Alex

“Oh, my f**king God…did you see that? He blew a kiss at me,” she squeals, and I have to resist the urge to stick my fingers in my ears to muffle the terrible noise she’s making.

The hot hockey player skates away and the girl turns to me. “Hey, I’m Monica. I’m so glad we got another Cold Fury fan in that seat. More times than not we’re stuck with a fan from the other team and that just sucks.”

“Uh…hi,” I say lamely. “I’m Sutton.”

“Sutton? Oh, I love that name. So, who is your favorite player?”

“Um…honestly, I don’t know. This is my first game.”

Monica’s face drops for a second and she stares at me with her jaw hanging low. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. In fact, I really don’t know anything about hockey.”

She blinks at me a moment, and I think she might be getting ready to call an usher to have me removed, but then she gives me a radiant smile and yells “Hockey virgin!” at the top of her lungs while pointing at me.

Everyone within a twenty-foot radius turns their eyes on me and I just want to sink into my seat and die.

Then Monica puts her arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you everything. You’ll be a pro by the end of the game.”

Just then a tapping noise gets our attention and we turn to the ice. I feel Monica’s body freeze next to mine as our eyes rise to the player standing on the other side of the glass, hitting the end of his stick against it to get our attention.

Okay, now that is holy f**king hotness right there.

Alex stands there, his hair slightly sweaty around his temples but otherwise looking like a sex god staring at me. His blue eyes are intent as they caress me, and I feel my breath falter within my lungs. He’s utterly beautiful, making that other dude, Garrett, look like a reject.

Flashing me a small smile, Alex shoots me a wink and then skates off. I stare after him, noting that the number on his jersey is 67, and I wonder if it has any significance.

“Holy shit, girl,” Monica wheezes as if she can’t get her breath. “Alex Crossman just eye-fucked you in front of the entire arena.”

“What?” I practically shriek as her words penetrate my hazy brain. “No way.”

“Yes way,” she murmurs appreciatively. “You could so hook up with him if you wanted. I mean, he may be the MVP of this team, but I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

“MVP?” I ask lamely, because I have no clue what that means.

“Most valuable prick,” she says matter-of-factly. “He’s a complete ass**le to the fans. Rumor has it an ass**le to his team as well. But God, he’s like the hottest player in the entire league, so I could definitely overlook that.”

“Huh” is all I can manage to reply, as my eyes find Alex again and I watch him warming up. He’s fluidly graceful on his skates, his hair flying out behind him as he whizzes by once more. He never looks back at me again, but that’s okay by me. I can’t afford to continually be beaten over the head by his magnificence, particularly with Monica sitting next to me ready to have a fit every time a player looks our way.

Finally, the warm-ups finish, the national anthem is played and then the game starts.

And I am freakin’ hooked.

I sit on the edge of my seat the entire time, my eyes hungrily soaking up the action. It’s a super-fast game and sometimes I have a hard time even following the puck. The first time the Cold Fury scores, I don’t even realize the puck has gone in the net, and I have no clue it’s Alex who actually scores. The only reason I come to find that out is that Monica is screaming that she wants to have his babies.

While Monica does spend much of the game screaming in my ear and yelling obscenities at the players from the other team, she also takes the time to explain the game to me when she can. I now at least understand what offsides means and I’m starting to catch on to the concept of a power play. I still don’t understand the penalties, and I surely don’t understand why you’re allowed to fight in a game that penalizes you for doing so, but it’s exhilarating watching as one of the Cold Fury players drops his gloves and faces off with an opponent at mid-ice. The fans go nuts when the fight starts, surging to their feet.

And while I very much want to see the action of the fight, my eyes can’t help wandering over to Alex, who is sitting on the bench. He isn’t even watching his teammate beat the crap out of the other player but rather seems to be looking down at his lap, completely uninterested in the brawl.

I tear my eyes off him, because sadness wells up inside of me as I remember how he had told me he hates to play hockey. It hurts too much to watch him and then think that although he may be an ass**le, he may have a very good reason to be that way. Just the thought makes me want to wrap him up in a hug and soothe his pain.

The game speeds by in a haze, and long before the final buzzer sounds and the Cold Fury is about to celebrate a 4-2 win over the other team, I am officially obsessed with this sport. I spend a few moments jumping up and down with Monica, our arms wrapped around each other in excitement over the win.

Many of the fans start leaving while some stay in their seats, but before I can ask Monica why, I hear the announcer’s voice come over the loudspeaker.

Tonight’s game’s most valuable player, with two goals and three assists: number sixty-seven, Alexander Crossman.

The fans erupt and I watch as Alex steps out onto the ice and does a slow skate around the lower half of the rink closest to our seats. He has his helmet off and his hair is soaking wet. He skates holding his stick raised high up in the air in salute to the fans, and they go crazy over it.

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