The crowd is chanting back in black as Tariq fist pumps, celebrating his first goal back on the ice and for the game. He's on the screen of the scoreboard that hangs over the rink and I wonder what would happen if that thing were to ever fall. The score is 1-0 in the yellowish gold, Grizzlies leading.

He skates around, reveling in all the glory the fans are giving him. Girls are jumping up and down, wearing the school's hockey team black, green, and maroon jerseys, screaming Tariq's name.

Irritation coasts through my veins.

They pound on the plexiglass as he skates by as if they're some love-drunk idiots. I've never seen such an intense crowd of fans. But the worst part is...

He's soaking it all up, all cocky and smug as his skates dig into the ice, spraying bits and pieces of powdered fragments. But as the first period continues, I stare open-mouthed at how graceful, aggressive, and efficient he is on the ice. smacking the puck toward his teammate.

Heather's beside me, screaming and cheering like mad, shouting things I don't understand. I peer around and notice everyone is understanding the game but me.

I know nothing about hockey.

Zero.

Zilch.

Nada.

It hits me so hard at how different Tariq and I's worlds are. I shouldn't be the one to wear his jersey when I know nothing about the sport he loves.

He had it custom made with his number and all and had asked me to come wearing it.

So I did.

And I have never felt more undeserving of something.

Heather glances over at me, noticing my lack of enthusiasm. "Hey, you okay?"

I shake my head, the heavy truth hitting me hard in the chest. "We are way too different to work, aren't we? I don't know anything and here I am wearing a jersey that any one of these girls deserves more than me. I can't even keep up with who's who, where the puck is going. I don't even know what position he's playing. All I can do is cheer when he makes a goal."

"Then that's what you do." I turn to Tariq and Rasheed's mom. "May I sit?"

"Yes, yes, of course."

I scoot over and she sits down next to me, her voice deep and melodic as she says, "I saw you from our seats and thought I'd come join you for a bit."

Her long silky black hair gets flicked back. It's thick, but the kind of thick every woman would die for. Her features are so similar to Tariq's except for some, nose is thinner, her cheekbones higher, and lips more womanly shaped. She's stunning, bold, and exotic just like her son with the same dark eyes, but lined with motherly kindness. Eyes I've never been looked at with.

She's wearing a jersey with Rasheed's number on it. noticing my gaze she smiles. "My husband is wearing Tariq's. We switch every game."

"Do you go to all of them?" I ask, hoping she doesn't bring up the conversation she obviously overheard.

"All the home ones," she answers then leans forward, smiling at Heather. "Hi, sweetheart, how are you doing?"

"Really great. It's good to see you, Mrs. Araneo."

My eyes go back to the ice as the puck's about to drop between two players again. A guy on the opposing team is next to Tariq and they're both nudging and throwing elbows at one another. My heart thunders at the sight and I take a deep breath as my hands shake, hoping he doesn't get hurt.

"I'm going to get a drink, do you want anything?" Heather asks.

I shake my head, unable to take my eyes off Tariq. I don't even notice her leave until Mrs. Araneo leans in, stating, "He'll be fine. Number thirteen has nothing on my boy."

Gnawing on my lip, I wince a little. "Am I that obvious?"

She laughs and I relax a little, still nervous as heck, but I feel a little bit comfortable now. The game continues as players shift in and out, my lips pursing in frustration at my lack of knowledge. I'm just about ready to dog my phone out and google hockey.

"He's a left-winger," Mrs. Araneo smiles at me. "Just keep your eyes on him and cheer whenever he makes a goal or checks someone. You'll learn the game soon enough."

The shame that had gripped me eases a little. "Thank you. What do left-wingers do?"

She watches the game as she answers me, pointing at certain things or moves Tariq does. "See how he's playing along the boards and in the corners, that's where his position is."

Tariq intercepts a pass and sends it Rasheed's way. "Rasheed is the right-winger, both of them work together with the center to score goals or stop the other team from getting the puck."

Rasheed makes a crazy shot, earning a goal. His victory parade is much more exaggerated than Tariq's.

