Page 58 of Puck Prince

“I told you tobanga hockey player; not fall in love with one.”

My attention whips over to her. “What is the obsession everyone has with love today? I hardly know the guy!”

“Down, girl. Damn.” Kennedy is laughing. I, meanwhile, am trying not to have a panic attack or puke into the popcorn of the guy seated next to me. No one ever told me how revolting popcorn would smell when you’re pregnant.

I take another meager sip of ginger ale and try to keep it all down.

The game goes on, and I have to admit, it’s hard not to get pulled into all the excitement. The Scythes are doing great. As much as they horse around like a bunch of neanderthals in the locker room, they really are fluid on the ice. I’m not super familiar with the terminology of it all, but it doesn’t take me long to get up to speed. Hockey is a fast-paced sport, and I find myself at the edge of my seat.

“The barn might be cold tonight, folks, but with rival teams going head-to-head, the ice is hot!” The announcer’s voice ricochets off the walls, amping up the arena, which is packed to the rafters. “And speaking of hot, let’s talk about Scythes center, Owen Sharpe. One thing is for certain, this kid is no cherry-picker. He runs the rink like a ping-pong ball. Never know where he’s going to end up and keeps everyone else on their toes!”

“A cherry-picker?” I ask Kennedy. “Is that, like, a euphemism?”

“Get your head out of the gutter. I think they’re just saying he gets the job done or… something.” Kennedy shrugs.

“A cherry-picker kind of just stands in the center, hoping for something to come their way.” The guy next to me leans over to answer. “Sharpe’s never been guilty of that.”

“She would know.” Kennedy grins over at him, and I start waving her off. I’m trying to lay low, and there’s nothing incognito about my cousin. “She’s dating him.”

He nearly chokes on his popcorn—which he is dumping into his mouth straight from the helmet-shaped souvenir container. “You’re dating Owen Sharpe? Riiight. And I’m going out for a nightcap with Kate Beckinsale after the game.”

I’m good with ignoring him at this point. He smells like fake butter and cheap beer. But Kennedy doesn’t seem to know when to quit. I thank the cheap beer for that, as well.

“She is! It’s all over the internet!”

I slam my knee into hers. “Kennedy!”

“What?” she asks. “Might as well flaunt it.”

The guy pulls out his phone. In the meantime, another guy in front of us who is part of a string of college age kids, turns around. “Aren’t you the coach’s daughter?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Nothing to see here. Turn back around. Be lulled into complacency by the violence.

“She’s his niece,” the girl next to him says before looking back at me. “You’re his niece, right?”

I pull my baseball cap over my face. I felt stupid when I grabbed it.I’m not Keanu Reeves or something. Who do I need to hide from?“I’m just here to watch the game.”

Instead, I’m watching the news spread through the rows in front of me. One by one, heads turn. There are whispers and points. People hold up their phones, but they’re aiming the wrong way. They’re snapping pictures of me.

Not because I’m the coach’s niece, but because I’m Owen Sharpe’s girlfriend.

“Well, I can see what he sees in you.” The guy next to me scoots close enough that our legs are smashed together. “You’re a pretty little thing. The name is Josh.”

“Just ignore them,” Kennedy tells me. “They’re just jealous.”

“They wouldn’t be jealous if you hadn’t opened your big mouth,” I whisper-yell.

“What did I do?”

“You brought Popcorn Josh over here into the conversation for starters.” I hitch a thumb at my seatmate, too mad to care if he’s offended.

“You can’t hide that you’re Owen’s girlfriend!”

Camera’s flash in my face. I don’t even want to think about how many angles I’ll be able to see my sweaty, panicked face tomorrow morning. “No, but we didn’t have to go and shout it out to everyone, either.”

“What’s it like being Owen’s filly?” some random guy shouts over at me. “Is he as good at scoring in the sack as he is on the ice?”

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