Delayed Penalty (19 page)

"That's Callie Pratt," Evan said, reaching behind the seat in his Audi for his suit jacket and a black bag. "She's going to sit with you tonight." He looked over at me, eyebrows raised, a slight smirk to his gorgeous lips. "Is that all right?"

I gave him a nod, my hand reaching for the door when his right one touched mine. "You sure you want to be around these rowdy fans?" he asked, softly.

"Yes…I want to see a live game."

Since seeing Evan on television in the hospital and then again at his parents' house, I couldn't get the idea of him playing out of my head, and I needed live visuals for that.

Evan gave a shake to his head, his grin growing. "All right then. Let's go."

When we stepped from Evan's car, Callie smiled my direction and then scrunched her nose at Evan. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Shut up," he said moving past her and bumping into her shoulder. "Callie, this is Ami. Be nice and keep out of trouble." He turned to me, smiling again, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Seriously, Evan, I'm fine." Evan laughed, and then he was walking into the back doors as Callie and I made our way to the ticket entrance. We said nothing to each other at first until she took my ticket out of my hand and handed it to the lady standing in the booth.

"So you're the girl Evan's all strung out on, eh?" Callie said as we walked into the United Center. Briefly, I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of all of this and the strums of fans that wildly supported their home team.

"I wouldn't say strung out. He's my knight in shining armor, though."

That got a grin out of Callie and made me smile, too.

I heard laughter as a group of girls dressed in tight jeans and low-cut shirts congregated around a large poster of Leo Orting, Evan's best friend, and snapped pictures. Callie, loud enough for them to hear, said, "Those are what the boys refer to as puck bunnies. Some get the term ice princess, or hockey hookers, others get glass lickers, and some, well...they don't even get names." She eyed the one wearing what appeared to be a hot pink tube sock.

"You're one to talk," one of them said to Callie. "Have you fucked the entire team yet?"

Callie didn't appear to be scathed by their comment and spouted off with, "No, haven't played the pipes with the goalie." She clicked her tongue and did a twirl. "But maybe tonight."

Was she joking?

Probably not.

I wouldn't have doubted that Callie had "
played the pipes"
with most of the players. She was beautiful and had a body girls dreamed about having. Her dark hair looked like she spent hours on it, but strangely enough it was that way naturally. She had wide chocolate eyes with thick black lashes and creamy olive skin. She looked like some kind of Brazilian goddess, the complete opposite of my light hair and blue eyes.

"Ready?" she asked, taking my hand and twirling it so it was hooked into her arm.

We were two rows back from the glass and right on center ice behind the Blackhawks bench. It felt like we would be in the action all night.

We settled in our seats next to two older gentleman, who appeared to be rooted in their seats, discussing the playoff potential of the teams.

"So this is your first game?" Callie asked, casually taking her flask from her bra and pouring what smelled like whiskey into her 7-Up bottle.

"Yeah." I watched her every move, and then she offered me the flask. I shook my head.

"Well, you're in for good night." She beamed at me. "These boys put on a good show at the United Center."

"It seems like it." A group of die-hard fans a few rows over were all decked out in Blackhawk jerseys, painted faces, and beads.

I had never been to a hockey game before, nor did I know a damn thing about the game or the players. If you had said to me, "Hey, there's a hockey player." I would have looked for the guy with missing teeth. Evan Masen was never what I expected.

"Evan said you just moved here in November. Where are you from?"

"I'm from a small town in Oregon…Lebanon."

Callie nodded. She had no idea where that was. "I'm from here. Born and raised in Chicago."

"So have you always been a Blackhawks fan?"

"Yep." Callie gave another nod before taking a drink of her beer. "Been coming to the games since I was just a kid. My dad is a broadcaster." She gave an uninterested roll of her eyes to the glass high above the United Center where the press were.

A guy two rows behind us yelled Callie's name, apparently she knew him, and they talked for a few minutes. When they finished, she rolled her eyes. "His parents are assholes."

"He seemed nice," I offered, laughing at how laid back she was. I was feeling at home with her and could see myself being friends with her.

