Pucked (Pucked 1)

“Violet! Why are you still sleeping? We should’ve left ten minutes ago! We’ll miss the flight.” Her shrill morning voice functions as the worst kind of alarm.

I try to hide under a throw pillow, but she snatches it away.

“Get up, get up, get up!” She grabs my arm and pulls, forcing me to my feet.

Due to my complete lack of preparation, I pack in a rush, tossing clothes into a bag at random while I pull on jeans. I grab the first bra I find; it’s extra loud, boasting a fuchsia leopard-print pattern and black lace accents. I don’t have time to search for something else—not with my mom tapping her talon nails on my door, hovering as usual. I have the foresight to pack my copy of Tom Jones so I can finish it for Tuesday’s book club discussion.

My mom drags me to the car while I’m zipping up my bag, afraid we’ll miss our plane. She’s totally overreacting. We only have to speed-walk through the airport to make it to our gate for boarding.

Sidney, being the awesome guy he is, books first-class tickets. The seats are roomy and comfortable. This allows me to pass out until the flight attendant comes by to offer drinks. I ask for a mimosa—it’s mostly orange juice—and leaf through the copy of The Hockey News Sidney brought. It’s the same old, same old. Stats and more stats with a few pictures of disheveled, hot hockey players scattered within.

I abandon the magazine and pull out my copy of Tom Jones. Maybe it’ll bore me back to sleep. I’m annoyed I have to finish this for Tuesday. I like reading. Hell, I even took a couple of English lit classes in college purely for enjoyment. I might’ve enjoyed this book had it not followed on the heels of the fun, sex-filled stories I’ve partaken of lately.

After reading the same paragraph twenty times, I give up and play mindless games on my phone for the rest of the flight.

There’s a car waiting for us at the airport—because that’s how Sidney rolls—and we’re whisked away to the hotel. It’s the same one the team is staying at, so it’ll be easy to escape the after celebrations should the Hawks win.

However, we run into a bit of an issue with the hotel concierge. They’ve booked us a suite. This wasn’t part of the deal; I expected to have my own room. I bite my tongue and pretend it’s totally fine because I don’t want to appear ungrateful—even though I didn’t ask to come on this impromptu trip in the first place.

On the upside, the suite is huge. There’s a spacious living room, and I have my own bedroom with a private bath, complete with a Jacuzzi tub. I lock myself away and have a two-hour soak, where I once again try to read more of my book. I accidentally get the cover wet and have to lay it on the vent to dry.

Getting dressed is an adventure. I did a crap job packing. I’m fortunate enough to have a pair of black jeans to wear. Sadly, the only bra I have is the fuchsia one, which worked with the black hoodie I wore on the plane. However, I’m clean, so I’m not recycling the hoodie, and my options are limited to a pale pink tee or a blue one with stains on the boob. The pink one will have to do. I pull on the shirt and check out my reflection in the mirror. Oh yeah, the leopard print is way obvious through the thin fabric. I cover it up with a light sweater and call my outfit a success.

Glasses fog in arenas, so I jam in my contact lenses. I also look much less nerdy without glasses, and considering I have to meet a whole new set of teammates tonight, I’ll use all the anti-nerd help I can get.

By the time I finally get my contact lenses to stay on my eyeballs—it takes three tries—there isn’t time for my mom to assault my face with her pallet of eye shadow. She’s a big fan of blue. I always end up looking like someone from a 70s sitcom.

Armed with my wool coat and my messenger bag, which houses a scarf, mittens, hat, my semidry copy of Tom Jones, and my phone, I’m game ready. As an afterthought, I check for my pack of cigarettes. I don’t actually smoke. They’re my crutch when I want to extricate myself from uncomfortable social situations. It happens a lot. I’ve learned to release the smoke slowly so people don’t notice I’m not inhaling.

The arena is packed. Luckily, we have great seats, and Sidney knows everyone, so getting to the first row isn’t a problem. I settle in, appreciating the ample legroom and unobstructed view of center ice. Sidney orders a round of beers as the Hawks take the ice. Half the crowd explodes into cheers despite it being an away game.