Just a Pucking Prank [COMPLETED]

Chapter 28 - Coming over

Lydia

The entire arena is cheering. The game is tied with less than one minute on the clock. I can't help it, I'm on the edge of my seat.

Next to me, Trisha and Pres are shouting and cheering for our boys in black and yellow.

I watch Wes fly across the ice to intercept another player, and my heart jumps to my throat. He manages to stop the attack and get the puck away from the opposing team. With some covert movements, he passes the puck on to JD, who races back across the ice.

The crowd is going wild and I'm on my feet. I forget to shout as JD avoids the other players. It's just him and the other team's goalie.

I hold my breath as he takes his shot. Around me, the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer. I jump up and down and scream. The last few seconds of the timer fade away amidst the cheers and we are victorious.

On the ice, Wes is hugging the other players. They're celebrating another win.

Adrenaline is pumping through me as I try to catch Wes' eyes. For a moment, I think he's looking straight at me and smiling.

"We have to go to Lucky," Pres yells near me.

"Yes," Trisha says. "Everyone is going to be there."

I shake my head. "Sorry, I can't."

"Why not?" Pres asks.

I shrug. "I'm just not in the mood."

"Are you sick?" Trisha is looking at me like I must have a fever and three broken bones if I'm saying no to a night out.

"Just tired," I lie.

They soon give up trying to convince me and Pres drops me off at home before they head to the bar.

I enter the empty apartment and, suddenly, I'm nervous. Wes and I didn't make any further plans. Is he going to be hungry? I would assume so after that performance. Should I order something? Maybe he'll eat before he gets here?

I grab my phone. I should ask. But he's celebrating with his teammates right now. I don't want to intrude.

"Fucking hell." I toss the phone on the table and head for the bedroom. I can at least change into something a bit more comfortable. Since I for sure know we're not going anywhere, I might as well be comfy.

I put on a t-shirt and yoga pants. Good. I look good, but not as if I'm trying too hard. I'm only wearing a minimum of make-up and my hair is styled in a messy bun, so I leave it.

Nobody has ever informed me of the post game rituals that happen in the locker room, but I'm assuming the players shower at the very least. Maybe have a little chat?

Oh, god. What if he thought they were going to lose? What if he wants to go out with the others and celebrate? I grab my phone. Would he let me know? There's no message.

I almost text him again. Then I think better of it. If he wants to celebrate with them, he will, and then he'll be here later. Or not at all.

I settle in on the sofa with an episode of a show I've been watching. It's amateurs baking complicated desserts. It's funny.

I'm mid episode when the doorbell rings. My stomach clenches as I press pause.

Wes is standing outside looking sexy as hell with damp hair and a slight smile.

"Hey," I say.

"Hi."

"I wasn't sure if you would go out to celebrate?"