Alex (Cold Fury Hockey #1)(18)

Looking down at my ticket, I see my seat is in Row A—number five to be exact. Glancing at the row of seats next to me at the top of section 110, I note they start at ZZ, so it appears I’m going to have to make the long descent down toward the ice. I wonder if it will be cold down there and hope the black leather blazer I put on over my turtleneck will be sufficient.

Before making my descent, I pull out my phone and check in using Facebook. I take a quick picture of the arena and post At my first hockey game…damn, it’s cold in here!

I guarantee that by the time I reach my seat, Shelley will have seen this and responded. Probably with some dirty comment about my nipples getting hard, which causes me to laugh to myself. God I miss having her here and don’t know what I’d do without the ability to talk to her daily through digital means.

As I make my way down to Row A, I can’t help but get excited by the energy buzzing around me. The stands are packed and I think I read online that this arena seats nineteen thousand and is the loudest arena in the league. Loud rock music blares over the speakers and fans are screaming, holding signs and waving flags as the players warm up. It takes me only a moment to realize that my seat is almost directly behind the goalie net—and yes, I also learned that was a goalie net online—and that the Cold Fury are warming up on this end.

I enter my row, sliding past a family of four…mom and dad and two little boys, all decked out in Cold Fury jerseys. My seat is next, and to the left of it sits a young woman who looks to be about my age. She’s also wearing a Cold Fury jersey, although hers is white with the same tornado logo and black lettering. She has a beer in one hand and a pom-pom of silver and black in the other.

When I sit down, the girl—a blonde with gorgeous, curly, long hair—offers me a warm smile and then screams out at one of the players as they skate by, not three feet from our seats on the other side of the glass.

“Oh, my God,” she exclaims as she bumps me in the shoulder hard with her own and a little beer from her cup spills onto the concrete floor. “That was Garrett Samuelson. He is so f*cking hot.”

Glancing to the ice, I see the player she’s talking about and he is indeed hot. None of the players have their helmets on right now; he has dark brown hair that flows down to just past his chiseled jawline and I can see his green eyes glowing brightly. The girl screams louder out to the ice, “Marry me, Garrett!” and I start to roll my eyes at such a pathetic attempt to get his attention.

Much to my surprise, though, Garrett’s eyes follow the trail of her scream and light upon her. He gives her a flash of white teeth and blows her a kiss, and I swear, she almost falls to the floor in a dead faint.

“Oh, my f*cking 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*cking 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-f*cked 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 * to the fans. Rumor has it an * to his team as well. But God, he’s like the hottest player in the entire league, so I could definitely overlook that.”