Page 27 of SlapShot Sweetheart

“I was nervous about coming in,” she began and hesitated, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously and feeling silly. “You got me earrings.”

“They reminded me of your eyes.”

“My eyes are blue,” she snapped, causing several of the guys to laugh wildly around them as she stood there in front of him, practically seething in anger that he never bothered to notice… only to see a soft smile curl on his lips as he nodded.

“I remembered – just like the ocean,” he admitted in a hushed voice. “My uniform is green. I like teasing you.”

“HEY! HERE WE GO!”

The music was roaring to a crescendo, and she could hear the announcements that seemed to reverberate through her physically, making it hard to hear. Theo met her gaze and nodded to the security guard before yelling in her direction.

“James will take you to your seat.”

And Aimee didn’t think – she just reacted. Stepping forward, she kissed Theo on the cheek and stepped back as his shocked, dark eyes held hers as someone slapped him on the shoulder and another guy mussed up his dark hair.

“Let’s goooooo!”

“I’ve got to go,” Theo yelled hoarsely.

“That was for luck,” she hollered back simply. “I’ll be watching you, Batiste. Go show me what you’ve got.”

And that was all he seemed to need to hear.

Theo yanked on his helmet, slapping his hockey stick against his chest like some Neanderthal, and she laughed openly as he screamed,“ALLONS-Y!”inciting the other players into a frenzy right there in the walkway to the rink. She had no clue what it meant, but they seemed to. The hockey sticks went up as they started hammering their steps forward to the rink, sounding like a bunch of elephants as the security guard pulled her to the side to safety.

“Your toes okay, Miss Aimee?”

“Yes,” she nodded, checking her feet at that moment before staring out at the chaos ahead of her as fireworks went off inside the arena like it was nothing. “Yes, James, I think I’m just fine.”

“I’ll take you to your seat.”

She was grateful for the security guard leading her down into the mass of people because it was a little intimidating. Thearena steps looked to be awfully steep behind her, but where they entered at was almost on the ground floor, or so it seemed. She could see the men on the ice, skating around to warm up and goofing off together, hamming it up for the cameras that seemed to adore them… and spotted Theo’s uniform.

He was taking photos with Giroux and Thierry. The three men were obviously close, and the media loved them, or so it seemed – and then Aimee did a doubletake, walking sideways blindly toward the seat as she spotted another player laying on the ice physically almost mimicking sex.

“OH MY GOSH!” she blurted out – only to hear another female laughing at her exclamation as Aimee did yet another double-take.

“I’m Becca Giroux – and that’s my husband. You must be Aimee,” the woman with golden brown hair smiled and held out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you – and that’s Dustin. Ignore him. His agent told him to stretch like that because the women go wild over it, and he’s trying to get some lucrative sponsorship for a fancy underwear ad.”

“He’swhaaaat?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off the ‘show’ and felt her face heat up as the man was lying on his stomach, shoving one knee up to the side in an arc, then the other, before jerking himself upward almost in a frog motion, pulling himself along the ice. If there had been a girl underneath him, they would have to censor the game!

“Isn’t he embarrassed doingthat?”

“I am for him, but if you get a paycheck with that many commas in it – I guess you’ll do anything,” Becca chuckled. “The man’s a sweetie, though, taking care of his mama and his sisters – but don’t tell Travis I said that.”

“Which one is your husband again?”

“Number eighty,” Becca smiled. “You get used to it. First names, last names, numbers, they all start to blur together, but somehow you figure it out.”

“I guess,” Aimee began and hesitated as Theo skated past, holding up his hockey stick almost like he was holding up a trophy, and met her eyes. She and Becca cheered immediately as Becca elbowed her slightly, catching her attention.

“First rule of the ‘Wives Box’ – and I dubbed it that, by the way – is that we cheer for each other’s guys,” Becca ordered. “If number eighty or number eleven skate past – we both scream, okay?”

“I’m not a wife,” Aimee jerked back, blinking. “I’m not… we’re not… um, we need to call it something else!”

“Partners Pavilion? No Pucks Given? Bunny nest?”

---