Maisie, Otis, and JJ were the other ‘regular’ ticket holders who sat with me.
They fully knew I had a long-standing crush on Cut Ryder.
Maisie and Otis were married, a retired couple, and they were as religious about coming to these games as I was. JJ was younger than them, but older than me. She wasn’t as regular as we were, but she was a strong second runner-up.
“I know.” He hadn’t looked up when they came out to the ice, and I’d been worried. I didn’t know why. They never looked up, or rarely did. On occasion, if someone called out and it happened to be timed just right where the music and the announcer wasn’t as loud, they’d look up, but again, that was such a rarity.
But Maisie wasn’t wrong.
Cut was checking more forceful than other times. He was cutting across the ice. He was skating around the others in circles and doing it in a way that was almost humiliating to the other team. The enforcer had come out a few times against him, but it didn’t seem to bother Cut. He rushed right back at the enforcer, heading to the box, double his normal speed.
His mood was also working for him.
He scored three times by himself, weaving in and out and not needing an assist from any teammate. Cut’s mood had infected his team, and now all of them were on the edge, a bit more aggressive than normal. The crowd was loving it. Me, not so much. Games like this ended with someone’s blood on the ice. Blood had already been spilled, but I knew there’d be more. A full team fight was in the making, and Cut was leading the charge.
Otis leaned around his wife, his face grizzled and his beard with patches of white and black. “You know him the best. What do you think’s the reason?”
I did, but no way was I copping to that with them. Not these people. I adored them.
“I don’t know.”
Otis frowned, his wrinkles clearly defined. When I first met Otis, I’d been fanstruck thinking he was someone else. I couldn’t speak. He could’ve been Otis Taylor’s twin, a famous black musician, but they shared the first name. I’d seen recent images of Otis Taylor, and my Otis had half his hair, though both had the same blue eyes. Maisie was almost the exact opposite. Otis came to the games in a hoodie and a ball cap. Both were always torn up and shredded on the ends.
Maisie had carrot-like hair, a bright orange and red. A spray of freckles over her round cheeks. They were the couple that while Otis was gripping the team’s program to shreds during every game, Maisie pulled out her latest crocheting project. She’d done five blankets so far, and she was working on a pair of gloves for their granddaughter now. I loved these people, even though the only thing we shared in common was a love of hockey.
JJ sat behind us, and she held the two seats beside her. Sometimes she came alone, sometimes she brought friends. Today was a day she brought friends, and they were annoying me. JJ was probably ten years older than I was. Mid to upper-thirties or even younger forties. I’d never had the courage to ask, but she kept her hair gray. I overheard Maisie ask her one time if she dyed it that color, and JJ responded, “Nah. I went gray early, and I’m too cheap to keep buying hair product for it. I don’t mind the color. I kinda like it.” And that was that, but JJ spent her money on other items. She and Maisie had a full conversation about the best places to vacation in the Ozarks. From what JJ was saying, she had a big house there already. I didn’t know what JJ did for a living, but she obviously did well for herself.
She always wore the same outfit. Jeans. A Cut jersey. (I didn’t hold it against her. His was the most-sold jersey.) And a red ball cap for the local football team, too.
“Girl.”
That always made me smile. Reminded me of Sasha and Melanie.
JJ leaned down, adding as she cupped her hand to mask her words from her friends, “That boy could be my son and I’m up here about to climax. Jay-sus, you know?” She winked, lightly touching her fist to my shoulder before leaning back.
Maisie half-turned in her seat. She beckoned.
JJ responded, leaning back down.
Maisie’s eyes shifted to JJ’s friends. “Who do you have with you today?”
JJ’s eyes turned sly and she crouched down between the seats, lowering her voice. Her breath was hot and beer-y. “I mentor the one girl, and she asked if her friend could come.”
I could feel Maisie’s excitement, but she was refraining. Or trying. She jerked in her seat, her eyes getting big, and then she let loose in a rushed breath. “What do you do? What kind of mentoring?”