Page 151 of Snap Shot

Seven.

Landon scores again, triggering the horn, followed by the buzzer signaling another period's end. Someone a few rows behind us gets so excited, they lose control of their fries, launching them from their container and sprinkling them onto our heads. One of the guys from the bachelor party yells back at him, exchanging a torrent of curses before he goes up to fight. Intermission passes as security struggles to keep two decent-sized drunks from assaulting one another. Eventually, the parties get led out of the arena to the neighboring crowd's heckling and jeers. They settle as both teams skate back into the rink.

The usual starters are on the bench. With the way the game's going, Vancouver doesn't stand a chance. Wade had only let two shots in out of their twenty-five attempts.

Bea stuffs a hot dog into her mouth, chewing through the giant bite. “Who is playing right now?”

“Rookies and dusters, looks like. We've got a good lead. Maybe they're letting the other guys get some low-risk playing time.”

Radek gnaws at the protective guard hanging from the corner of his mouth, goofing off with Wade and Donovan. My face heats when they switch out, climbing over the boards for the last few minutes of the game.

“Are you okay, Indi? You look like a tomato, if a brown girl could look like a tomato,” Bea comments. “On a scale of one to breaking hockey sticks into pieces, how mad are you?”

Not mad at all. I’m terrified.

Every goal scored reddens my cheeks deeper and deeper, blood sending a pulsing warmth to the furthest edges of my body and the lowest spot at the split of my legs.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

The crowd goes wild as Ottawa clinches the win ten-two. Ten goals.My pussy grieves in advance.

Bea elbows me. “You still haven't told me what you bet him—”

“Look, there's Gabe!” I point by the players' exit.

She's got a puffy mic in Radek's face. The interview is barely audible over the pounding of my pulse. Her eyes light up with an in-awe expression, which is saying a lot, considering Gabe isn't easily impressed.

“I'll say what everyone is thinking:wow! A ten-goal game is your personal record, not to mention you're broke the record for most goals in one game by any single player in the league. What a difference from the last game against the Sky. What changed?”

Landon shrugs and laughs on the Jumbotron, gaze scanning the lower bowl section we sit in. “Y'know, after that loss, there was nowhere to go but up,” he pants through his reply. My heart plummets as he catches me gawping. “Let's say I had something to prove. A little extra motivation.” The smug bastard smiles back at Gabe as she thanks and congratulates him once more, then disappears through the gate.

The camera pans away to an interview with the Vancouver captain, but Gabe keeps my attention. Wade Boehner approaches her with a dopey smile and goo-goo eyes. My friend shakes her head and turns away. A disapproving noise tickles my throat. What was that?

“Crazy, crazy game.” Bea rants on as we join the beeline of departing fans. I almost miss a cement step when Landon's text pops up on my phone.

Gym Guy:I'll be home in 2 hours.

Gym Guy:You better be naked in my bed.

Chapter 39: Scantily Clad Superheroes

Landon

Like a drill sergeant, Wade paces in front of the team's rookies, doling out the last of his judgment. The undone clip of his ratty maroon overalls clicks against his lower back, where his hands are clasped.

“Men, the theme of this year's Halloween party was to dress up as the given names of our forever friends: our third legs.” All eyes follow to and fro with his calculated strides. “Masturbator!” he barks.

“It's Masterson,” the rookie forward mutters.

“Silence! Fuck are you supposed to be, eh?”

Masterson clears his throat, adjusting the bright red foam racecar costume hanging from his shoulders. “Lightning McQueen.”

“Lightning McQu—” Wade's eyebrows shoot up into the middle of his forehead, then settle down, unimpressed. “Your dick is a speedy little stock car that always finishes first?”

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