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“What the fuck was that!” Gwyn’s shouted protest had absolutely no effect, but that didn’t stop her from expressing her outrage. Play continued down on the ice as though there hadn’t been interference by the opposing team. Groaning, she tipped her head back and ran a hand down her face. “You’re killing me, Smalls!”
“Do you know him?”
At the question from the seat beside her, Gwyn twisted her wrist so that she could pinch the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “No, I don’t know him.”
“Then how do you know his name is Smalls?” Was this guy for real?
“Smalls,” she prompted, opening her eyes and fixing her gaze on him, even though she’d much rather be paying attention to the action on the ice. Her date stared blankly back at her. “As in Scotty Smalls. Hero of the 1993 classic sports comedy slash coming-of-age story The Sandlot.”
“Never heard of it.”
“You’ve never–” Gwyn sputtered, eyes flying wide in outrage. “It’s a cinematic masterpiece.”
Sweet baby pegasus, her date was a total dud. That was what she got for letting Nesta pick her matches. Or had Emerie been the one to swipe right on his profile after she’d been too nervous to do it herself? It was starting to feel like she was running out of good potential dates. At least she had her Blackhawks. Assuming that they got heads out of their collective asses and put something up on the scoreboard.
“Sorry,” her date–Trevor–mumbled, as he turned back to face the ice.
The silence that stretched out between them was awkward to the point of pain. All round them the United Center was alive with the energy that only a home game could generate. But it felt like a cone of silence had been dropped over their two seats. Gwyn snorted. Trever probably wouldn’t understand that pop culture reference either.
Down on the ice, the pace of the game picked up and Gwyn resumed cheering for her beloved Blackhawks along with all the other hometown fans. Except for Trevor. He was too busy checking his phone. When the play ended with a great save by the Canadians’ goalie, she slumped back into her seat, licking her metaphorical wounds. They would get that goal next time.
“I’m really sorry about this, Gwyn,” Trevor began. “My roommate just texted. He’s locked out. I need to run home and rescue him.”
“Oh, no,” she replied, drawing upon all her acting skills to sound upset by this expected turn of events. After all, that was what was required of her now that the date had crashed and burned. She was well versed in the art of the ‘emergency text.’ Everyone did it, but the first rule of emergency text club was that you didn’t talk about emergency text club. You pretended that it was real and let the other person go–a clean getaway. And you definitely didn’t follow-up later to see if everything had worked itself out. Though one sweet summer child she’d once ditched with an emergency text had contacted her the next day to see if she was okay.
“It was nice meeting you,” Gwyn continued as he stood and gathered his coat. “Get home safe.”
Trevor offered her a farewell of his own before lightly jogging up the stairs. She would have turned to see if he gave her one last look before disappearing at the top of the section, but her attention was already back on the ice.
“I think we just witnessed a new record, boys,” a voice behind her announced.
“Knock it off, Cass,” another said.
“Didn’t even make it to the end of the first,” the first man observed. And when he spoke again, his voice was closer, practically right next to her ear like he’d leaned forward to get closer to her row. “What was wrong with this one, kitten?”
“He’d never heard of The Sandlot,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“That’s a flagrant foul. Five minutes in the box.” Cassian’s commentary was punctuated by the horn, signaling the end of the period.
“Ignore him,” said a third voice. “You alright, Gwyn?”
She turned around to find a trio of men watching her. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel had been sitting behind her for a few seasons now, and had quickly become her hockey family. The three were childhood friends and hockey was the thing that kept them together after college when life had threatened to pull them in different directions. Gwyn had adopted them–or they’d adopted her depending on who you asked–and she looked forward to their company at every home game.
“I’m fine,” she said, answering Rhys’ question. “Date was a dud anyway.”
“I don’t know why you keep doing this to yourself,” Cassian said, tossing his opinion into conversation yet again. “If you’re gonna meet a guy for a blind date, go for drinks or something. Don’t bring him to the ‘hawks. This right here,” he moved his arm in a circle, encompassing their three seats, hers, and the empty one beside her, “is sacred.”
“Anyone can be charming over drinks,” Gwyn said, sharing the opening statement of her argument. “You show up, smile, and do the whole ‘do you have any siblings’ or ‘where do you see yourself in five years’ thing.”
