Page 50 of The Goal

The game remains scoreless all the way into the third period. I can’t believe we’ve already watched thirty minutes of hockey and no one has scored yet. You’d think I’d find it boring, but I’m on the edge of my seat, wondering which team will draw first blood.

It’s Briar.

As the lamp over the net lights up, a rock anthem blasts over the PA system and the home crowd screams in celebration. The announcer calls the goal for someone named Mike Hollis and the assist for…John Tucker.

I jump to my feet again, cheering loudly. This time, my friends do say something.

“She’s got it bad,” D’Andre remarks.

“Told you so,” Hope says to her boyfriend.

“What?” I mutter defensively. “That was a very nice scoring maneuver.”

Carin doubles over. “Scoring maneuver?” she echoes between giggles. “Jeez, B, get with the program. It’s called agoal.”

“You’re called a goal,” I retort childishly.

D’Andre snickers. “Good one.”

I sit down and watch the fast-paced game with bated breath. To my relief, Briar holds the other team off, and we win 1-0 when the final buzzer goes off. Everyone is in good spirits as they shuffle out of the arena, myself included.

I’m happy I came tonight. And as unsure as I am about whether to get involved with Tucker, I can’t deny I’m excited to see him and give him a hug and tell him what a great game he played. He’ll hug me back. Thank me. Maybe he’ll suggest we get in that truck of his for some celebratory sexytimes…

If he does that, I honestly don’t think I would say no this time.

“Apparently all the bunnies hang out outside the locker rooms,” Carin whispers to me as we file into the main lobby. “So let’s wait for him outside. It’ll be less crowded.”

“The bunnies?”

“Puck bunnies. Hockey groupies. Whatever you want to call them.” She shrugs. “You know, the chicks looking to get nasty with a hockey player.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” I shrug back, because I have nothing against girls who want that. After all, my own requirement for hookups isathletes only.

But when the athlete I’m waiting for finally emerges from the building, he’s not alone.

My spine stiffens as I watch Tucker pause on the steps with his arm slung around a short blonde. He’s in his hockey jacket and she’s bundled up in a bright red parka, but the way my stomach twists up with jealousy, you’d think they were buck-naked and brazenly fucking on the stairs.

“Let’s go,” I hiss to my friends.

A firm hand circles my wrist. “They’re just talking,” Hope says quietly.

My cheeks hollow as I grind my teeth. “He has his arm around her.”

I amnotabout to make a fool of myself over some hockey player, especially one who says how much he wants to go out with me and then comes out for a postgame celebration with his arm around some other girl.

I sneak another peek. Yep. Arm’s still around her. And he’s laughing at whatever Blondie’s saying.

My molars are being crushed to dust, but I can’t seem to look away. Blondie wraps both arms around Tucker’s waist and gives him a tight hug. She tips her head up at him. He smiles down at her.

And then my heart is shredded to pieces, because Tucker’s head is dipping toward hers. His mouth drops lower and lower and lower, until finally he kisses her…

13

SABRINA

On the forehead.

Tucker kisses Blondie on the forehead.

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