Page 48 of Pucking Around

“There are no assigned seats, Ilmari,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping back to her phone.

Her use of my name takes me aback slightly. No one calls me by my name here in the States. It’s not a difficult name to pronounce, Americans are just lazy. The only time I hear my real name spoken is when the announcers shout it out at the start of each game.

I loosen my tie a bit. Surely, we can be reasonable about this. “There are other seats.”

“Great, go sit in one,” she mutters, not looking at me.

Why is she making this so difficult? A player would have moved already, no questions asked. I groan, looking around again. I’m officially holding up the line. Langley is behind me, peeking over my shoulder.

“I…can’t,” I admit.

She glances up at me, those pretty brown eyes narrowed. “You can’t go sit in another seat? You have to sit inthisexact seat? The one I’m already sitting in?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not in the mood for more hazing, Kinnunen. And if this is you doing some kind of weird flirting, save your breath,” she adds, looking back down at her phone.

“I…” Wait—flirting? She thinks I’mflirtingwith her? “Mittä helvettiä,” I grumble. “Ineedthis seat.”

“Ohmygod, Kinnunen, what is your damage?” Now she’s glaring at me.

“Everything okay?” Compton says from my left hip, shrugging his headphones off.

“Apparently, I’m in Kinnunen’s seat,” she says with a wave of her hand. “He’s telling me I have to move.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Langley calls from behind me.

Great, let’s all have a conversation about this.

Compton glances up at me. “You need that seat, man?”

I give him a curt nod.

To my surprise, he leans around me. “Sorry, Doc. Goalie says move, you move.”

Her eyes go wide, lips parted in surprise. “What?”

Compton shrugs. “Hey, I don’t make the rules, but I sure as hell follow them. Rule number one in hockey: never touch the goalie. Rule number two: never piss him off. He says that’s his seat, it’s his seat. You gotta move.”

“Unbelievable,” she mutters, unbuckling her seatbelt and shoving her soda bottle and her phone back in her bag.

I step back, letting her out.

“Here, Ilmari. Here’s your precious seat. You could have said ‘please,’ you know. Or used more than five words to explain why you needed me to move,” she adds.

She brushes against me as she slides out, the floral scent of her shampoo wafting up my nose.

“Thanks,” I mutter, sliding into the pair of seats and sitting down.

The moment I settle, she takes the aisle seat next to me.

“What are you doing?”

She shoves her bag under the seat in front of her, phone in hand again. “I’m sitting down. Or what—you need this seat too?”

I groan.Yes.

A few players and staff file past as I build up the courage to tell her to move again. I’m a big guy. I don’t like sharing a row. Taking a breath, I let it out. “Doc…”

---