“Speaking of siblings, how is Catrin doing?” Rhys tossed the question into the conversation before she could continue.
“Don’t talk to me about her,” Gwyn shot back. “She’s dead to me.”
“Wait, she’s dead?” Azriel asked from the other side of Cassian, his expression a horror-struck blend of emotions.
“No, she’s–” Gwyn sighed as he twisted to face Azriel. “Remember how she moved to DC for a new job?” He nodded. “Well, she’s– she’s–” Oh, god, this was so horrible that Gwyn couldn’t even bring herself to say it. “She’s a Caps fan now.” A shudder wracked her entire body from head to toe.
These seats had been Gwyn and Catrin’s. They had grown up watching the Blackhawks with their grandfather. He took the two of them to as many games as he could. And when he’d passed, he’d left them a small inheritance with a stipulation that they use on something that would bring them joy. And they couldn’t think of anything that would bring them more joy than going to the United Center on game day. One season had turned into two and two into five. And even after Catrin moved, Gwyn kept the tickets, because hockey season was the highlight of her year.
“My condolences,” Cassian mumbled at the same moment Rhys asked “Isn’t that a bit harsh?” Gwyn bit back a giggle. She loved Cassian’s sense of humor. Together, they were chaos. Good thing they had Rhys and Azriel to keep them in line.
“So, anyway, as I was saying. Drinks aren’t a good test of compatibility. It’s too much of a controlled environment. I’m not looking for someone on their best behavior who will call me an Uber after a drink or two. I’m looking for someone who will stick it out next to me until the end of the third period.”
“What about someone who will get in the Uber with you and take you back to their place to–Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Cassian rounded on Azriel with a look of pure disbelief. His hand came up to cradle the shoulder that Azriel had just smacked. Rhys took advantage of the distraction to hit him from the other side. “Et tu, Rhysie?”
“Our Gwyn is a lady,” Rhys cautioned Cassian. “She’s not going home with any of the guys she meets on her apps.”
“Bit of a dry spell there, kitten?” Cassian teased. He obviously missed the lesson his friends had just tried teaching him. Rhys and Azriel might have a problem with this topic of conversation, but she didn’t.
“Nothing the contents of my nightstand drawer can’t handle.”
They blinked back at her for a beat, realization washing over them with varying speeds. She never would have dared even hint that that last season. Gwyn had been nursing a crush on Azriel from the first moment he stepped into the row behind hers. She’d tried feeling him out, hoping to find out if he was interested in her too, but the man was like an impenetrable fortress. The only time she’d ever seen him show any sort of strong emotions was after a devastating Blackhawks’ loss. Not that she could blame him–she had been pretty torn up too–but after waiting a few seasons to see if he’d make a move, Gwyn had resigned herself to life in dating purgatory.
Cassian let out a low whistle. “Sounds like you need a winger.”
She scrunched up her nose as she tried to sort out his meaning. “Don’t you mean a ‘wingman?’”
“Gotta stick with hockey terms so these two can keep up,” he explained. His statement was met with overlapping protests.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine,” Gwyn insisted. “Besides, Nesta would be upset if I let you take over her coveted wingwoman position.”
Cassian’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward onto his knees. “How is Ms. Archeron? Haven’t seen her at a game lately.” Rhys slapped the back of his head, eliciting a grumble from the other man. “Seriously, you two need to stop hitting me.”
“This is about Gwyn and not your obsession with her best friend,” Rhys cautioned. “Focus.”
“Fine.” Cassian sat back in his seat with a huff.
“But back to Rhys’ earlier point,” Gwyn said, redirecting the conversation, “I’m flattered to know you still consider me a lady after watching me each nacho cheese that I’d dripped on my jeans.”
“Speaking of nachos,” Cassian rose to his feet. “I need to head up to the concessions. Line should have died down now that the break is almost over. You guys want a another round?” Azriel, Rhys, and Gwyn, all answered in the affirmative.
“I’ll come with you,” Rhys told him. “Help you carry everything back.”
Azriel let the two of them out of the row before turning his attention back to Gwyn. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” She tucked her feet under her–squeezing herself into the stadium seat–and folded herself over the back of the chair.
“Keep track of all the threads in the conversation so effortlessly.”
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s a twin thing. Catrin and I have always been able to follow each other's tangents, side-bars, and non sequiturs and then pick our conversation back up right where we left it.”
