… which turned out to be an indoor ice-skating rink.
That alone didn’t surprise me. It seemed a little kitschy maybe, and overly romantic. But these were alpha guys. And alpha guys usually learned everything they knew about romance by watching romcoms and cheesy movies.
What did surprise me however, was what awaited me when I got inside. Which was less like Serendipity, and more like… Youngblood.
“Savannah!”
It took me a second to turn around, but when I did I was staring right into a brightly-painted hockey mask. Red and black. Gold accents. Horns.
Horns?
The man in the mask flipped it up over his head, revealing Zane’s broad, childlike grin.
“It’s me!”
“I can see that,” I chuckled.
Erik and Roman skated over, the two of them wearing jerseys identical to Zane’s. They looked even bigger and broader than normal, all padded up with protective gear.
“You all play hockey together on the same team?”
“Uh huh,” said Erik. He jerked a thumb at the fierce-yet-cartoonish logo in the center of his chest. “We’re the Junior Demons.”
“Slick.”
“The game shouldn’t be long,” said Roman, his mouthpiece hanging down near his chin. “Maybe an hour. Maybe less.”
“Depends on the number of penalties,” said Erik, jabbing him sideways with the butt end of his stick.
“Hey, sometimes you gotta have penalties,” Roman smiled.
A whistle blew loudly, causing everyone to skate off to the other side of the boards. Zane flipped his mask back down over his face using the webbing of his goalie’s glove.
“Gotta fly,” he said, pointing in the general direction of the ceiling. “Cheer for us! You can sit up there.”
Off to one side, a series of high bleachers rose out over the ice rink. I took the cement staircase that led up to them, then settled down somewhere in the front row. My view was perfect, even with the protective plexiglass wall.
Hockey, eh?
The whistle blew again, and one of the referees dropped a spinning black puck. Players from each team pounced on it almost immediately, as loud clacks and scrapes rose up from the rink below.
That’s a new one.
The players were big, the action fierce and combative. And the speed! I couldn’t believe how fast they skated, and how quickly they could turn or skid to a ice-sh
aving stop. My heart was pounding, trying to keep up with Erik and Roman, watching their numbers. It skipped a beat every time someone slapped a shot Zane’s way.
For the better part of an hour I sat shivering in the upper bleachers, not realizing how cold an ice rink could be. But the game went fast. Players smashed the boards so hard it was a miracle some of them got up right away. Others crashed into each other. There was shouting and shooting, screams and celebration. Grown men colliding with one another at twenty or thirty miles per hour.
I had to admit, it was all kinda hot.
I’d never seen a hockey game before, at least not in person. By the time it was over, I realized I’d been on the edge of my seat the whole time.
The game ended in a 3-5 deficit, and I found myself lamenting the loss. I climbed back down to find the guys already waiting for me, clapping the rest of the team on the back as they walked awkwardly off on their skates.
“Sorry,” Erik apologized sheepishly. “We’re not very good.”
“It was close,” I countered. “Real close.”