"Yeah, he is nice. His parents are still assholes, though." She gazed back at him for a minute. "His looks make up for it."

"He's…attractive." He was. It wasn't a lie. Not really my type, but he was cute.

"Killer body, yes, but his face would be better if it was framed by my thighs." Callie sighed.

"Do you know all the players with the Blackhawks?"

"Yeah, I know the starting four lines pretty well." She winked. "Some better than others. I know Leo, Remy, Travis, Cage and Evan. All good guys."

"So what's Evan like?" I enjoyed getting this answer from different people and was relieved to know they all had the same response.

"Evan is…well, he's an all heart type of guy." I knew that from his mom. "He'll stand up for his friends, but since I've known him, he hasn't really been outgoing like Leo. He's much more quiet and content with keeping to himself, eerie quiet sometimes. You'll never see him offering up interviews, and the media is lucky if they can get him to talk. He's a homebody. His first season in the NHL he spent a lot of time flying home to see his family. His only problem is women these days. They see him like a shiny prize, but he's far from that. He'd rather stay in the shadows."

That I could understand. Hell, I didn't even know he was a hockey player for the longest time.

"Oh," I said, feeling slightly uncomfortable that Callie knew him so well.

"Are you friends with Leo?"

"Yeah, and Remy, too. We all hang out quite a bit. I've been with both on a few drunken occasions." Callie chewed on her lip for a minute. "It's not like I had a relationship with either though. Remy isn't that type of guy, and Leo, well, we're too much alike. I'm afraid we would kill each other. He pisses me off sometimes."

The screams of those around us intensified as the players came on to the ice forming two circles on either side of the rink, one a mass of red, black, and white, the other white and blue. I looked out over the ice to where the players were now taking turns shooting pucks at the net. With the heavy pads and plastic masks over their faces, it was hard to tell who was who.

"The size of the skate doesn't match up with that one." Callie said, as if there was nothing wrong with dishing details on the team. She pointed to Colby Bentz, the guy skating past the glass with his stick raised over his head in what appeared to be some sort of stretch. "And that one, she pointed to number twenty-two with the name Gains on his jersey. "He's a biter."

"A biter?"

"Yeah, little fucker bit the inside of my thigh one night, and it looked like someone had suction cupped my thigh." Her eyes lifted from the action on the ice to mine. "The worst part was I had a vag appointment the next day. My gyno got a good look at the bite mark on the inside of my thigh. I'll never touch Tyler again."

"What did your doctor say?" I whispered, amused that she was talking about this.

Callie waved her hand around, spilling her drink on the kid in front of us, as if this wasn't embarrassing to talk about. "She doesn't judge me."

"Mase has been distracted lately," a man in front of us said. "His head isn't in it."

Callie shifted in her seat, her hips pushed forward, and she kneed the man in the back. "Oh, sorry," she said, clearly not sorry.

The man glared, undeterred by her.

I flitted my gaze over the players, trying to read the names on their jerseys as they moved, finally landing on number five: Masen. He was facing away from me, waiting for his turn at the net and casually passing a puck back and forth with his stick. When his turn came, he took off like a flash, crossing the ice smoothly, passing the puck from one side of his stick to the other, before launching it at the goalie. As he circled around that back of the net and toward the end of the line, he looked my direction, winking, as he skated lazily back and forth in the line.

Whenever I thought about Evan, the image of him naked was never far from my mind. And damn if that image wasn't there while watching him. It was so disturbing that I found myself squirming around in the seat, trying not to think about him.

Skating by again, to tease me I assume, he came to a sudden halt near the glass and tapped his stick against it, a tidal wave of ice shavings caught my eyes, but the movement around me wasn't there.
Was he flirting?

My breath caught in my throat when our eyes connected through the glass of the boards. The intensity of his stare made it feel like we were in his condo again while he watched me sleep.

Evan shook his head a bit with a crooked grin before lifting his gloved hand in a slight wave. I returned the gesture shyly, biting my lip when I realized how wide I was grinning. I probably looked like all the other girls pressed against the glass.

