Bethany can’t help but smile, turning in her seat to fully face us. The guy next to her glares when her ponytail swats him. Bethany either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice.
“You have to admit,” she begins. “Bethany Creshaw has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Oh, I’m sure her Japanese parents would just love for her to take the name of a white man instead of hyphenating like they complained about with her last serious boyfriend.
Granted, his last name was Bottom.
Bethany Bottom doesn’t sound too appealing, I suppose.
“You’re insufferable.” I laugh while stealing a sip from Sarah’s diet soda.
She doesn’t say anything about me insisting earlier that I didn’t want one. Instead, she flicks my jean-clad thigh but allows the theft to happen.
“I might have to fight your dad though, D.” Bethany reaches over me yet again to grab the popcorn from Sarah. “He keeps yelling at my future husband.”
I take a few more sips before answering, “Yeah, well tell your future husband to do his job.”
“Which is…?”
“Blocking shots, intercepting passes, supporting the goalie—”
“Oh.” Sarah’s eyes narrow in the direction of the game happening out on the ice. “Yeah, I’m no expert but you sure he should be your pick of the litter, Beth?”
Bethany apparently takes the comment personally, although she’s never spoken to the guy, because she’s now the one throwing popcorn.
I’m sure the people sitting nearby hate us but I don’t care enough to try and put a stop to it. I just lean back instead so that I’m not in the crossfire.
My gaze falls back onto the game, eyes scanning the ice until they land on Lucas, who I’ve been trying really hard to ignore. But it’s kind of hard to do that when he’s The Griffins’ golden boy, and for good reason.
The black and gold uniform somehow looks better on him than anyone else. The number eight sprawled out on his back and the way he effortlessly glides across the ice make it hard not to do anything but look.
I can feel his energy even from the stands.
Lucas has no problem with being the life of the party. No hesitation in talking to any and everyone but it just amplifies when he’s out on the ice.
Even from here and past his helmet, I can see the intoxicating smile on his face whenever the Griffins make a shot. Or the way he never makes the game about him, despite being the fan favorite. He works alongside his team. Not overtaking the game.
The rare moments he is sitting on the players’ bench, he’s encouraging his team from the sidelines. Arm thrown over a teammate’s shoulders, sparkle in his eyes, head thrown back in laughter that I can’t hear over the crowd but can clearly picture it if I closed my eyes.
Fucking pisses me off.
Needing to bring myself back down to reality and out of whatever Lucas fantasy I’ve been finding myself in recently, I take the popcorn bucket from Bethany’s hands and put a few pieces in my mouth.
Both Sarah and Bethany look at me but I don’t have the energy to explain a damn thing to them. Not that there’s anything to explain, of course.
Instead, I shrug my shoulders and gesture with my free hand at Moose, who’s now sitting on the players’ bench. “In my dad’s defense, Moose has been out most of the season,” I say.
Bethany gasps, no longer interested in her attack on Sarah. “What happened?”
“He tore his rotator cuff.”
Bethany’s eyebrows furrow and she opens her mouth to speak but I beat her to the punch, already knowing the one hundredth question of the evening is going to be asked.
“You’re gonna have to look that one up, Beth.”
She rolls her eyes but goes to pull out her phone from her back pocket, regardless. The crowd boos and I look away from Lucas to see that number nineteen, Preston Nole, checks one of the opposing players into the boards harder than necessary. The referee blows the whistle.
Bethany covers her ears with her hands and Sarah nudges me.