Meet Your Match (Kings of the Ice)

The Ospreys managed to squeak out a narrow two-to-one win against the Baltimore Railers, sealing them their fifth win in a row. This game hadn’t been as pretty as the last few, and Vince said as much to the reporter interviewing him on the bench after the game.

“As you and the team prepare to head back to Tampa, what’s your focus going to be?” the reporter asked. She was beautiful, professional, with a tailored skirt suit and makeup applied to perfection. She had champagne blonde hair and skin as pale as moonlight. I didn’t miss the way she batted her eyelashes at Vince and leaned in a little closer than necessary during the interview.

“I’m going to continue to play like we’re already in the playoffs,” he said. “Like every game counts. I’m disappointed that I didn’t score tonight, but I’m proud of my team for showing up and getting the job done. I can do better,” he added with a nod. “And I will do better.”

I recorded the interview on Instagram Live from behind the cameraman who was with the reporter. The comments rolled in faster than I could read them.

Tampa loves you, Vince!

Take your shirt off, Vince!

It’s a jersey, not a shirt, idiot.

You did great tonight, Vince!

You played like shit, rookie. What are we paying you for?

My kid can skate better than you, Tanev.

Perry won this game tonight — not you.

I didn’t know how he put up with it, the constant chatter from his fans. Most of them loved him, but some of them were just… mean. It was appalling to me how much they felt like they had claim over him, over the team.

My inbox was so out of control these days that I only checked a handful a day, randomly picking ones to respond to with a heart-eye emoji. I saw everything from letters of devotion to Vince or the team to rants about stats and insults that felt personal — and they weren’t even about me. I couldn’t imagine what Vince dealt with on his own social media. Then again, I imagined he probably didn’t care — not when he was so confident he was the best.

When the reporter thanked him and the interview was over, I followed him back to the locker room. For a moment, he was quiet, his head hanging, a deep line between his brows. I wondered if he really was beating himself up for his performance. Sure, he didn’t score, but he played well. They won.

I could tell from his expression that that wasn’t enough for him.

But when we made it to the locker room where celebrations were already in full swing, he took one deep breath, plastered on a smile, and slipped right back into the Vince Cool persona.

“We’re getting tanked tonight,” Carter said, jumping on Vince’s back. “Five-game hot streak, boys!”

“Maybe Maven here is our lucky charm,” Jaxson added, and before I could protest, he had me thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “We’ll have to kidnap you when your month is over.”

“Put me down,” I said on a laugh, beating my fists on his back. It was like hard stone.

“Only if you agree to go out with us tonight.”

“Put her down.”

Those last three words came from Vince, and it was the deepest I’d ever heard him speak. Slowly, Jaxson did as he asked, and then the locker room was quiet for a moment — all eyes on the exchange.

“Easy, Pidge. I was just messing around,” Jaxson said, and he looked almost scared before a grin split his face, and he eyed Vince like he knew all his deepest secrets.

Vince didn’t respond. He just glanced at me, back at Jaxson, and then sat down on one of the benches to begin the arduous process of stripping out of his pads.

I waited in the hallway outside the locker room, uploading some of the content I’d filmed while the boys took quick showers and got ready to load the bus. We were spending the night in the city, flying out first thing in the morning, and while the guys were ready for a night out on the town, I, for one, was missing what little semblance of a routine I had back in Tampa.

My whole life had been thrown off-kilter, and the more I slipped into this new lifestyle, the less I knew what day it was or what was going on. I did yoga when I could, called my parents, and saw Livia when she was at the stadium, but other than that, my life revolved around Vince Tanev.

“You okay?”

I startled at the voice, but recognized it immediately. Slipping my phone into my purse, I pushed off the wall to stand, trying for my best smile.

Vince was freshly showered, his hair damp and messy, eyes wide and alert like he was ready to tear up the town. He wore gray joggers and a royal blue Ospreys long-sleeve shirt, one that hugged the lean muscles of his chest and arms and tapered at his waist.

We hadn’t talked much since we left Tampa, but I could still feel the brand of his lips on mine. When he was close like he was now, I felt it burn even hotter.

“Yeah. We heading out?”

Vince eyed me like he didn’t believe me. “I’m not getting on the bus.”

“Oh?”

“Are you tired?”

I laughed as a yawn stretched my mouth open right as he asked. “Full of energy.”

He smirked a little, but it fell quickly. “I got a car. Want to come with me?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“You don’t want to go out with the guys?”

Our conversation was broken when a few of his teammates passed, and he high-fived one of them, nodding to the others. They had already cracked open a few beers.

“Not tonight,” he answered when they were gone.

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“And you don’t want to go to bed?”

“I can’t,” he said. “Not after a game. It takes a while for the adrenaline to wane.”

I chewed the inside of my lip, debating. It would be easy to just go back to the hotel and get some much-needed rest. But something about the way Vince watched me, about how he seemed to not want to be alone… it had me reconsidering.

“I’m still mad at you, you know.” I breathed the words low enough so only he could hear.

The corner of his mouth ticked up, but he didn’t say anything.

He just grabbed my hand in his, leading me through the hallway and out to where a car waited for us.