“I can barely even handle a normal conversation unless I’m talking to Cass or Rhys.” He paused for a beat. “Or you.”
Gwyn’s smile grew and she knew that a blush most likely accompanied it. She’d learned to read between the lines of what he said to find all the things he was trying to express. “I like talking with you, too,” she told him in a soft voice, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the other fans around them. “And if you ever need me to slow down the conversation, just say so. I’d rather talk about something meaningful with you than just talk to fill the time.”
“It’s alright,” he assured her. “I like listening to you talk.” His eyes met hers with an unexpected intensity that stole her breath away and set butterflies dancing in her stomach. Why couldn’t she find a guy like him on her dating app? Or better yet, Azriel himself.
“So,” he said after a long pause, “a guy has to stick around for the whole game to earn a second date?”
“Yup. No one’s managed it yet though.”
Azriel’s head tipped to one side. “But what about that guy who was with you last year during the playoffs?”
“Balthazar?” Gwyn fought the urge to laugh when Az scowled. “He’s my cousin. Doesn’t count.” Azriel blinked and his expression shifted, softening around his eye and mouth.
“Your cousin, huh?” Was it her imagination or was there a hint of excitement in his voice?
Gwyn nodded. “He was totally using me for my tickets. Didn’t even have the decency to invite me over for Thanksgiving this year.”
“That’s a shame.” His words said one thing but his tone said another. Azriel sounded happy that there hadn’t been anyone who had made it to the end of the tried period.
“No, it’s smart,” she countered. “I’ve been told by too many guys that I’m ‘too much.’ I’m loud and opinionated but that doesn’t mean there is a single thing wrong with me. I know the right guy will think I’m perfect just the way I am. That’s why I bring them here. If they can handle me screaming at the ref and being…well…me, they’re someone worth dating.”
He nodded along, looking so serious that she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Gwyn could practically see the wheels inside his head turning as he processed the information and stored it away in the proper place. She wondered what she would find tucked away in his ‘Gwyn Files’ if she ever had the chance to look inside his head. What bits of trivia about her life had been important enough to him to keep for later use?
“Line was longer than I thought,” Cassian said, announcing his return. Rhys stepped back into the row first, passing Gwyn her beer as shuffled by. She took it and immediately placed it into the cup holder in front of her. Cassian handed Azriel and he did the same. Seemed like neither of them were interested in drinking anymore.
After everyone settled back into their seats, Azriel leaned forward, effectively blocking Cassian from the conversation. It was so unlike him that Gwyn instantly wondered why. What had she said that had been so interesting? Azriel–though friendly–was usually on the fringes of the conversation. Cassian had been the one to initially break the ice when they’d first met, with Rhys providing just the right amount of charm to make her want to get to know them better. All of them. But Az in particular.
She’d been drawn to him instantly. Maybe it was because they were so similar and yet so different. They had the same quick wit and dry humor. And they were both hyper-competitive, as a few pre-game meetups at their favorite pub had proven. But where Gwyn was loud, Az was quiet. He preferred to take his time to absorb and analyze everything before reacting, whereas Gwyn was the first one in the United Center to launch to her feet to yell at a ref over a bad call.
“What happens if a guy does make it to the third period?”
Gwyn shrugged again. “Depends. Was there a connection–a spark?”
“Let’s say there was one. What then?”
“You’re really making me think tonight,” she observed. “I like it.”
“I’m sorry,” Azriel said, pulling away as he retreated into himself. “I didn’t mean–” Gwyn’s hand moved before she’d even consciously thought of reaching for him. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to think he’d pushed the conversation in a direction she didn’t like. She liked this rare opportunity to talk to him one-on-one.
Azriel blinked down at her hand on his wrist with a reverent sort of awe. That hadn’t been the first time she’d touched him, but it was the first time there hadn’t been an excuse. They weren’t celebrating a goal or trying to make sure they stayed together in the crowd on the way out after the game. She was touching him for no other reason than she wanted to. Because she needed a way to reach him when words weren’t enough.
“Don’t apologize,” she said, slowly removing hand from his wrist. “I meant it when I said I liked it.” Play had resumed down on the ice, but neither of them was watching. What was happening between them was more important than a game, more compelling than the Miracle on Ice. And she’d re-watched that classic at least a half a dozen times.
