not to.

Then we’ll see how he likes my blog.

I can visualize the post title now. “BROOKS ADAMS, CHEAT.” It’s going to be fabulous.

In the parking lot of the skating rink, I start to use the stationary vehicles to shield my approach to the main entrance. I tiptoe, checking my blind spots as I move, until I come to the wall east of the entrance. I tuck in behind it and take a moment to channel my inner ninja, checking to make sure my camera, well, iPhone, is still in the arse pocket of my jeans.

There’s no sign of Brooks and his friends just yet. At the sound of an incoming car, I pop my head around the wall and look. I wait for the driver to turn off the engine and step out, holding my breath. It’s not Brooks. Darn.

A tap on my shoulder startles me. I jump back against the wall and find myself looking at a tall man wearing a security uniform. Oops.

“Ma’am, can you explain what you’re doing here?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, sir; I must seem suspicious but I promise I’m not causing trouble. I’m spying on someone, that’s all.”

“Why are you whispering?”

I look left and right as if I’ll find the answer and whisper, “I don’t know.”

“Then I’ll ask you again. What are you doing sneaking around these premises? I’d appreciate it if you could speak up.”

Clearing my throat and straightening my back, I tell him. “I’m spying on someone. He’s going to play ice hockey and I need to get a picture of him.”

With a perplexed look, the security officer tucks his thumbs into his thick leather belt. “I see. Ice hockey is code. Is this someone having an affair?”

“Huh? No. He— It’s a long story. He’s supposed to salsa dance and only salsa dance. He can’t play hockey. It’s against the rules.”

“The rules? Ma’am, are you feeling okay? Would you like me to take you somewhere to lie down?”

“What? No, you don’t understand.”

“No, ma’am, I don’t. Listen, I can’t have you sneaking around here in an outfit like that. You must know that you look like you’re up to no good.”

I look down over my hoodie, jeans, and black ankle boots. “Erm, well, I can see why you would think that.” I check my watch and sigh. “Damn it, it’s past eight. I’m going inside, sir. I won’t be troubling you anymore.”

“Look, I have no idea what you are or aren’t doing but you seem a harmless kind of insane. How about you take down your hood, head inside, and don’t sneak around here in future?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

I slip down my hood and walk, like a normal person, to the main entrance. Inside, I put my hood back up and tiptoe to the ticket desk. The woman behind the counter looks up at me. “How can I help?”

“I need access to the ice rink, please.”

“Do you have a session booked?”

“Ah, no. Actually, I just need to speak to someone who does.”

The lady taps on her computer keys. “I’m sorry, the rink isn’t booked right now.”

“It isn’t? Are you sure? I heard my, ah, colleague, say he had a reservation for eight p.m. tonight.”

---