Part 17 (1/2)

I shot her a warning look over my cup, but it was a waste of effort. I turned, ”Hi,” I said.

Marcus was wearing the same heavy jacket he'd had on at Wisteria Hill, as well as black ski pants and oversized gloves.

”Have you tried the puck shoot yet?” Maggie asked, gesturing at the game.

He shook his head. ”I just got here. How about you?”

”We were on the sliding hill,” I said. I held up my hot chocolate. ”We came over here to get warm.”

Beside me, Maggie took a step forward, and I realized we had somehow ended up in the puck-shoot line. ”Maggie, how did we get in this line?” I asked.

She looked around. ”I'm not sure.” She looked at Marcus. ”Do you want to go ahead of us?”

”You're not going to try it?” he asked.

”Maybe when my fingers get a little warmer. I think I need to at least be able to feel them before I pick up a hockey stick.”

Marcus looked at me. ”Hockey is probably not your sport,” he said.

I could hear just a touch of condescension in his voice. At least I thought I could. ”I wouldn't want to make you look bad,” I said lightly.

He laughed.

I would've let it go. I really would have, if he hadn't laughed. ”You don't think I could beat you?”

”I've been playing hockey since I could walk,” he said. ”It wouldn't be a fair contest.”

I handed my hot chocolate to Maggie. ”I could play left-handed, if that would make you feel better,” I said with a small smile.

We were at the front of the line. The teenage boy running the game handed me a hockey stick and held one out to Marcus. He hesitated.

I had already stepped over the low wooden barrier onto the playing surface. ”You coming?” I asked, making sure the challenge was evident in my voice and my posture.

He shrugged, trying to look casual about the whole thing. I could tell from the way he sized up the playing surface and the tightness in his jaw that he wanted to play. Marcus Gordon was compet.i.tive.

That was okay. So was I.

The puck shoot was actually more like a game of one-on-one street hockey. The s.p.a.ce was snow packed, not too slippery yet. The net was at the far end. Instead of a puck we had a fluorescent pink ball. Marcus took the other stick and stepped onto the snow.

”You have five minutes,” the teenager said. He stepped over the barrier, holding the ball for the face-off. I leaned forward, stick on the ground, and Marcus leaned in, as well, a smile pulling at the corners of his eyes and mouth. ”Most goals wins,” the young man said. ”No head b.u.t.ts. No groin hits. Body checks are okay. Like I said, you got five minutes.” He held the ball up over his head and dropped it.

I got my stick on it first, faked right, went left and whipped the ball into the net with my blistering slap shot. Behind me everyone cheered. I grinned at Marcus.

He didn't smile back.

It was about to get fun.

He was ready for me on the next face-off. He got the ball first, but when he pulled back his stick to shoot I flicked it away and raced to the net.

Score!

We'd attracted a crowd and they went crazy cheering, and I shamelessly played to them, making a dramatic, sweeping bow.

He beat me on the next face-off, then faked me out by pretending to make a move for the net and instead going backward. It was two-one.

I won the next face-off, literally ducking under him to shoot. Three-one.

Even though I knew I'd won, I went all out the last time. Marcus got the ball first, but when he flicked his eyes away for just a second to set up a shot, I hipchecked him. He lost his balance and toppled over onto the snow.

I went right for the clearest shot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him stretch his stick across the snow to hook me. I timed it perfectly, jumping dramatically over the stick as it swept across the snow, and then whipped my own stick back and scored just as the buzzer sounded.

As they like to say in hockey, the crowd went wild.

To show I was a good sport I walked over to Marcus and offered him a hand up. Because he was a good sport he took it. We got a round of applause as he got to his feet.

”Wow!” Maggie said, as I joined her after several high-fives and a couple of fist b.u.mps. ”Where did you learn to play like that?” She handed me my hot chocolate.

”Yeah, where did you learn to play like that?” Marcus asked, brus.h.i.+ng snow off his jacket.

My face was flushed and I was sweating. ”Parking lots and back alleys,” I said. I took a sip of my hot chocolate as we moved over to let the next players by. It was cold.

Maggie looked skeptical. ”Seriously?”

”Seriously,” I said. ”You know my parents did a lot of summer stock. I hung out with the backstage crew when there weren't any kids to hang out with.” I detoured sideways into the canteen line. ”They played a lot of street hockey.”

”I owe you another one of those,” Marcus said, gesturing at my cup.

”No, you don't.”

Behind him Mags was glaring at me. We were already in the line and I wasn't going to gain anything by arguing with him, so all I did was smile. ”Thanks,” I said.

When we got to the head of the line, he bought one hot chocolate for me and a second for himself, after offering Maggie one, too. She held up her empty cup and declined.

Marcus lifted his drink in a toast to me. ”You owe me a rematch.” Then he smiled at us and said, ”Have a good night.” And disappeared into the crowd.

Maggie was watching me, hands behind her back. ”You're not going to tell me I should've let him win, are you?” I said. She wrinkled her nose at me. ”No. That was great.”

”So are you going to give me the gosh-you're-so-cute-as-a-couple speech?”

She shook her head as we started walking. ”No. I give up.”

”Good,” I said, taking a drink from my cup. The hot chocolate was steaming.

”You did look good, though, the two of you chasing that little ball.”

”Mags,” I said. ”You'd have better luck getting Roma and Eddie-the real Eddie-together.”