23. Lola

Lola

I decide that the moment right after the game is my favorite.

But that might be because my boyfriend—or rather, fake boyfriend—just scored the winning goal, and all the women around me are gushing about him, asking me questions, and squealing about how good the team has been doing lately.

It might also be because this is the first time in a long time that I feel included in something and completely accepted right away. In the publishing industry, it sometimes feels like you're elbowing your way to the table, and even once you finally have a place to sit, it's like you have to bare your teeth to stay there.

This is entirely different. Every single woman in the SportsDeck immediately brought me into the fold, telling me about their inside jokes and explaining hockey things I still don't understand.

For example, earlier, when that Bruin slammed Devon into the wall, and the two of them started fighting, I'd leaped to my feet, my hands to my face, wondering what I should do. Would I need to go down there and call the police?

Ellie had been laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.

"Wow," she'd said, wiping at her eyes with a tissue, "you really don't know anything about hockey, do you?"

"What are you saying?" I'd asked, eyes wide as I looked between the ice, where Devon and the guy were broken apart and headed to time-out. "Are you saying that's normal?"

I remembered the fight I saw at the first game, but it had seemed silly and benign. I saw the way that guy slammed Devon into the wall, like it was personal, and he really wanted to hurt him.

"Well," Ellie said, touching up her makeup where it had become smudged, "now that Devon is the best-performing player on the team, opponents will go after him. That's how it was with Grey, too. They get it in their head that they can win the game if they can just injure your star player."

"Well, is it true?"

Ellie paused, her mascara frozen in the air. After a moment, she nodded.

"Yeah," she said, "I guess, in this situation, if they did take Devon out for the season, the Vipers wouldn't come back from that. Not with Brett and Devon gone. And, who knows, if the injury was bad enough, Devon might just go ahead and retire."

"Retire?" I echoed, my eyes flitting back down to the ice, where Devon was still serving his time-out. "He's not that old, is he?"

It occurred to me that I never asked how old he was. I just dove right into bed with him.

He didn't look that much older than me. And I'm at least five years older than Ellie. I might be okay with age-gap relationships for others, but the thought that Devon might have more than ten years on me makes me feel a little queasy.

"Relax," Ellie reassured me with a laugh. "He's younger than Grey, and you're older than me. Retirement isn't the same in sports—and especially in hockey. It beats your body up. You retire sooner than you would if you were, like, an accountant. However, a retired hockey player usually goes on to do something else with hockey. Like Grey with coaching."

Knowing Devon wasn't much older than me was comforting. But understanding that the other team would target him for his performance wasn't.

A gasp rippled through the crowd, and when I looked down again, Devon was punching another player, both of their helmets on the ground.

"Ooh," Ellie had said, looking relatively unbothered. "That's going to get him a major."

"I just don't understand what the fighting is about," I'd said, watching as the ref ushered Devon back to the penalty box for a second time. He was playing well, there was no doubt about it, but I couldn't help thinking that fighting less might make him play even better.

"It's probably nothing," Ellie had said, shaking her head and taking a bite of popcorn. "Probably that guy said something about Devon's mom. It's hockey—tensions are high. Guys fight."

For the first time in my life, I had been transfixed by a sporting event. I couldn't stop watching, especially after they tied the score. Ellie explained the concept of overtime to me, and I was on the edge of my seat.

When Devon scored the winning point, I'd wished I was down there on the rink so I could pile onto him with the players.

Now, I'm walking with Ellie down to the lobby where the players are standing. Some of them look like they've already showered, while others are still in their uniforms with sweat-slicked hair plastered to their foreheads.

Wearing his suit, Grey sees Ellie and immediately holds his hands out for her. She runs forward, jumping into his arms. I watch all around me as the other girlfriends and wives find their players and congratulate them on the win, giving them kisses or just tucking in close while they talk to each other.

My chest flutters at the thought of pretending to be a hockey girlfriend and seeing Devon going through these motions, too. I had to look for him for a few minutes, and then, finally, he emerged from the locker room with a duffel bag over his shoulder, his hair wet from the shower.

When he gets close, I realize it's the same soap he uses at his apartment, and it must be what makes him smell the way he does. It's an intimate thing to recognize someone's shampoo, and it makes my stomach tighten.

"Hey," I say, sidling up to him and glancing around. Plenty of people are still around, so we have to make this convincing. My heart pounds hard in my chest as I approach him and give him the fastest peck on the cheek. When I pull back, he's staring intently at me, his eyes dark.

"I—" I start, trying to figure out how to tell him that I really enjoyed his game, but then he leans forward, hooking an arm around my waist and pulling me close.

For a heart-stopping second, I think he's going to kiss me. And not on the cheek but another real kiss, like the ones I got in his apartment.

But instead, he leans his head down so his mouth is next to my ear. Then, he whispers, his breath hot against my skin.

"You'd better get some sleep, princess," he says. "I'm picking you up tomorrow at six in the morning, sharp."

And just like that, he pulls back and leaves me reeling in the middle of the lobby. It wasn't until a full minute later that I realized he said he was picking me up at six in the morning. I text him a string of messages telling him there's no way in hell I'm going on a date that starts that early.