Page 3 of Light It Up Red
“Didn’t you just tell me your family had a box?”
“Yeah, and?”
“You’ve been here before, right? You have watched a hockey game before, haven’t you?”
“I’ve never been here, and whenever I’ve been forced to watch anything sports related, I usually ignore the world around me and scroll on my socials.” I shrug.
“This is just their warm-up. They’ll do their stretches and shit before the game actually begins.”
“Okay, so why is everyone cheering like they just won a gold medal?” I question her.
“It’s the Stanley Cup. They play for the Cup, not a gold medal. And we’re cheering because we’re supportive of our home team. Like you should be,” Harper explains while keeping her eyes on the ice.
“Right, got ya,” I grumble under my breath. Which I can see, mind you. I wonder if heated seats are a thing here? If not, they should be.
“I can’t believe you’re sitting next to me in purple right now,” Harper says.
“What’s wrong with purple?” I narrow my glare at her. “And this is Chanel,” I point out while running a hand down my coat.
“I’m sure it is, but purple is the opposing team’s color.” She shakes her head at me.
I sit back down and pull my phone out of my bag. There’s only so long a girl can watch a guy skate around on ice and hit something with a stick into a net. My eyes are glued to my screen until a knock on the window in front of me has me glancing up. A player in a red and white uniform smiles in my direction. The sharpest blue eyes sear through me and then he turns around and skates off.
The spectators behind me are in an uproar over the interaction. Cheering and chanting a name I can’t quite make out. “Who was that?” I ask Harper.
“That was Travis fucking O’Neil. The fact you even have to ask that is just…” She shakes her head again, her expression incredulous. “I clearly have a lot to teach you.”
The players all leave the ice again, and I tug on Harper’s arm. “Where are they going? Is it over?”
“No, it’s not over.” She laughs. “It’s barely started. They’re going to the locker room. They’ll be back out.” Harper finally sits down and checks her phone. Her lips part on a loud gasp, and her eyes bug out of her head.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, peering over while trying to get a look at her screen.
Harper moves her phone out of my sight line. “Come on, I have to go and see one of the players about something,” she says.
“You’re not working tonight,” I remind her.
“I’m always working. If they call, I have to see what they need. It’ll only take a sec.” She yanks at my hand until I’m standing.
“I can just wait here for you,” I suggest.
“And risk you going home? Not a chance. You’re watching the whole game and you’re watching them win,” she says with a definitive nod.
I don’t have a choice but to follow Harper when she starts pulling me across the stands. She stops at a gate and shows a security guy her pass. He waves us through and then we’re moving down a mirrored tunnel.
But none of this prepares me for the scene we walk into. I stop in my tracks, forcing Harper to pause in front of me. “What?” she asks.
“Harper, this is their dressing room,” I whisper. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. All probably wondering what this strange woman is doing in a men’s locker room.
“I know. It’s awesome, right?” Harper smiles and then continues to drag me along. She comes to a full stop in front of that same player at the window. The one with the blue eyes. “Hey, Travis, what do you need?”
Travis. I roll the name over my tongue. He looks from Harper to me. “Your friend,” he says, staring in my direction.
“Excuse me?” I ask, shockingly aware that I’m in the team dressing room all over again.
“You’re wearing the wrong color, babe.” He reaches behind his back, pulls something out of his bag, and hands it to me. “Put this on. It’s a spare.”
I look down at his hand and the jersey clutched in his fist. “Why?” I ask him. I happen to really like my purple coat. It’s warm. And like I said, it’s freaking Chanel. I don’t know why people have such an issue with what I’m wearing tonight.
