Page 3 of Penalty Shots

Keelan sets my things down on one of the arena seats. "Don't let her run. I'll be right back." He ignores his friend's question and disappears into what I can only assume is a locker room.

It's cold in the arena. And my shirt is still very wet. I cross my arms over my chest and turn to Ryker, unsure of what to do or say.

"So, you play hockey, too?"

He cocks his head to the side and looks down at the very obvious hockey gear that he was just clearly practicing in. I fight the urge to facepalm at my lack of conversational skills.

"Occasionally," he answers sarcastically. "How long have you known Landry?"

His question comes across as almost accusatory.

"I don't know him," I say, narrowing my eyes.

"Hmm."

What's this guy's deal? I didn't ask to be here.

Just in time, the door to the locker room bursts open and Keelan comes out waving what looks like a jersey like a flag.

"It might be a little big, but at least no one will be able to see your bra," he announces triumphantly.

I look down at my chest. Red bra—fully noticeable under the arena lights.Shit.

"Thanks," I tell him as he hands me the thick fabric. I slip it over my head and try to smooth out my ponytail as the oversized jersey falls to my thighs.

"See?" Keelan says, motioning to the jersey. "Looks great."

I'm not into hockey. But something tells me that wearing any player’s jersey in any sport around campus automatically signals to others that you're probably in a relationship with them—or the president of their fan club. Both of which would not describe me.

But I'm now running late for my next class, so I'll have to do the best I can to cover his name with my backpack.

"Thanks, Keelan. I'll make sure to wash it and give it back to you in Keister's class tomorrow."

He throws a hand out, "Don't worry about it. I got plenty of them."

Ryker clears his throat. "You ready to practice or what?" He says gruffly.

Right. That must be my cue to scram. I pull on my backpack and grab my textbook. "Thanks again."

"Anytime, Rina. And hey," he says as I'm about to turn around. "You should come watch us play sometime."

I smile. "Okay."

"Okay," he says back.

I try hard not to smile. Because as unexpected as this interaction has been, it's kind of nice to be treated so well. For the first time since the semester started, I talked to a guy who made me feel something other than icky.

Keelan is kind. Cheerful. And…are those butterflies I feel?

I allow myself a quick glance over my shoulder, and the two players are deep in conversation about something. Keelan glances over at me before I open the doors, and he waves—that smile of his firmly in place.

I think I might like him. And that's saying something for me. I don't just let people in like that. But in the tiny bit of time since meeting Keelan, I feel hopeful.

And I get to see him again tomorrow. And he wants me to come to a game. I look down at the ASC Batties jersey with the number nineteen, big and bold on the front.

It feels good.

I notice some looks as I make my way to the first class of the day and Keelan's words ring out in my mind.

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