"I'll definitely be doing some extensive research when I get back to my dorm tonight."

Mrs. Araneo laughs a little, her eyes peering at me, her lashes thick and perfectly coated to mascara. "You're cute."

I flush and Heather starts making her way back toward us. "Okay, El, next time we get here early for better seats."

"How about you girls join us down by the action, we have some room for you," Mrs. Araneo offers.

We follow her, reaching the spot a massive man is sitting, with Farrah next to him. He's handsome, with that soft white-grey hair, matching impressive mustache, dark brows, and olive skin. He looks more like an ex-hockey player than a Pastry chef. When we get to them he loudly and joyfully motions for us to sit down with wide delighted brown eyes.

"Ladies, come sit. Your timing couldn't be better! The fifteen-minute break just started and I need some pleasant conversation. All I'm I'm getting from this moody little girl of mine is mumbling a one-worded answer as she stares at that dumb box she calls a phone. Pretty sure she's never made a single call on it. All she does is text. Someday her thumbs will have carpal tunnel and be all deformed, I swear it., and boy, would you look at those blue eyes."

He whistles and I'm stunned for a second then my mouth twitches and forms into a big smile. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Araneo, I'm--"

"Blue, aka, Elodie. the girl who burst into my son's place through a window. Yes, my wife told me all about you." His Italian accent is a lot thicker than his wife's Arabic one.

Well, I know now Tariq's personality takes after his dad's, looks, not so much, he has his dad's nose and brows though, but I do see glimpses of Rasheed.

"You make me sound like a criminal," I joke and I don't know why but knowing he's a lot like Tariq makes me comfortable.

He laughs and then pulls Heather in for a hug. "Good to see you, bella."

Farrah scoffs. "Bella, yeah right."

Heather throws a glare as Mrs. Araneo hushes her daughter, Heather goes over, plopping down. "Farrah."

"Heather."

Mrs. Araneo motions for me to sit and I find myself right in the middle of Tariq's parents.

How did I get myself into this situation?

"I was teaching Elodie a little about hockey, so I figured she could sit with us and get an up-close view of the action," Mrs. Araneo says to her husband.

That's it! That's how I got into this predicament!

My gaze goes back to the game and the guys who looked like tiny action figure toys from where Heather and I were sitting, now they're massive. I weirdly love the sound of the skates digging into the ice, making that whoosh sound as the players fight over the little puck.

"You don't know anything about hockey?" Farrah asks, taking my attention away from the game.

She's gorgeous, a more honey skin color, slender nose like her mom with a nose piercing I'm a tad jealous of. Her milk chocolatey eyes that are similar to her dad's, narrow, waiting for my answer. Her makeup is a smokey perfection and her black hair is in a high ponytail that swishes whenever she wants to be dramatic and given her attitude, I'm going to take a wild guess and say she's a handful.

And doesn't like me.

"Um, no, this is my first hockey game," I reply.

Farrah cocks a brow. "You're not a puck bunny?"

Heather gasps, as Mr. and Mrs. Araneo scolds their daughter in their native language.

What the heck is a puck bunny?

Farrah rolls her eyes. "It's just a question, geez, chill, Umiy, Papa. So, if you're not with him for his hockey then how did you two meet?"

Crap!

What do I say to that?!

From what I remember in my crime tv shows, use as much truth as possible.

"I bumped into him the night before school started and got slammed in the face by a football thrown through a glass window." I end pointing to my fully healed eye. "Then we ended up in a class together."

Heather puts up her hand and starts throwing up her fingers. "You're forgetting how he showed up the next morning with yogurt for you because yours got smooshed all over your butt when you got hit by the football. Drove you to class, forced you to be his study buddy, found out you cook and started having you cook for him every day, and--"

I grab Heather's fingers and shush her, making her laugh. Meanwhile, Mrs. Araneo stares at me in shock. "My son did all those things?"

I pull some of my thick but frizzy hair out of the way. "Um, yeah."

She shakes her head in awe. "I'm impressed with some and horrified with others."