“Alright, for sake of argument, there’s a spark,” Gwyn continued, setting up the scenario that Az had proposed. “In that case, I’m a) going to ask him out again and b) not gonna bother with the whole three day rule. It’s just rom-com BS anyway.”
“What’s the three day rule?”
“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Gwyn said affectionately.
“Az doesn’t date much,” Cassian said, butting into their conversation. “He tends to get hung up on people and then conveniently find excuses for why he shouldn’t make a play for them.”
Azriel glared daggers at his best friend, but Gwyn drew his attention back to her by lightly brushing her fingers over the back of his hand. “The three day rule is the misbelief that after a first date–even if it went really well–you need to wait three days before asking them out on a second date.”
He took a moment to analyze the information in that uniquely Az way of his. From the expression on his face, one might think that he’d just been given the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Or maybe the Colonel’s secret recipe. What were those eleven herbs and spices, anyway? Shaking herself out of that tangential train of thought, Gwyn checked Azriel’s expression to see if he had finished processing.
“You’re right,” he said after a moment longer. “That is BS.”
“Thank you,” Gwyn beamed at him, glad to know they shared the same opinion on it. “It's just one of many toxic dating customs that just need to go away.”
“What’s another one?” Az asked, leaning just a little bit closer.
“How much time do you have?” She mentally cracked her knuckles. It was a dangerous thing to ask Gwyneth Berdara for her opinion on things. She had never been one to hold back.
“Well,” Azriel’s gaze flicked up to the scoreboard, “we’re not even halfway through the second period. And I have no place else I’d rather be.”
More butterflies joined the first ones that had never quite found their way out of her stomach, forming an impossibly large group. What was the name for a group of butterflies anyway? She should find out because that was exactly the sort of random knowledge that would help her win at trivia one day. It was probably a flutter or a flight or a wing; something like that. But whatever it was called, that group of butterflies was not going away.
It would have been all too easy for her to talk herself into believing that Azriel was talking about the game, but at that very moment, Gwyn wanted his words to be about her. And it wasn’t just because her date had left early. If she was being brutally honest with herself, she should have never agreed to meet up with Trevor. Or any of the other men she’d brought to the games this season for that matter. The only reason she was on that godforsaken hellscape masquerading as a dating app was because she thought Azriel wasn’t interested.
“Paying for dinner does not entitle you to a goddamn thing,” Gwyn began, listing off her opinions on her fingers as she went. “You do need to open doors. Feminism did not kill chivalry. Never break up with someone via text. And speaking of texts, no unsolicited dick pics. If I want to see it, I’ll ask. Don’t ghost anyone, even if they used the emergency text excuse to leave the date early.”
Azriel’s brow furrowed. “Does that mean you’re going to contact him again?”
“Just to say thank you for tonight and to let him know that we should see other people. No need to be rude.” His expression relaxed after she gave her answer. “Let’s see. What else? Oh yeah. When soliciting a booty call, initiate a real conversation. Don’t start with ‘hey, how are you’ and then jump straight into how horny you are. Women have needs and feelings.”
“Do you have a lot of those?” he asked casually. Maybe a little too casually. “Booty calls, I mean.”
“Oh, I figured that’s what you were asking about,” she said in a teasing tone, trying to lighten the mood. But it didn’t work. Azriel was caught in a suspended state as he waited for her answer. “And, no, I don’t. Not anymore.”
She could tell him about her ex, the one who’d messed with her head and made it hard to move on. How he’d text her and she’d come running back only for him to go radio silent on her after. But Gwyn decided that she didn’t need to bring those ghosts into that moment. She didn’t want all that pain and heartache haunting this moment between them.
“So, if a guy wants to date you, he needs to: stick around until the third period,” Azriel ticked the requirements off one by one just like she had, “disregard the three day rule, open doors for you, and not be a dick.”
“Yeah, I mean, I have a few other requirements, but that’s a good start.”
“What other requirements?”
“Hypothetically or…?”
Azriel shrugged. “Sure. Hypothetically.”
“He’d have to be a good kisser. And make me feel safe–but not boring. Safe does not equal mundane. Safe is…someone I can trust with my heart. Someone who makes me feel alive.”
