Page 23 of Triple Puck Valentines

The teams go to their locker rooms not suitably chastened. Both groups still arrogant enough to believetheyare in the right.Theyare the best.Theyare the ones who triumphed. I hate to tell the other team, but they are losers. L. O. S. E. R. S.

My lips twitch up at the ends at my musings and I skip down the metal stairs of the arena, my medium-heel boots clacking when they smack against the surface. Skipping. I haven’t skipped since… since I can’t remember when. At thirty years old you don’t do that. You walk sedately, but I’m too excited tonight to do sedate.

I shiver in anticipation and consternation. What if everyone at the after-party shuns me? Makes fun of me? But I won’t know unless I try. What could be worse? Not trying. That would be worse. My bottom lip trembles and fear almost overcomes my senses, but I toss my head back, flinging my long dark brown hair that flies about my face. I’m doing this. Hear me roar.

Indecision races through my mind. How should I do this? What do I say? I continue my jaunt, weaving through the throngs of merrymaking fans, trying not to brush against people or get beer spilled on me.

A small line of impressively dressed people is visible to the depths inside the arena. I am on that list. I used my famous father for entry. I hated to do that because he might find out I’m here, and I’ll never hear the end of his recriminations. I have to use whatever means necessary to get inside and officially meet them.

I clutch tight the card in my hand that will allow me entrance inside the victory party, the edges biting into my palm. I’m not dressed as fancy as the others in line. Designer jeans with impeccably placed tears, shoes with that unmistakable red sole.

My father hates that I shop at Walmart, but that’s who I am. Not highly sought-after brand names. I slip into the shadows. Behind the scenes. Not stand out like he and his wife-for-the-moment do.

Another step forward. And another. One more person, and I’m inside. My breath shudders and stutters, my lungs tight as if they’re being squeezed by a vise. Light breaths, I repeat to myself.

“Your card?”

My hand thrusts out as if it has a mind of its own, a tremble making my fingers quiver. A hand-held machine swipes back and forth until a green light flashes over the top. “Okay. Go on in. Have fun.”

I don’t even notice the security that lets me into the huge reception room that is lit with chandeliers that resemble balloons of sparkling colored lights. Banners are strung across the room “Bay City Brawlers,” “Winners,” and “Champions.” A light pine bar fills part of the room, four stools lined up in front. A white-coated bartender stands behind it, waiting for the opportunity to make cocktails.

Two big tables line two intersecting walls, platters with different kinds of foods and hors d’oeuvres heaping both tables. I stroll up to the bar, requesting an orange soda with seltzer.

No alcohol for me yet. I need my wits about me. The bartender glances, takes in my black Terra & Sky jeans and flowy, light-green shirt with pearl buttons that match my eyes, flaps light against the skin on my stomach and back. I thought it was sexy, but it doesn’t do it for him. He glances away as quickly as he can. That’s fine with me. I’m not interested in him anyway. I’m waiting for three hockey players.

The room packs fast with hockey enthusiasts. People from different walks of life from the looks of them. From where I sit on a stool with my soda spritzer in a hidden corner of the bar, surrounded by tall palms and dieffenbachia, I people watch.

Regular folk as well as the wealthy fill the room. They aren’t wanting to rub shoulders necessarily with the not so well off, but everyone is getting along.

“Hey. Why is a pretty lady like you sitting by herself way over here?” I jump, and my startled movement sloshes some of the liquid out of the glass.

I glance at the man who stands beside me, an “I’m everything including the chocolate” smile on his face. All sparkling white teeth and pink gums. There is a shiftiness to his smile I don’t trust.

“Just people watching.” I raise the glass to my lips, taking a sip, peering at him over my glass. My ankles cross, the tips of my boots barely touching the top rung of the stool.

“Great game, huh?” He leans back, his elbows resting against the side of the bar, glancing out about the rapidly filling room.

“Ah. Yeah. Great.” I press my cheek against my shoulder, and rub up and down, not sure what is happening with this conversation. I’m uncomfortable, yes. Uncertain, yes. Skeptical, yes. I don’t know how to get him to leave me alone.

Whoops and cheers start being called throughout the room and the players enter. I stretch my neck out, trying for an impression of a swan. Not an attractive one, either. I slide off my stool with a bump of my boots, waving a hand at the guy. Tiny squirrels jump and chitter in my stomach. Finally, a chance to escape.

I weave my way around the fluid crowd that blocks my way, squeezing, people cramming themselves close to each other. Dodging, ducking and evading the packed throng, I worm around until I’m at the front, triumph sparking like the high note C of a soprano.

The players changed out of their uniforms into street clothes, most in jeans and t-shirts. Some have suit jackets on, ready for a night on the town. They merge into the crowd, grins and laughter lightening their faces, and a bounce on their feet with the exultation of victory as if they are about to leap onto a stage.

As each man blends into the swarm, three men stand out by their overpowering presence. There they are. Jesse Barone, Abel Wayne and Hutch Adams, standing together. Their eyes scour the room, searching. What for? They could have new girlfriends that haven’t showed up on social media.

I step back, doing my best to blend in again. Attempt to be part of the anonymous people. Now that what I want is here within reach, fear smashes my confidence into billions of pieces.

The wall of humanity behind me prevents my disappearing into anonymity. Frantic now, my eyes wide, I try to shove my way back into the crowd. My head turns, my mouth wide open.

The wall of humanity is solid. Dread, panic and tension envelop my senses. Overpowers my mind. A gasp escapes, my mouth and chin tremble, and I try to hide behind a rather large man. Round, tall, and wide. He won’t have any of that and pushes me in front of him.

Waves of laughter escape at my mindless dilemma. Moments ago, being with them was the most important to me. Now dread takes hold and I have no idea why. The laughter that fills the room could be one reason. The men I want to be with… fear of their laughter could be another.

I’m shoved forward and their gazes center on me. Their eyes widen, their hard chests rise on a deep inhale when they gape.

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