Page 52 of Offensive Plays

Her body stiffens as she turns to me, pulling her little purse closer to her body. She's visibly uncomfortable.

“And how do you know I wasn't just faking it to make you feel better?" she says, her nose pointed high as she stares up at me.

I step up to her once inside the building. "The way you dripped all over my mouth told me otherwise,” I lean in closer and whisper to her, "I watched your pussy clench, just aching for me to claim it…. butterfly.”

She clears her throat and looks around. "Well, I think you and I can both agree that that was a one-time thing."

"Doesn't have to be," I croon.

Her eyes glide down my body and shoot back up to my gaze. If I wasn't seeing things, I'd say Libby was just imagining what that might look like.

"Let's just get this over with Ferguson."

Ouch. And now I'm Ferguson. We're definitely going backwards here. She starts to march off in the direction of the ice, but I grab her wrist before she gets too far.

"Tell me you didn't love it, and I'll just forget it ever happened."

She glares at me. And I stare at her. Neither one of us breaks.

"Tell me you haven't thought of what it might feel like for us to take it further, Libby. Off the app. Tell me you don't want this and I'll let it go."

Her eyes look around the quiet arena. "I... can't say that."

A smile tugs on the corner of my lips.

"Good," I tell her, pulling her along with me toward the dressing room. Libby pauses right at the door.

"I can't go in there."

I look around confused. "It's just us."

"Nope," she slashes her arms in front of her. "I can't be in there. You guys are about to head into the conference finals, and I can't have anything interfering with that."

Ok. Now I'm really confused. I look at her and then back to the door. "Libby, are you...superstitious?"

"No," she quips, crossing her arms in front of her.

I think about all the games she attends. How she just recently started sitting in the same seat she sat in since the win that got us into the playoffs. She wears her brother's same jersey for every game. She insists on not stepping foot into our dressing room since it's technically for players and staff only.

"Libby," I smirk. "You're superstitious."

"No, I'm not. I'm just taking precautions. Just in case."

"For someone that claims not to be religious, you sure are religious about your hockey traditions."

"Well, aren't you?"

"No, I believe in something more. And that something will always know what's better in the long run whether I win or lose in the moment."

"Of course, you do. Spoken like a true pastor's son. Well, I'm not into all that faith talk, Fergie."

I nod, totally understanding what she means. I've seen the good and the bad of being in a community of faith. I've seen things twisted for the benefit of the church in spite of the harm it might do to the people. Libby, like so many others I know, chooses to stay away from it all.

I open the door to the room and usher her in. "That's alright. But you believing in all your pregame superstitions takes just as much faith as believing in a higher power. Just saying."

She shakes her head and hesitates before finally taking a step inside. She doesn't go very far into the room before she takes it all in.

I stop her just before her feet touch the Heatwave logo of a puck on fire. "We don't step on that."