Page 29 of The Pucker and the Princess
Slowly, I release my hold, and Jensen jerks upright, feinting like he’s coming at me, but the other refs have their arms wrapped around his shoulders and pull him back. He shakes them off, still glaring at me, and we’re each escorted to the penalty box by a linesman while the head ref announces our penalties for roughing.
I take the time to drink some water, using my breathing exercises to center and calm myself while play resumes. Despite Chalmers’s run-in with Jensen and the wall, he doesn’t seem to have taken any harm. He takes his position at right wing for the face-off, moving fast when the other team’s center gets the puck first and intercepting it, taking it down, the rest of the team zipping down the ice to catch up.
He shoots it back toward Thomas, who passes it off to Edison, who knocks it back to Chalmers, who shoots it between the goalie’s legs for another goal.
I pump my fist in victory, retaking the ice when my penalty’s up. A few minutes later, the coach calls our line in, replacing us with the first line.
The last few minutes are hard fought. The Beavers manage to score one more goal, but thanks to Chalmers’ last goal, it’s not enough to tie it up, and we win our first game of the season.
Elated, I scan the section where Marissa should be sitting one more time, hoping to spot her. But she’s too far back, the glare off the plexiglass too much, and I can’t see her. I hope she’s there, though.
And I hope she meets me in the friends and family area after the game.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marissa
My eyes go widewhen I see Dozer yank the guy around who slammed his teammate into the side and pull him forward. They’re quickly swarmed by both teams, the officials blowing their whistles and trying to break up the mass of men on skates.
It seems to take them a while, and the crowd cheers at the prospect of a fight. There was an actual fistfight earlier, with two players dropping their gloves and going at it while the officials watched for a few minutes, finally blowing their whistles when one shoved the other down to the ice, both of them continuing to punch each other.
The fact that’s allowed is wild to me. Sure, yeah, the officials break it up … eventually. And only after they stand and watch for a minute. It’s not at all like in football, where any time a punch is thrown, the refs immediately intervene, giving out harsh penalties.
In hockey, they basically just get a timeout on the naughty step for a few minutes. Sure, if someone goes to the naughty step,that team’s down a player. But when both teams are missing a player, it’s still pretty even.
When the game finally ends, with the Emeralds victorious, I stand and gather my trash, finally pulling my phone out of my pocket and turning it on. I always turn it off during games because I want to stay in the moment. I kept it on for a while during the first period so I could get some pictures, but it’s been off since then.
To my surprise, I have a text message from Dozer telling me where to find the family and friends area and asking me to meet him there after the game.
I shoot off a response, just saying okay, unsure if he’ll see it or not, reread his directions, then slowly make my way out of my seat and down and around to the area he said to go to.
A large man in a security uniform eyes me as I walk closer, and I put on my best smile that I use to charm strangers and close sales. If anything, that makes his scowl deepen.
Alright. This oughtta be fun.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Oof. He ma’amed me. That happened a few times in Texas, though it was usually still miss. I’m only thirty-two after all!
Maintaining my smile, I pull to a stop in front of him and lean into my Texas accent a little more than normal. Sometimes it helps. “Good evening, sir. I’m a friend of Dozer Boggs. He invited me to the game tonight and asked me to meet him in the friends and family area.” I unlock my phone and hold out the text messages to show him what Dozer said.
The security guard looks me up and down, barely sparing a glance at my phone. “What’s your name?” he asks in a bored tone.
“Marissa Kane.”
Lifting his hand, he speaks into a little microphone concealed in his sleeve. “I have a Marissa Kane here asking access to the friends and family area. She says she knows Mr. Boggs.”
I press my lips together and roll them between my teeth. I’m not sure why, exactly, but thinking of Dozer in such formal terms strikes me as funny. Maybe because he goes by Dozer? It’s not a name that inspires formality.
“You’ll have to wait here while they check,” he tells me, and I nod, checking my email on my phone—nothing new there—then checking social media for any updates from my friends or family. I also post a couple of the pics I took tonight with the caption, “First time at a hockey game!”
As soon as I finish, the guard steps aside and waves me into the hallway behind him. “Have a good night, ma’am.”
I hide my wince, but damn. Two ma’ams in one night?
Do I look extra old in this sweatshirt or something?
Shaking my head, I start down the hallway, following the sound of voices coming from somewhere below. The hallway opens into a space with some chairs grouped in a corner. A few women stand in a cluster off to one side. One of them looks me up and down, then dismisses me with a flip of her hair.
