Page 13 of Enticing the Enforcer
“I think this is a first,” Madison says after taking a sip of water.
“What’s a first?”
“That we’ve been out and people are more interested in a game on TV than you.”
I laugh, but she’s not wrong. The bar is so involved in the game that no one even notices us. It’s nice and it’s not long before I find myself drawn in, trying to follow it on the big screen. The puck moves so fast I can barely keep track of it, bouncing off the ice and boards-sometimes the guys themselves. The players speed across the ice on skates the way I own the stage in a pair of six-inch heels.
It's powerful. Magnetic. And my eyes desperately search for one name and number.
#23 Parks
The energy shifts in the room and I try to follow what’s happening on the ice. Across from us the girl with the ponytail jumps to her feet.
“Oh, comeon!” she shouts, loud enough that half the bar glances over. “You’vegotto crash the net there. Soft rebound like that and you’re backing off?”
She throws her hands up, her dark curls bouncing with the motion, then presses her palms to the table like she’s physically restraining herself from climbing over it. Nadia, across from her, doesn’t even flinch–she’s focused, arms crossed, chewing at her straw while her eyes track the puck like a hawk.
From our table, I glance at Madison. She blinks, lost.
“I need that girl over here to explain what the hell is going on,” Madison mutters.
As if summoned, Shelby returns with a steaming basket of fries. She sets them down between us with a dramatic flair, right as the buzzer goes off to signal the end of the first period.
Madison reaches for a fry and gestures toward Twyler and Nadia with her other hand. “Do you think your friends would want to sit with us? Maybe help us understand what we’re watching?”
Shelby’s green eyes go wide. “You wantTwylerto join you during a game?” she whispers, like it's a dare. Then she bites her lip, clearly thrilled, and spins on her heel. “Give me one minute.”
I watch her bounce over to their table and lean in between them. She says something low, and both girls freeze. Then Twyler whips her head around, mouth slightly open in disbelief, like she’s making sure we’re really talking aboutthem.
Nadia arches a brow, skeptical but curious.
Twyler shrugs, grabs her cider and half-eaten hot dog, and nods toward us. “Guess we’re relocating,” I hear her say, as she picks up her tray.
Nadia follows with an amused smile, sliding her phone into her back pocket.
We make quick introductions, and although they seem to know me, they don’t have a fangirl freak out, and I’m instantly at ease.
Twyler grins as she sits down beside Madison. “Sorry in advance. I get a little...invested.”
“No problem,” Madison says, shifting to make room.
“I just don’t believe in letting injustice go unaddressed,” Twyler replies, eyes narrowing at the overhead screen as they show a slow-motion replay of a hit. “Case in point–see that? That should’ve been a five-minute major. Guyledwith the elbow.”
Nadia takes the open seat beside me. “Reese is a big boy. He can take a few hits.”
“Of course he can. It’s not the hit. It’s the principal!”
There’s something electric about the way they join the table, like the volume clicks up a notch, the energy shifts. Even Madison softens, watching the two girls bicker playfully about power plays versus penalty kills. I find myself leaning in too, drawn by the easy knowledge and total lack of pretense.
“So wait.” Madison asks, “Whatisa power play again?”
Nadia opens her mouth to answer, but Twyler cuts her off.
“Okay, so imagine you're in a horror movie,” Twyler says, brandishing a fry like a knife. “There’s a serial killer on the loose?—”
“Oh my god,” Nadia groans. “Why is italwaysmurder with you?”
“Because itworks,” Twyler insists. “So there’s five players on each side, right? But then one does something illegal–like, Idon’t know, stabs someone with their stick–and they get sent to the penalty box.”
