Page 92 of Boyfriend
Cooper almost chokes on his soda. “I could demonstrate later.”
“Nice try, freshman.” She reaches over and takes his popcorn, helping herself to a handful before passing it back.
I decide I don’t need to know what the penalty is for. I just need us to capitalize on this power play. “LET’S GO, WESTON! Put the biscuit in the basket! And I’m not talking about the restaurant!”
“He can’t hear you,” Carly says.
“You don’t know that.”
And Weston already told me how happy he was that I could attend this game. “Even if we don’t make it any further than round two, I’m psyched you’re coming,” he’d said.
Now we have a power play, and I’m vibrating with excitement. The speed of play picks up the moment the puck is dropped. Moo U takes possession, and they begin a patient game of keep-away.
BC mobs their own net, of course. They need to avoid giving up a goal until they’re full strength again.
There’s sweat dripping off Weston’s face as he and Tate pass the puck back and forth. Time ticks down, and I feel each elapsing second like a penance.
“They’re so calm,” Carly says. “I’d be freaking out.”
“You gotta have patience,” Cooper says. “Gotta wait until fate gives you that chance. Kinda like Abbi waited for Weston to get his head out of his ass.”
“Aren’t you deep?” Carly snorts.
“No, I’m smart.”
I don’t hear the rest of their bickering, because there’s a flurry of activity down on the ice. Lex Vonne makes a fast pass to Weston, who wings it toward the net so fast my eyes can’t keep up.
The goalie twitches, and I see the puck smack into his stick. But then I lose track of it until Cooper lets out a shocked gasp.
“What just happened?” I yell as the lamp lights.
“Rebound off the goalie, into the net!” She lets out a whoop of joy.
My heart leaps. “Omigod. Was that a goal for Weston?”
“Nah.” Cooper laughs. “They’ll credit the poor goalie and give Weston the assist.”
I clap anyway. “We’ll take it. I think Weston and the goalie just won the game together.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Cooper says. “There’s time on the clock.”
But sometimes things just go right for a change. And a few minutes later, Weston’s team has won the game.
* * *
It’s funny how I’ve become one of those girls who stands around outside the locker room and waits for the team to come out. But here we are. The hallway is crowded with families and girlfriends and even some sports reporters. It’s madness.
Eventually the players begin to emerge one by one, to loud cheers from everyone in the hallway. And when it’s Weston’s turn, the cheering is deafening. There are back slaps and fist bumps, and I wait patiently for the hullabaloo to die down.
But when our gazes finally lock, Weston smiles.
God, that smile.
“Abbi,” he growls, weaving toward me. “Thank you for coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” He scoops me up and lifts me clear off my feet. I can smell the shower soap and feel the scrape of his whiskers against my face.
“God, it’s crazy here.” He chuckles, glancing around the hallway. “And I really want to get the hell out of here with you. But there’s, uh, a quick press conference.”
