Page 82 of Catching the Captain

“I agree. But I have a feeling these two”—she tips her head toward Wendy and Serena—“might be a bad influence on each other.”

I nod. “I think you’re right. We’ll need to be there to keep them in line.”

“For sure,” she agrees.

Serena taps me on the arm to get my attention. “I need a pic to commemorate this night.” She leans her head against mine and we smile.

“Hey, remember the Goode Girls that Murphy mentioned?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Look to your left and move up one section,” I say.

Serena peers over her shoulder and giggles. “Oh, that’s just beautiful. I think I might need a Goode Girl shirt to wear. I mean, it’s just so perfectly cheesy. I wonder what colors they come in.”

“It looks like they’ve got every color of the rainbow. You can have your pick.”

We fall silent and rise for the singing of the National Anthem and then sit once more.

“I always get emotional when I hear our anthem being sung,” I say.

Evie shifts on the hard seat. “Me too. If I was an athlete, I’d be crying before each game.”

I laugh. “Right? It’s probably not the best way to intimidate your opponents.”

“No doubt,” she agrees.

“Shh.” Serena puts her finger to her lips. “I need some quiet time so I can concentrate.”

“Aww, are you sending the team some good juju?” I ask.

“No.” She looks at me like I’ve asked her to sum up the meaning of life in one word. “I’m trying to figure out who the hot players are and it takes a lot of concentration.”

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head and mime zipping my lips closed.

The game starts and I think how similar all the players look when they’re zooming around on the ice like race cars on a track. The speed with which they move makes my stomach drop like I’m riding a roller coaster. The way they instinctively anticipate their opponent’s moves like they’re inside their heads, is impressive. It makes me think of the endless hours these athletes have put into becoming the elite in this sport and the amount of drive it takes to be one of the best. Not everyone has that fire in them. I know I don’t.

I’m not competitive by nature, not even with myself. I always try my hardest and I want to have success, but I don’t feel a pressing need to be one of the best sports agents in the country. However, I will be the best one I can be, and that will be enough for me.

Watching the Coyotes play, I see their hunger for success. I see their need to win and I admire that quality in them.

The longer I watch, the more I realize it’s not difficult to tell them apart. I get to know their jersey numbers and by the end of the second period I can recognize them by their skating styles. I don’t understand the game beyond the team with the most goals wins, but it’s so damn exciting to watch them fly around on the icy surface.

When the third period is well under way there’s still no score on the board for either team. I hear grumblings coming from the fans behind us.

“This better not be a sign of what’s to come this season,” a male voice says.

“Score a fucking goal, Hart! That’s what you make the big bucks for,” a second male voice yells.

I glance at Evie, my lips stretching in a grimace. “So harsh,” I say.

“Hockey fans are passionate about their teams, and rabidly so. Sometimes it’s a good thing and sometimes not so much.”

“I forgot you grew up with hockey in your life,” I say.

“Don't remind me,” she jokes. “But yeah, I did.”

“I know fans are upset about the lack of goals, but as someone who’s never been to a game before, this is exciting.”

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