Mr. Araneo sends me a wink. "I think he may be a little smitten, my darling." He kisses his wife's head, chuckling. "He's a lot like how I was with you."

Yep. Tariq is his father.

"Are you going for PT too then?" Farrah questions.

Am I being interrogated here?

I'm getting a suspicious feeling that Farrah is protective of Tariq.

"No, I'm in Elementary Education, future teacher."

Her eyes widen a little and she takes me in with a not-so-kind look. "Do you two have anything in common?"

Geez, chick!

Come on strong much?

Yeah, we have things in common... vintage video N64 games and....

That's it.

That's freaking it.

I am in love with a guy I pretty much have nothing in common with.

A hand touches my head and I look over to Mrs. Araneo. "Ignore my rude daughter. I'm sure you and Tariq have enough in common, if you didn't, he wouldn't be having you wearing a custom-made jersey of his and be searching the crowd for you now that the break is over."

He is?

I shouldn't have done it, but my gaze snaps to the rink and it's exactly what his mom had said. He's looking at where I had been, a frown decorating his handsome face.

"Hey son!" his dad shouts, cupping his hands over his mouth. "She's right here."

Tariq glances over and grins, showing his black mouthguard. Players start getting into position but he puts his hand upside down and then does a swirl. My brows furrowed in confusion.

"He wants you to turn around so he can see his number on you," Heather answers for him.

"Seriously?" I ask.

"Is she kidding me?" Farrah says in irritation. "That's a big deal, so turn around and show him."

I'm really not liking his sister but I get up and do as I'm told. When I turn back around Tariq is back to focusing on the game. "Was I too late?"

Mr. Araneo chuckles. "No, bella, he definitely saw it and is now very serious about this game."

I sit back down and we all watch the game. Mr. Araneo had been right, Tariq is a beast on the ice, hard, aggressive, slamming into other players.

There is no way his knee won't be sore after this.

The puck comes to our spot and Rasheed slides over to get it but is smashed against the glass, making me squeak and jump. He's then hit with the opponent's stick. The whistle is blown as Rasheed pushes the other player off, who had been elbowing Tariq earlier. Number thirteen.

I am learning the Eagles are not a nice team.

Rasheed and number thirteen are yelling at each other, pushing, and it looks like a fight is about to start until Rasheed skates backward, pointing, shouting things I can't hear or understand.

Hey thirteen, you better watch yourself!" Farrah and Heather both shout.

He glances over and eyes scan them until they land on me. His brows cock and he imitates Tariq's earlier nonverbal command. I heat up as he winks and does a kissy face, then skates off.

He goes into a box and sits there while the game continues. I learn Beau's number and that he's center and Winston's the goalie. Beau steals the puck, flying the ice whooshing and making a scratching sound as he slides to a stop and lightning-fast, raises his stick high, and smacks the puck. It shoots right past the goalie and into the net.

3-0

"Beautiful slapshot, Beau!" Heather yells. "Beautiful."

Number thirteen is back in the game and guns it for Tariq. My heart pounds all the way up to my throat. Right as the guy is about to slam into him, Tariq quickly turns and the guy hits the glass. He pushes off the glass, shoving Tariq and the two start yelling. Rasheed heads over then something shifts, Tariq goes from laughing the guy's anger off, to murderous.

He guns it for the guy and the crowd roars, chanting "fight." But Rasheed stops Tariq by sliding between the two, pushing him back as Tariq points, yelling something at the guy.

After the faceoff, number nineteen gets the puck and he's right next to us again. He gives me a wink, not paying attention and I lift a brow, a smirk pulling at my red-painted lips, as I point behind him.

Tariq bulldozes into him, the guy's face smashing into the glass with Tariq stealing the puck and sending it Rasheed's way all while saying, "Thanks, baby."

The Grizzlies dominate every part of the ice, causing the Eagles to constantly be on the defensive. Tariq breaks away with the puck and flies straight for the goalie. He veers to the right, his eye fierce on the target. He pushes the puck back and forth and then I blink and it's in the net, the buzzer blaring.

Mr. Araneo jumps up. "Backhand shot! That's my boy!"

