Playing for Real - Book 2

Chapter 9

The speakers crackle as the announcer comes on the microphone, and I almost jump out of my skin. He announces the home team, the Boston Hackers, and the crowd goes wild, screaming and cheering at a feverish pace. Both teams skate in circles around their sides of the rink, warming up. They take slap shots at their goalie, dance the puck around with their stick, and fire shots against the boards.

I slump down in my seat, praying that Cash doesn't look up into the crowd and see me sitting here with Aiden. I'm almost desperate enough to disguise myself. I think about taking that ugly wig-hat off Aiden's head and putting it on mine. I'm that worried Cash will pick me out of this wild and unruly crowd. It's not like he hasn't done it before.

The cheers settle, and I watch Cash's muscular body skate circles around his teammates as they beeline it toward the bench. One of the coaches opens the gate, and the players fly through. My eyes absorb every inch of him skating to center ice with that patented smirk of his, his bright blue eyes blazing with intensity.

"These seats are amazing," Aiden says from my right. "Your dad is so awesome for getting us this close."

Too amazing. And way too close.

My mouth is dry as the puck drops. The game is fast, rough, and wild. My heart whams into my chest when Cash takes his tenth shot on the net only five minutes into the first period. The goalie stopped every single one of his shots. Luck is not on Cash's side tonight—his eleventh shot pings off the post, and the crowd cheers and screams. When Cash slams a Hackers defender into the boards —JENKINS is written on the back of his jersey—it feels like the entire arena thunders from his force.

Beside me, a girl my age, who's showing way too much cleavage, jumps up and down and screams like a lunatic. "Go, Cash, Go! I'll let you slam me like that anytime!"

I wince and feel a surge of untamable jealousy I wasn't expecting. God, I hate him. And I especially hate her. And even more so, I hate being here. His female fan base reminds me of my unresolved emotions for him and catapults my fears to a new level. I quake inside at the thought of his fake and deceitful life, too many reminders crashing down all around me.

I want to leave.

"This game is crazy intense," Aiden yells over the noise.

Cash regains control of the puck from a quick pass by one of his teammates. As he skates toward Jenkins, the defender he slammed into the boards only seconds ago, I can see a flicker of vengeance in Jenkin's eyes. As Cash flies along the boards, up toward the net, the energy in the room is palpable as it shifts from cheers to tension. Just as Cash attempts to crack another shot, Jenkins cross-checks him. Cash hits the boards and crashes onto the ice.

The crowd cheers and claps at the defender's attack. Jenkins is thrown into the penalty box.

"Cash Brooks is on fire tonight," Aiden says with the slightest bit of strain.

I know he's probably waiting for my reaction. Aiden has never come out and said he knows Cash was the reason he found me crying in a hotel room with a broken phone. But I know Aiden would love to ask me a hundred questions if given the chance.

"Knock 'em dead, Jenkins!" someone yells.

"He's just a washed-up drunk anyway!" another screams.

I want to turn around and slap them into silence. My skin burns slightly at how the crowd reacts to the hit on Cash. I have this gut instinct to protect him. Finally, when I see Cash get up, I take a deep breath to cool off and watch him skate after the puck.

Relax Quinn. He's not your problem anymore.

"I think I'm going to grab a beer. Want anything?" Aiden asks.