Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
The pregame video begins to play; the highlight reel illuminates the arena, displaying Houston’s best plays from the season. Every goal, every hat trick, every save—it’s a montage designed to rile us up, and it works.
The crowd’s energy builds with every second, and I can feel the vibration of their cheers in my chest.
The lights go out.
Swirling blue and yellow spotlights sweep across the ice.
Smoke machines crank out thick billowing clouds along the player tunnel, and the first strains of Houston’s anthem blare through the speakers.
Dolly jumps beside me, clutching my arm as she screams along with the crowd and I grip my sign tightly as the announcer’s voice booms through the arena.
“Ladies adies and gentlemen…entleman,” the announcer's voice booms out an echo. “Please stand and and. For your Houston ouston. Baddiessss!”
The team bursts onto the ice, one by one, to thunderous applause and my eyes seek out Montagalo. He skates out last—the goalie always does—name echoing through the arena as the crowd roars and a few boos.
Yikes.
He skates in circles around the rink, his movements smooth and confident, and I tremble, excited, as I clutch this ridiculous sign.
Waiting.
“Think he sees me?”
“Not yet.” Dolly squints in his direction, chewing on her snack. “But give it time. You’re hard to miss with that obnoxious sign.”
I laugh, nudging her. “You’re jealous you didn’t make one.”
“Not jealous,” she says, holding up her pretzel like it’s the trophy of the night. “I know my priorities.”
Pucks fly in every direction as they pass, shoot, and slap them against the boards. The arena buzzes with anticipation, but my eyes are glued to one person—Montagalo.
He skates slowly. Deliberately.
Does laps around his crease, stretching and settling into his rhythm.
Every few laps, he veers out, circling past the blue line before coasting back, movements smooth, confident, and mesmerizing.
I sit frozen, gripping the sign in my fingers, holding my breath every time he gets closer to the place where we’re sitting.
Closer to the glass.
Close enough to…
“Relax.” Dolly laughs, nudging me with her elbow. “He’s some dude on skates.”
He’s not just a dude on skates.
My heart thuds in my chest as I lean forward, gripping the edge of my seat.
Literally on the edge of my seat.
I stand.
Dolly grabs the sign and thrusts it forward, glitter catching beneath the lights.
BETTER LUCK THIS TIME.
It beckons him.
On his next lap, he slows as he approaches our section, gloved hand pushing at his helmet and I swear he’s looking right at me.
My breath catches. For a moment—the briefest of moments—I think I’m imagining it. But then…he coasts closer still…stopping inside the blue line, and lifts his mask.
Oh my God.
It’s him.
I’m literally frozen, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. How did I not piece it together before? The easy smile, the confident swagger—it all makes sense now.
The realization hits me like a slapshot to the chest.
I insulted him. I told him he shit the bed.
That he was going through it.
To his face.
I mean—not to his face—I didn’t know at the time it was him, but you get what I’m saying!
My heart pounds as memories of that night at the bar flood back—the teasing remarks, the sarcastic comments, the way I scoffed at his “generous” offer of tickets because I didn’t think he’d follow through.
Oh, he followed through all right.
“I’m going to puke.”
I roasted him and he gave me the tickets anyway.
Oh he’s grinning at me alright, coming to a stop in front of our seats.
“Hey.” I see him mouth. “You made the sign.”
He points to it with his gloved hand and I want to die.
I…
I…
My mouth drops open and I watch as he leans forward, pursing his lips and presses them against the glass in a wet kiss.
Did he—did he just kiss it?
Yes he did.
There are lip prints to prove it.
The roar of the crowd around us barely registers because all I can focus on is him. The smirk as he winks, his gloved hand resting on the edge of the boards like this is the most normal, natural thing to do.
As if we were the only people here.
Dolly grabs my arm, shaking me. “Oh my God! Did that just happen? Did he seriously just do that?”
“I—” Words fail me. My mouth opens and closes like I’m a fish, brain scrambling to process what the hell happened.
I can’t move.
Can’t breathe.
All I can do is sit there, holding this ridiculous glitter-covered sign, while Gio Montagalo—the man I roasted within an inch of his life—stares me down like I’m the most entertaining thing he’s seen all night.
And maybe it is.
I’m shook.
In shock.
I’m…
As Gio skates away, blending back into the flow of warm-ups, I finally let out the breath. My heart is pounding, my grip on the glitter-covered sign so tight it’s a wonder I haven’t crushed it yet.
I let it fall to the ground.
Dolly nudges me hard enough to jolt me back to reality. “Okay, seriously. What the hell was that? What on earth is going on?”