Page 92 of Puck Yes
“You will?”
“I’d love to,” I say, genuinely thrilled at the idea.
“Sold,” she says, then like she did in Vegas, she studies me again, peering at my neck. I’m wearing a silver necklace with a skull and crossbones pendant. “The Pirates? The Swords? The Swashbucklers?” Then she rolls her eyes. “Swashbucklers sounds like someone swallowed a belt.”
“I won’t argue with you there,” I say, laughing.
“And what would that mascot costume even look like?” she muses.
“I hope not a blob,” I say.
Oh shit, I said that out loud. Is she going to be pissed?
“Or a sad cloud?” She sighs, and I’m relieved she agrees. “That was my husband’s idea. Why did I listen to him? I need a cute animal that’ll bite your face off.”
“That’s the new team name litmus test—cute but mean.”
She points at me and nods, silently conveyinggot it in one,before saying goodbye. On my way back to the equipment room, I hold my head up high, take out my phone, and send the text to the guys.
I’m not the same girl I was with Xander. The girl who accepted less. I’m the woman giving fashion tips to the powerful owner of an NHL team.
In the equipment room, I change quickly into my costume. This time I’m a polar bear, and I have to say I look pretty fucking fierce. Like a cute animal that’ll bite your face off. I set off down the hall toward the ice with my polar bear head under my arm. I hear someone behind me pick up the pace then mutter something that sounds likefuck it.
Before I can turn around, a familiar voice whispers, “Hey.”
It warms me up. I turn to Stefan, but he’s alone. Hayes isn’t around.
Stefan’s looking at me like that just doesn’t matter. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“Hi,” I say, tentatively.
Is this how it’ll be between him and me? But what does that mean when I’m still married to his teammate? And what was he sayingfuck itto?
“I got your text,” he responds.
And???
But I’ve already turned off my phone, and there’s no time to ask what he answered because Dev’s booming, “Let’s do this, Viking,” fills the corridor.
Stefan holds my gaze for a long, weighty beat, then mouthsI’m sorrybefore he turns to join his teammate.
What is he sorry for though? The gaze? The poor communication? The apologetic stare that lingered?
They walk ahead of me, and as I pull on my polar bear head, my human one is more muddled than ever.
* * *
In the first intermission, I skate circles around the Ice Crew as they sweep the rink. During the game, I whip up the crowds in the stands, urging them toroarwhen the Avengers—or maybe the soon-to-be Polar Bears—score.
The crowds don’t just roar. They growl, and hoot, and howl, and that gets the polar bear in me even more riled up. I shake my hips. I shimmy my butt. And I dance until it’s time to strap on my skates once more for the second intermission.
I glide across the ice on one furry leg, the other one sticking out behind me.
Laughter fills the arena as I continue my bear antics. When the clock ticks down toward the end of the period, Moses in the Ice Crew chases me with his broom.
But this bear is powerful. This bear is faster. I outrun him, heading toward the edge of the ice, then spin around and taunt him like we’re on a playground.You can’t catch me.
Then, like we rehearsed, I give him one last chance, and he tries to catch me. Oh hell, does he ever try. I fly down the ice, Moses at my blades, but when I reach the door to the tunnel, he slams into my back.