Page 43 of Matched with the Player

It was a new beginning. She didn’t know enough about him, but she looked forward to learning everything.

All on her own, she’d found her perfect match.

Chapter Twelve

“Go! Go! Goooo!” Marissa shouted like a madwoman, leaping to her feet when Kyle got the puck late in the third period.

Eyes glued to the Phantoms’ leading scorer and the sexiest man she’d ever met, she fisted her hands and willed him on as he flew down the ice. She might be leaving tomorrow, but she planned to root him on tonight.

Jammed into a sold out arena among the home crowd rooting mostly for the other team, she held her breath as Kyle powered past the other players. She’d seen it throughout the game when he was on the ice. He was unbelievably fast. More than that, he could keep the puck under control like he had glue on his stick. They called him The Playmaker with good reason.

Now, he reared back his stick for a slapshot. An opponent’s stick came hurtling down out of nowhere, tomahawk-chopping Kyle’s before he got the shot off. The home crowd roared in approval. The breakaway play died and the refs blew their whistles.

“Slashing!” Marissa called, hands cupped around her mouth as if that would megaphone the message to the offender. “You oversized goon! Did you see that?” she turned to the people seated nearby. “The other guy couldn’t keep up so he slashed Kyle.”

Some Pittsburgh fans nearby chuckled at her, clearly proud of their team’s goon. Kyle had explained to her before the game that some defenders resorted to cheap tactics to stop a goal, but she hadn’t expected such violence. She’d never seen a live hockey game. The game riveted her. Or maybe it was just Kyle who fascinated her. She hadn’t realized his incredible level of talent until tonight, seeing him play with other people. He stood taller than all of them, his skills above and beyond what anyone else could do out on the ice.

“What’s happening now?” she asked the fans around her, seeing the hockey rink erupt with tension. Players circled the refs, shouting at them and each other.

“Fight!” a helpful older woman seated to the right hollered.

Kyle pulled off his gloves and threw them on the ice. From her position a few rows above rink side she could see his expression and his body language – flexing jaw, lowered eyebrows, tense body. His power and strength were undeniable even as she feared what would come next.

The crowd was going wild now- stomping and banging their seats. Cheering on… what? Anger?

She was totally unprepared when the first fist flew. Even more unprepared to comprehend that it was Kyle doing the swinging. He’d gone after the defenseman who’d whacked his stick on the shot attempt. In the blink of an eye, Kyle’s foster brother hit someone else, and soon it seemed like the whole rink erupted in a brawl.

“Oh no.” She sank to her seat, hands pressed to her mouth.

Kyle had his opponent’s jersey fisted in one hand while he used the other to hit. But since the defenseman outweighed him by about fifty pounds, the fight looked bound to end badly for Kyle. Sure enough, a right hand punch by the big man connected with Kyle’s jaw, sending his head back and sending Marissa right out of her seat.

“Excuse me.” Edging down the row past other fans’ knees and cardboard trays of beers, Marissa reached the aisle.

Eyes glued to the ice, she watched as the refs finally pulled the fighters apart. Thank God.

Except, instead of sending Kyle to the ER or even the locker room to tend to his head, they sent him to a little plastic cage they called the penalty box. Apparently in this game, you went to time-out for bad behavior. Didn’t these refs have any idea what kind of damage a blow to the head could inflict? Thoughts of her mother’s ordeal made her all the more anxious to make sure Kyle was okay.

The pressure in her chest told her exactly how scared she was for him. She didn’t want to see him hurt. Didn’t want to lose him. In fact, just thinking about it made her heart beat faster, almost as if…

She loved him.

Winding her way through the stands toward the section of seats containing the penalty box, she accidentally stepped on a sticky patch of trampled cotton candy, not looking where she was going. Could she possibly care so deeply about a man she’d just met?

The squeeze of her heart told her, absolutely yes. Maybe she was drawn to bigger than life personalities in spite of herself, her quieter nature responding to the confidence and charm of someone like Kyle. But beneath that bold exterior, Kyle shared her values, donating time to charity and staying out of the spotlight. He believed in hard work and discipline, his lifestyle far closer to hers than her jet-setting mother’s.

“Can I help you, miss?” a grizzled usher asked her, his red shirt identifying him as staff.

He stood in front of a rope that closed off the step down to the seating section surrounding the penalty box.

“Can I get through here?” she asked, squinting to try and see Kyle but he was hidden from view by fans for the home team shouting at him and knocking on the glass of the box where he sat.

An announcement about the penalties – one for each team – boomed over the PA system, drowning out the security guard’s answer.

“Excuse me?” She leaned closer to the man, wishing Kyle would turn around and see her ten rows up. She still felt shaky with the realization that she cared for him far more than she ever thought she could feel about someone in such a short space of time.

Maybe her emotions were just running high after the draining months of taking care of her mom. No wonder her feelings were so close to the surface.

“Sorry miss, these are reserved seats. Season ticket holders only.” He crossed his arms and resumed watching the action on the ice as play continued.

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