A harsh buzzer resonated through the arena, and Evan skated off the ice with the rest of his teammates to the left of us, glancing back at me once.

My gaze followed until I could no longer see him.

Callie cleared her throat and rolled her eyes. "You should take a drink now." Once again, she pushed the flask my direction.

"No," I said, pushing it back with a smile. I was trying to sound cool, but the butterflies in my stomach from seeing Evan on the ice were doing a lot of flapping. "I'm actually on a lot of medications right now from an infection I got. Probably not wise to drink."

"That sucks."

The Zamboni circled the ice, glossing over the blade marks from the warm ups while Callie and I made conversation. She gave me the lowdown on hockey, but I knew a little from what Sam had told me and watching all those videos of Evan in his first season and the Major Juniors.

Soon enough, the lights faded, and the entire arena went completely dark. A loud rock song came on over the speakers while video clips, showing highlights from previous games, played on the screen of the jumbotron, to get the fans pumped up.

"Chicago…on your feet! Here they come! Your Chicago Blackhawks!" the announcer rumbled as spotlights washed over the crowd and a loud foghorn blared.

The hum of the crowd intensified before erupting into a full on scream as the lights in the United Center went down. Foghorns and screams steady, the lights stayed low, as players skated in to the tune of "Stranglehold."

They circled the ice counterclockwise, scattering in every direction, with the opposing team to the right of the rink. Green, yellow, red, and blue spotlights were on center ice as the announcer came on.

"Your starting line-up for the Chicago Blackhawks. On defense, number thirteen, Dave Keller. On right wing, number six, Travis Sono. On center, number eight, Leo Orting. On defense, number five, Evan Masen. On left wing, number forty-two, Remy Carson. Your goalie, number sixty-six, Cage Breezin." More screams followed, all twenty thousand fans on their feet, including me. "And now…your National Anthem."

I caught Evan looking over at me again. Once again, I couldn't look away.

After the National Anthem, the players took their positions; Leo was center ice with Evan farther down on the line, next to one of the Canucks players who appeared to be the same height and build as him.

Leo waited, the ref poised between him and the Canucks center as they awaited the drop of the puck to put the game into play. I held my breath when the puck fell, and instantly I was swept away by the speed and aggression of professional hockey.

Callie was intense. She was shouting and cheering them on, especially when they were in control of the puck. I wouldn't mess with Callie. Not after watching her tiny ass shouting at players three times her size. Every word she said was laced with so much sass, she reminded me of a chihuahua taking on a bullmastiff.

Play came to a halt at center ice when the number forty-two Blackhawk got into it with one of the Canucks.

Evan was on the bench, his face red, shouting his own spew of words at the two, apparently upset.

"Those two are always at it," Callie said, motioning to Remy Carson, left wingman for our team.

Look at me. Our team?

Evan jumped over the boards and back on the ice, my eyes glued to him.

"Ahem..." Callie cleared her throat, and I looked over at her sheepishly. "You're watching his hips, aren't you?"

Turning my head, I tried to focus back on the game. I could feel her staring at me as I watched Evan on the ice. It was making me really uncomfortable, and the thought of maybe kicking something or asking those guys in the green jumpsuits to distract her looked pretty good. I did none of that and decided to just tell the truth.

"What? No…yes…is that bad?" I didn't bother to argue.

"No." She smiled, bringing her drink to her lips. "Evan's got moves," she said flippantly, shrugging as if she hadn't said the one thing that could get me to blush.

There was a lot to be said about attending a live hockey game. You could actually hear the sights and sounds, but you could also feel the skates grating against the ice, the sticks hacking at the puck, the hard checks into the boards, the grunts from the players, whistles, yelling, shoving, and chirping—all part of the game experience.

I loved watching Evan. He was quick, but any time I caught a glimpse of him with his hair wildly sticking out past his helmet, wet from the exertion, and his cheeks flushed, I was hooked. I would be a hockey fan for life now.

"Fuck!" Callie shook her head, raising her drink. "He's not watching Kolten."