He nodded and she took note of the intensity in his gaze. Gwyn really wished that Azriel hadn’t agreed that the question was hypothetical. But maybe it hadn’t been. Maybe he’d just said it was because he was nervous. What had Cassian said about Azriel? That he talks himself out of pursuing relationships? Was that what he was doing here?
“Those are…really good requirements.”
“I think so too. That’s why I picked them.” Gwyn smiled as she teased him.
“Yeah. Of course. Makes sense.” Azriel scratched at the back of his neck. “I-ah-I think I might copy them. If you don’t mind.” Was it her imagination or was Az flustered.
“By all means. SWIPE away.” Her enthusiasm earned her a quizzical look, so she offered him an explanation. “SWIPE. Steal With Integrity and Pride from Everywhere.”
Azriel chuckled. “SWIPE. I like it.” He squirmed slightly in his seat; moving back before leaning in a little closer. “Gwyn, I-”
“Az!” Cassian exclaimed, but both of them ignored him. Gwyn’s gaze was locked onto Azriel, unable to look away until he finished whatever it was he was trying to say. Azriel’s intensity hadn’t waivered with the interruption. If anything it had grown, all but holding her captive.
“Az!” he tried again. “Look!” The crowd around them became animated; everyone talking over each other more than normal. “You’re on the fucking Kiss Cam!”
Azriel’s head instantly snapped up so he could look over her head at the giant display hanging over the ice. Gwyn quickly twisted in her seat so she could check for herself, and sure enough, both of them were on display, a red heart shaped outline boarding the picture. Seeing them on the screen was a surreal, out of body experience. With the way she’d been sitting to face him and he’d been leaning into her space, they probably looked like a couple in love to the rest of the United Center. No wonder the producers had picked them.
Still reeling from the shock of seeing her face on the display, her feet slipped off the seat and back to the floor. A steady chant of ‘kiss, kiss, kiss’ filled her ears. Gwyn looked back over her shoulder at Az to gauge his reaction. He was waiting for her–ready for her.
He reached for her, fingers wrapping around her neck as the heel of his hand copper her jaw to tip her face up to him. She followed his direction willingly. Then he closed the distance between them, tilting his head to the side so he could fit their lips together. Her eyes fluttered closed just as the kiss began. The kiss she’d been waiting for.
Had she said that she was looking for a good kisser? Because she had obviously set the bar too low. This was the sort of kiss that could ruin a girl for all other kisses. Maybe that meant Az was the man that would ruin her for all other men. But part of Gwyn already knew that, and had been subconsciously measuring all her dates against him. He was her requirement–the one and only requirement.
Gwyn was dimly aware of catcalls and cheers around them, but she didn’t have any focus to spare for anything that wasn’t Azriel. She parted her lips for him and his tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her. If open mouthed kissing wasn’t appropriate for the Blackhawks game, Gwyn didn’t want to be right.
Slowly, Azriel pulled back from the kiss. Gwyn felt breathless and weightless and limitless all at once. Before she had a chance to do anything other than bask in the afterglow of the universe’s most perfect kiss, Az jumped down over the back of the seat and sat down in her row. In the spot Trevor vacated. In the place that should have been his long ago.
“What are you–”
“Watching the game with you,” Azriel answered before she could finish asking her question. He spoke as if it were obvious–inevitable.
“Okay.” Gwyn knew that she could have formed any number of responses, but somehow she knew that she didn’t need them. With Az, simple was better. Simple was easy, straightforward, effortless. And that was what she wanted.
They fell silent. Gwyn allowed the game to absorb her while never forgetting who was sitting right at her side. The second period ended and she took a moment to excuse herself. At the top of the stairs, she ducked out of sight and pulled her phone from her pocket. Opening the group chat, she typed out a quick message.
Gwyn: I think I found the one who will stay until the end with me.
Her friends’ replies came in moments later.
Emerie: Wait. Trevor is a winner?
Nesta: Is it bad that my fingers are crossed for a plot twist? This feels like the point in the rom-rom when the twist hits.
Gwyn: Not Trevor. He left before the first period even ended.
Gwyn: It’s Azriel.
Nesta: Halle-fucking-lujah
Emerie: About time you two figured it out.
Gwyn: What do you mean?
Emerie: Gwyn, if this were a rom-com, the trope would be idiots to lovers.
