Page 242 of Pucking Around

“Come on,” she laughs, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “We’ve got a few hours before the game and, if I remember right, Mama Price makes a mean pitcher of sangrias.”

“Rachel Diane Price,get your booty down here or we’re gonna be late!” Tess shouts up the stairs.

I ignore her. I’m on my knees in my room, tearing my bag apart looking for my Rays tech t-shirt. “God, where is it?”

“Rachel!” Tess calls, stomping down the hall. “Girl, why do I feel like I’m always hollerin’ for you?” She stands in the doorway, hands on her hips. Apparently, she came prepared because she’s wearing a super cute Rays t-shirt cut in a “V” that does wonderful things for her cleavage. She’s paired the t-shirt with a pair of black leggings and sparkly tennis shoes. Her wild hair is up in a messy pony and a winged cat eye lines her hazel eyes.

“Tess, you look hot,” I say, eyes wide. “Hubba-hubba. Who are you trying to impress tonight?”

“Nobody,” she says with a flick of her hair. “I look good because it makesmefeel good. And you can’t wear that,” she adds, pointing at my white bra. “As your emotional support friend, I can’t let you go to a packed hockey arena with your girls flopping out.”

“I know,” I say, turning back to my bag. “I’m looking for my Rays shirt.”

“Umm, no you’re not. You’re wearing the jersey.”

I glance over to where the No. 42 jersey is laid flat on the bed. “I’m not wearing that.”

“Oh yes, you are.” She stalks over to the bed and snatches it up. “Jake said they flipped a coin. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, no offense, but I don’t believe them. If you knew what happened last time…” I smile, falling quiet.

“Why, what happened last time?” she says. Then her eyes go wide. “Oh god, it’s a sex thing, isn’t it? I don’t want to know. Yes—no. I do, but I don’t.” She groans. “Damn, I’m not drunk enough for this!”

“Tess, I’m not going to kiss and tell,” I say with a laugh.

“Not yet, you won’t. We’re both stone cold sober. Just wait till we’ve had a few of those cans of wine. Now, arms up. You’re putting this on.” She stands right in front of me, scrunching up the jersey.

“Tess,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

“Arms up, Rach. Don’t make me wipe your booty too.”

With a huff, I lift my arms and she slips the jersey on over my head. It’s huge on me. It’s a real jersey, meant to be worn over Jake’s pads. The big Rays logo is sewn onto the front with a 42 on each shoulder. I have to double-roll the sleeves to free my hands.

Tess is losing her patience as she taps her foot by the door. “Okay, grab your wallet and your chapstick and let’s gooo!”

We pullup to the arena to see crowds of people surging outside, waiting to get in. More than the fans, what surprises me is all the press. Paparazzi crews are jostling, hurrying like ants with their cameras and mics.

“This is crazy,” I murmur, peering through the dark glass of the SUV window. “I’ve never seen it like this before.”

“Well, it’s LA,” says my mom from the front seat. She decided at the last minute to join us. Daddy said he didn’t want to draw attention.

“I suppose that’s true,” I reply. It’s not uncommon for celebrities to attend NHL games, especially in New York and LA. “I bet we just missed someone famous,” I laugh.

“Yeah. Like, ooo maybe its Harry and Meghan,” Tess says on a sigh.

“You really think Harry and Meghan dropped everything to come to an NHL game on a Saturday night?”

“You don’t know,” she replies.

“I kind of do,” I tease back.

“Let’s go, ladies,” mom calls from the front seat. “Rachel, eyes forward, and straight inside, honey.”

“What—”

Before I can get the rest of my question out, the SUV rolls around the corner, and I realize we’re driving right up to the press scrum. The police have put up barriers to keep the crowds back. The cameras line each barrier. Behind them, people press in on both sides, shouting and waving posters, screaming as our car rolls to a stop.

I gasp, eyes wide, as I see two of the posters. On one, PRICE = LOVE is written in all the colors of the rainbow. Another sign covered in glitter reads LOVE AT ANY PRICE.

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