KISS CAM

THE ARROGANT CAPTAIN

He stopped at the glass close enough that I could see the fog of his breath against it, chest still rising and falling from the game, helmet pushed back off his forehead now.

"Lily," I said, not moving my eyes off him. "Why is he coming over here."

"I don't know. Maybe he liked the roughing comment."

"That's not a thing that happens."

"Clearly it is, because he's still coming."

He reached the boards and leaned an elbow against them, looking down at me with an expression that managed to be both amused and completely unbothered, like this was a thing he did every night instead of a thing that should, statistically, never happen to me.

"You," he said. "Roughing girl."

"I have a name."

"I'm sure you do. You gonna share it or keep me guessing?"

"Depends how the next thirty seconds go."

He laughed again, that same short surprised sound from before, like I kept catching him off guard and he wasn't used to it.

"Fair enough," he said. "I'm Ryan."

"I know who you are. The entire building knows who you are. They spent five minutes screaming your name earlier."

"You didn't scream it."

"I don't scream on command."

"Interesting policy."

"It's served me well."

Lily made a small strangled noise beside me that I chose to ignore completely.

Up close, without the glass fogging between us, he was even more absurd looking than I'd registered from a distance, all sharp lines and easy confidence, the kind of face that had clearly never once in its life worried about being taken seriously. It made me want to poke a hole in it, a little, just to see what was underneath.

"So," he said. "Roughing girl. What'd you think of the game."

"Sloppy in the third."

His eyebrows went up. "Sloppy."

"You lost the puck twice in your own zone. Once you basically handed it to their winger."

"You watch a lot of hockey?"

"I write about it. For a living."

That got his attention in a way the game apparently hadn't. He straightened slightly, studying me now instead of just looking at me, and I felt the shift, subtle but real, from stranger flirting with a fan to something more careful.

"Yeah? Where."

"Sports desk. Nothing you'd have heard of."

"Try me."

"You wouldn't have heard of it."

"Try me anyway."

"Why does it matter."

"Because you clearly think I'm not going to know it, and I'm curious if you're right."

I told him. He nodded slowly, like he was cataloging it somewhere, filing it next to the roughing comment and the sloppy third period critique.

"Huh," he said. "So you're not just here for the free ticket."

"I'm absolutely here for the free ticket. I'm also apparently here to insult your defense."

"It's not my defense. I'm forward."

"I'm aware. I'm insulting the team as a collective. Efficiency."

He grinned, and it did something unfair to the entire lower half of my chest, a full unrestrained smile that made the arrogance suddenly seem a lot more earned than I wanted to admit.

"You've got an attitude on you," he said.

"I've been told."

"I like it."

"I didn't ask."

"Didn't say you did."

Lily leaned forward, fully invested now, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands like she was watching the best thing she'd seen all season, which, given the two goals earlier, was saying something.

"You always talk to fans like this?" I asked.

"No."

"So what's different tonight."

He considered the question for a second, actually considered it, like it deserved a real answer instead of a line.

"You didn't look impressed," he said finally. "Everybody down here looks impressed. You looked like you were grading me."

"I was grading you."

"What'd I get."

"B minus. The two goals were solid. The third period cost you."

"A B minus. From a stranger with a press pass I haven't confirmed is real."

"It's real."

"Prove it."

"I don't have to prove anything to you. You came over here."

"Fair point."

A staff member near the tunnel called something toward him, tapping a clipboard, the universal signal for time's up, and he glanced back once, then returned his attention to me like the interruption barely registered.

"I gotta go," he said. "Media stuff. The exciting part of my job."

"Sounds thrilling."

"You have no idea."

He pushed back off the glass, skating backward a few feet, still facing me, still wearing that same infuriating grin.

"Hey," he called. "Roughing girl."

"That's not my name."

"Still don't know your actual one."

"You didn't ask."

"I'm asking now."

I hesitated, some old instinct telling me to keep it to myself, to keep this whole strange encounter contained and safe and easy to forget by morning. Lily elbowed me hard enough that I nearly lost my balance.

"Emma," I said.

"Emma," he repeated, like he was testing the shape of it. "I'll remember that."

"Don't strain yourself."

He laughed one more time, shook his head, and skated off toward the tunnel without looking back, leaving me sitting there with my pulse doing something it had absolutely no business doing over a hockey player I'd known for four minutes.

"Okay," Lily said slowly. "That happened."

"That happened."

"He's coming back next period."

"There is no next period, Lily. The game's over."

"Not that game."

I turned to look at her, and she nodded toward the jumbotron overhead, where the screen had flickered to life again, cutting through highlights of the game we'd just watched, building toward whatever came next in the between periods routine even though there was no next period, not tonight.

"What are you talking about," I said.

"They do fan cam stuff after the final horn too. For the highlight reel. I've seen it before."

"So?"

"So look up."

I looked up.

And there we were, both of us, faces six feet tall on the big screen, and standing just off to the side of the frame, still lingering near the tunnel entrance instead of walking through it, was Ryan Cole, watching the same screen we were.