Nesta: 💯
Gwyn: Rude. But I’m too happy to let the insult land.
Nesta: Atta girl. Get your man, Gwyneth.
Emerie: What she said.
After signing off with a heart emoji, Gwyn put her phone away and scampered back down the stairs, practically flying as she took them two at a time. When she settled back into her seat, Azriel leaned in a little closer, their arms brushing on the armrest. Every few moments, one of them would glance the other’s way, only to pretend they were peeking when they got caught.
They probably would have continued that way for the rest of the game, if the situation on the ice hadn’t called for a little heckling. The Canadian’s just let in a goal, leaving the home team down by one. The Blackhawks had the momentum as the game entered the final minutes of the third period.
“Hey goalie!” Gwyn cupped her hands around her mouth, as if that would help the player hear her over all the other noise. “You’re looking like swiss cheese out there!
“Yeah!” Az join in, surprising her. “I’ve seen coupons that save more than you!”
She tried keeping her composure, but was only able to hold in her snort for about two seconds. “Coupons? Savage, Az. Simply savage.”
“There is an art to the chirp,” he said. “It needs to be both unexpected and cutting.”
“Well, I’d tip my hat to you if I had one,” she told him, laughter still coloring her voice. “Oh, I know. I can raise my glass to you instead.” Gwyn looked for her forgotten cup of beer only to find it missing. Azriel’s was gone too. She turned and narrowed her eyes at Cassian, who held a suspiciously full cup in his hand.
“What? It’s not like you two were drinking them. You were too busy making out for the Kiss Cam.” He didn’t shy away from reproach in her gaze. “You’re welcome, by the way. Best twenty bucks I’ve ever spent.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He bribed the camera man to get you on the Kiss Cam.” Rhys took a sip from his cup. Guess that explained where Azriel’s beer had disappeared to.
“You can thank me by making me the best man at your wedding.”
“Wedding?” Gwyn hoped she was hiding exactly how flustered she was. “Cass, we haven't even had a first date yet.”
“Gwynie, you and Az have been on the longest first date in history.”
She was about to counter, when the horn sounded. The Blackhawks had scored and she’d missed it thanks to Cassian’s antics. Had he really slipped a cameraman a twenty to get them on the big screen? It seemed like something he would do. Plus, it explained why he’d been gone so long getting them beers.
With the game all tied up and the game rapidly approaching its final minutes, the atmosphere inside the United Center was electric. Gwyn, Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys were all on their feet, cheering on their beloved hometown team. There was no time of talking or shy yet longing looks; not when the Blackhawks needed them. And then, just before the final buzzer, the ‘hawks scored again. The four of them celebrated as one. Jumping up and down, hugging, high-fiving; the whole nine yards.
The two teams set up for one final face off, but it was really just a formality. Seven seconds later, the Blackhawks officially won. They stayed until the end, watching the team celebrate down on the ice as they danced to the one final rendition of Chelsea Dagger. Well, Gwyn did all the dancing–and all the singing, too. Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys simply clapped in time with the beat. But Azriel did catch her when her footwork got a little too exuberant and she almost tripped.
“Thanks,” she breathed, cheeks flushed from a combination of the excitement and the feel of Azriel’s hands on her waist.
“I wasn’t about to let you fall, Berdara.” The corners of his mouth pulled up into a grin. Gwyn really wanted to kiss him again. She also didn’t want the night to end. The combined high of the win and the kiss had left her flying high. She knew that she’d never be able to get to sleep tonight. But when the crowd died down, she turned to leave their seats.
Azriel stepped out of the row, motioning for Gwyn to lead the way up the stairs. As she stepped in front of him, his fingers brushed along the small of her back. She took the steep stadium steps two at a time, body alive with a restless energy. He was right behind her the entire way, and when he reached the top, he slipped his hand into hers, threading their fingers together.
“I stayed until the end of the third period,” he observed out loud.
“You did.” Knowing where this was going, Gwyn bit her lip in giddy anticipation.
“And there was a spark. At least for me.” His expression was uncharacteristically shy.
“Definite sparks.”
A smile lit up his face. “In that case, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Well, the Blackhawks are playing again. It’s an away game, but I usually watch those at home. Would you like to come over?”
Azriel squeezed her hand. “What happens if I make it to the third period during date two?”
“We’ll just have to wait and see.”