Page 94 of Say Yes to the Nemesis
This time when the crowd erupts, I don’t hold back. I scream until my throat is raw. Jump up and down until my feet hurt. Hug Raven and Heidi until we’re all laughing and breathless.
Ryan, the super athlete. Ryan, the undefeatable. Ryan, the ridiculous, irritating, adorable show-off. He’s in his element, tearing up the ice with impossible speed and shining under the lights like he was born there.
The noise is deafening.
Fans are on their feet, shouting themselves hoarse. I catch no fewer than five different signs with his name on them. A group of college girls, squeezed together in the row just above us, scream“RYAN! RYAN!” with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for rock stars and royalty.
Then I remember my jersey, the craftiest wardrobe choice yet. The rooting becomes a little easier. When he almost scores a third goal, I scream right with them. I’m in the moment, in the crowd, hugging Raven and Heidi until we’re an impossible tangle of arms and ponytails.
Even though it’s just a stupid game, I find myself sucked in, feeling the pull, the thrill of it all. I’m in the front row of the Ryan Haart show. With the way he’s playing, there’s zero chance of changing the channel.
By the end of the game, people start whispering. Pointing. Wishing they had binoculars. At first, it’s just a trickle of curiosity, a handful of voices rising above the noise. But then a few heads turn our way. It snowballs.
“That’s the guy that’s going to be onThe Last Kiss, right?”
“Yeah, number sixteen. He’s the bachelor this season.”
“He’s into the one with the blonde hair, right? Heidi?”
“No, I think it’s the redhead. The tiny one.”
They must be talking about me. Howembarrassing.
“That’s the one he keeps looking at!” a voice exclaims.
The words echo, growing louder, a rumor gathering steam. The cameras circle, catching all the rumors.Thisis what the producers had in mind.
I almost hate that I’m playing right into it.
Raven leans over and stage-whispers, “They’re talking about you, if you hadn’t noticed.”
I roll my eyes, but my stomach flips over with nerves.
Ryan gets the puck, weaves through a wall of defensemen like it’s nothing, then rips a pass across the ice. One of his teammates snaps it into the net. Goal. Game.
The arena explodes.
I jump up, shrieking with everyone else. Raven grabs my arm, whooping. Heidi shouts something unintelligible. The scoreboard flashes. The crowd stays on its feet long after the final buzzer.
It’s electric. I catch my breath, but my pulse is still racing. It’s impossible not to smile. For one second, I let myself enjoy it. Just for a second.
Afterward, we’re swept into a single-file line. I lag behind, dragging my feet like a child who doesn’t want to follow the group. The thrill of the moment hangs over me, but I need space. A pause. Just to breathe. Just to be.
Mostly I am thinking about what it would be like to actually be a hockey player’s girlfriend. Would I be under constant surveillance by everyone? Something tells me I wouldn’t handle that well.
Two voices, sharp and blatant, slice through the air with the kind of clipped tones meant for secrecy. The words hit harder than I expect.
“She’s so boring.”
“Which one?”
“Wren. It’s like, go on girl, give us absolutely nothing. She’s a complete wet blanket. You can just tell.”
“She’s the virgin, right?”
Both women crack up.
“He’s only keeping her around because she’s Jay Rustin’s baby sister.”
