Page 22 of From Fling to Ring

Shit, no wonder the man fell asleep on our date.

Which wasn’t a date. Not really.

“How do you know my brother?” Ruby asks.

I shake my jacket off. Now that the arena is filling, it’s warming up. “His teammate Rake married my best friend, Petal.”

She brings her hand to her mouth in recognition of their crazy story. “Ohhh, yeah. I’m familiar with all that. The fake marriage that turned into a real one?”

I laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

The stadium gets dark, then a crazy light show erupts down on the ice. A master of ceremonies welcomes the San Francisco Aftershocks and introduces each player. As he moves through the roster, one guy at a time, I lean toward Ruby.

“I don’t remember them doing this at last year’s game,” I say.

“Oh. Don’t you know? This is the home opener. The first game of the season.” She turns her attention back to the ice, and I’m grateful she does, because I feel like the biggest dunce in all of dunceville.

How did I not know this?

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s make some noise for jersey number twenty-seven, the Aftershocks’ fearless six-foot-two left winger, Tyler Brooks,” the MC booms.

People jump to their feet and the crowd goes wild.

What?

Is there something going on that I don’t know about? I mean, aside from that fact that this is the season opener and my lame ass had no freaking idea?

Ruby is on her feet next to me and suddenly starts waving and jumping up and down. I follow her view and realize Tyler is looking up at the two of us, smiling and waving.

“That’s my brother! That’s my brother!” she squeals barely loud enough for me to hear over the roar of the crowd.

Well, shit. I jump to my feet, too, and start frantically waving, not about to be outdone by a little sister. I figure I got a free ticket to the game—jumping up and down and acting like a fan is the least I can do.

When everyone settles down, Lucy leans over. “I take it you don’t know much about hockey.”

“Geez. I thought I had you fooled.”

She laughs. “Okay. I’m happy to point a couple things out to you,” she offers.

I throw my hands up. “Please do. I need all the help I can get.”

She starts by explaining the that puck drop and face off are the same thing, something I didn’t realize, and then moves over to penalties and power plays.

At the couple games I attended with Petal, I wondered why one team or the other was occasionally down one player. It’s all starting to make sense now.

“How do you know so much about hockey?” I ask.

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Hockey has pretty much ruled our family for as long as I can remember. By the time I was walking, Tyler was already in a kids’ league. I’ve been going to hockey stuff all my life.”

She turns back to the game and, sliding to the edge of her seat, screams at someone or something, and I have no idea why.

“Hey, I’m going to get a hotdog. Want anything?” I get to my feet.

“No!” she says, gesturing for me to sit back down. “Tyler and I are going out for burgers after the game?—”

Then she jumps to her feet, almost knocking me over. “Tyler scored! He fucking scored!”

I don’t know if I’m more surprised at her physical outburst, or the fact that she just screamed fuck at the top of her lungs.

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