Playing for Real - Book 2

Chapter 9

Quinn 

It's been six months, precisely one hundred and eighty-two days since I last saw him—four thousand three hundred and eight hours since he broke my heart. Attending a Tornadoes game with Aiden was not how I thought I would see Cash again or how I thought I would start my Spring Break.

I tried to escape it, but Aiden was so persistent that I came to the Tornadoes game with him. He said he didn't feel right accepting Tornado tickets from my father and taking someone else to the game. Even though I practically begged him to find anyone to go with him except me, he wouldn't take no for an answer.

And now I am feeling unsteady on my feet, struggling to figure out how to appear together and look like I'm okay and relaxed with being here. My heart is beating so hard I'm sure Aiden can hear it.

Coming to a Tornadoes game was a bad idea.

When I step through the automatic doors and into the arena, all the familiar sensations and memories hum against my skin. Aiden is leading the way and holding my hand. He probably thinks his hand in mine is a sweet and couple-like gesture between us. He doesn't know that I've purposely entwined my hand with his because if he wasn't holding onto me, I know I would run for it.

The ticket agent scans our tickets, and the smell of beer and fried food perfumes the air as we shuffle through the crowd into the concession area.

Chills shoot up my spine, and it isn't from the cold this time. It's from the life-size cutout of Cash in his hockey equipment beside a kiosk filled with Tornadoes merchandise. Even seeing a fake cardboard cutout of him makes me uneasy. I immediately recall how his arms felt wrapped around me, safe and kind, and how his breath warmed my neck. I remember the feel of his hungry mouth sucking at my neck, my shoulders, and my mouth.

"Should I get one of these?" Aiden's voice snaps me out of my thoughts and knocks me back to reality. He grabs a goofy hat from the kiosk stand and puts it on his head. It has the Tornadoes logo on the front, but it has fake gray wiry hair on top. It must be the world's ugliest hat-wig combo. "I've always wanted one."

"Get whatever you want," I say, watching Aiden take it off his head and check out the price tag. "But if you decide to wear that thing in the arena, I'll pretend I'm not with you," I tease.

He laughs, already pulling out his wallet to pay the cashier. "I'm sorry, Quinn. I can't pass up this hat. It's on sale." He slaps down forty dollars and meets my eyes. "Why don't I buy you one, too, so we can match?"

"No thanks," I say, laughing.

Aiden slides the hat onto his head. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"It's hideous."

"You know I must wear it during the game," Aiden smirks. "It's called team spirit."

"Awesome."

Aiden grins like a giddy little boy at his first game, ignoring my sarcasm. "Come on, let's go find our seats."

The arena is packed, and the air is charged with excitement and scented with beer and sweat. The lights dim, and the music pumps through the speakers, vibrating through the concrete, my feet, and my already trembling body. The Boston crowd boos when the gate flies open to unleash the visiting team, The Santa Anna Tornadoes. My heart pounds as I sit motionless beside Aiden, only five rows away from the ice, in a perfect view from the opposing bench.

I shiver as he breaks through his teammates, flying like lighting down the boards right past our seats. So here I am, watching Cash at a National Hockey League game, my body hyperaware of his presence while he has no idea I'm only thirty feet away from him.