13

W alking through the large doors of the hockey arena again caused a slight panic when I recall the only other time I was ever here. Panic isn't the only thing I feel, though. I don't know how, but I swear I can feel him. It's like this weird awareness and warmth. Like, my body knows he is here and wants to find him . This is so weird. Am I excited to see him, or do I want to avoid him for as long as possible? I think to myself.

I catch a glance of myself in the floor-to-ceiling glass walls and smile. Zoey has named herself not only my best friend but now also my fashion manager. She had a plan of action ready before I could even stress myself out with what to wear.

The Mogadore Predators' team colors are maroon, black, and white, which was awesome for me. The colors complement me perfectly.

Zoey had my clothes all laid out on display for me when I got home to get ready for the game. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?" I ask, taking in the outfit that was the perfect combination of warm, professional, and gorgeous.

"No, you haven't, but I'll take payment in the form of my own hunky hockey player. Put in a good word for me," she says with a wink.

Scoffing dramatically and rolling my eyes, I take in my ensemble for the evening. She's taken this job especially seriously, as she seems to think I'm much more experienced with men than I am.

It starts with the cutest black lace bra and panty set that I had sitting in the back of my drawer for this normal college girl experience I wanted to maybe have. The next layer consists of some black pleather leggings and a long-sleeve black T-shirt. There's a perfect maroon, oversized, chunky sweater to keep me warm in the arena. The finishing touches are a fluffy black infinity scarf and my warm black snow boots. To keep my hair from turning into an electric science experiment from the scarf, I pull it into the messiest, messy bun, pulling a few pieces loose around my face for that perfect look.

I felt so pretty when I looked in the mirror but I'm second guessing everything now. I was so confident in my outfit last time and look how that went. I sigh and shake my head at myself for allowing my thoughts to take that direction. I needed to channel more of Mom's whimsy nature, but it seemed to be evading me lately.

Chic little briefcase in hand, I straighten my spine, make my way inside and flash my press badge to the receptionist.

Warm-ups have already started, and I mentally scold myself for not getting here sooner. I've been studying as much hockey information as I can to understand what's going on tonight, and I wanted to be here for the full experience of watching the teams skate onto the ice and such.

Nevertheless, I make my way into the stands to find my seat. Luckily, I'm seated with a lot of other Predators' fans. I'm a couple rows up from the second-level railing, and I have a great view of the entire rink. In my research, I found that the Vultures and Predators have a lot of bad blood and are one of the league's biggest rivalries. The last thing I wanted to do today was get in the way of some crazy sports brawls by being stuck with fans from the wrong team.

The closer I got to the rink, the stronger the strange pull in my body became. The second I could see the ice, my body felt like it would lurch out there with all the players. With all their gear on, I couldn't tell which one he was until I saw the giant number twenty-three on his back. He seems to be looking for something in the stands. I wonder if he's looking for me. Just as the thought crosses my mind, his head turns toward me, and for some reason I choose that moment to hide behind a couple of guys in the row in front of me.

I still haven't decided if I'm excited to see him or afraid from our last encounter. I slowly peek back out of my hiding spot to watch as the pregame show begins, the starting players are announced, and the game begins.

You can immediately feel the tension in the entire arena. It's radiating from the ice; it's so thick that it feels like you could reach out and grab it. These two teams hate each other very much; that is clear. The power they use to slam each other into the walls, rattling the plexiglass protector that keeps us from being hit with wild pucks, is otherworldly. Not only the power, but they're also so incredibly fast that there have been multiple moments where I could barely keep track of the puck.

Each time Roman gets close to looking in my direction, I chicken out and hide behind someone near me. He's probably not even looking for me; why would he? But I don't know . . . it just feels like he is. I'm small enough, so it's not a difficult task. I guess it's not really fair of me, though, since I'm sitting here totally engrossed in every move he makes. Trying to ignore all the strange feelings in my body is another situation entirely, and I'm failing miserably at pretending it's not happening.