I jump up with everyone cheering. Whatever a backhand shot is, Tariq, performed it perfectly. The goalie throws his stick down in frustration as the fans chant "54," pounding the stands, whistling, making any kind of noise known to man.

And I find myself cheering with Tariq's family and Heather, watching him and Rashhed, heck, all the guys play without mercy.

Hockey is the most intense but fun sport I have ever watched.

Maybe, just maybe, he'll want me to come to more games.

By the time the final buzzer rings out, my throat is raw and throbbing, the guys tired yet gloating in their 7-0 sweep. The Araneo's had to leave a little bit before the end so they could get out without being stuck in traffic for too long. His mom had invited me for dinner the next time they came for a game and I happily accepted despite Farrah's irritated gaze.

Heather and I wait for a little because Heather claims Tariq will want to see me. When enough time has passed we start to leave but I stop when I hear someone calling my name.

I glance around and my eyes widen at who's calling for me.

"Elodie!"

My ex, Kenny.

Brown hair pulled every which way in a messy chic look, matching brown eyes that still reminded me of a golden retriever's, thin body with a black shirt and hipster jacket on, while his dark jeans were tight around his legs. Kenny had always been that cute, hipster stylish kind of guy who looked like he belonged on a youth group worship team.

He pushes through and wraps his arms around me, giving me a big bear hug with that bony body of his. I don't hug him back.

No way in heck am I doing that.

I step out of his embrace as he bombards me. "How have you been? Jesus, you look amazing, makes me regret what happened between us." The guy doesn't even take a breath as he looks around. "I came here with Conner, I'm here visiting. Man, I'm so excited I ran into you. He told me you went here. How about we hang out? Catch up?"

Heather clears her throat. "And you are?"

Kenny barely gives Heather his attention. "You can come too, you look like Conner's type, and I'm Kenny, her one true love."

I freeze at that.

Since when has he been this arrogant?

"You were my first boyfriend, not one true love," I state, jerking back a little.

Heather literally has tears in her eyes, as she tries to hold back a laugh and I don't blame her. The difference between him and Tariq is comical. He's hyper, not sexy cocky at all, and tiny. She's also, probably ready to burst at the seams because she knows I'm in love with Tariq.

He laughs. "That's not what you said when we were dating. Hey, why don't you show me a good time while I'm here?"

"Uh..."

"Blue!" My big hands grip my hips and I'm hoisted up in the air. I squeak as I look down at Tariq, who's grinning as if he had just won the lottery. My hands fall to his shoulders as he kisses me, shocking me completely.

He must know this is my ex.

That's why he's doing it.

He groans, his lips warm and perfect on mine as he gives me quick open-mouthed kisses. He pulls away, setting me back down, wrapping his arm around me and bringing me flush against his big muscular side. I'm cocooned in him, protected, and he smells so good after a quick shower.

"You're coming to every single game from now on, but maybe you can refrain from distracting my rivals. I don't want them getting any ideas."

"Elodie, what the hell is this?"

Tariq tenses finally glancing over at my ex, not even realizing we had an audience. "What did you just say to my girl?"

Tariq's big hand wraps around mine and I'm really hoping that he does consider me his girl.

If he doesn't.

I'm pretty sure my heart will break.

Kenny is fuming. His face beat red, brown eyes wide with a glimmer of hurt in them. "Tariq Araneo? Are you kidding me? You wouldn't put out for me but you do with him? Why cause he's some cocky, arrogant hockey player? I thought better of you."

I go stone-cold rigid, hurt and appalled.

"Oh, you did NOT just say that!" Heather shrieks.

Tariq's bag drops and his hand releases from mine, and everything is in slow motion as he harshly grips Kenny by his jacket. I watch in horror as Tariq picks him up and shoves him until Kenny hits the plexiglass, causing it to rattle and vibrate.

Thankfully most of the place is emptied now.

He lifts my ex up and Kenny squirms in his grip. "So you're the ex? Let's get one thing straight. My girl's sex life is none of your business. I haven't touched her because I respect the hell out of her and her boundaries."