Our Overtime: Ice League Book 1 (The Ice League Series)
Our Overtime: Chapter 1

I didn’t know if I was allowed to say yes to him… And I still couldn’t believe he asked me.

He worked in the front office of the rink, punching our ice time cards whenever we went out for a practice session. He only worked a couple days a week. I knew this was because he was probably one of the many guys who lived with a billet family and played on the junior team here at the Ice League and worked for discounted ice time.

But I thought he’d been watching my friend, a term I used loosely for her, named Ally, not me.

I was too shy to even look at him when I handed my punch card over. Ally was the one who had conversations with him. If I said one word in the conversation, I was thinking about how stupid I sounded for the rest of the day, so I usually just stayed quiet.

He was one of those funny, magnetic kinds of people, like everything he said was meant to make someone smile and everyone loved him. I was envious of those kinds of people because no matter how hard I tried it didn’t seem like anyone ever wanted to stick around me for very long. I hadn’t even seen my grandparents who I lived with in about two weeks.

I walked down the rubber-floored hallway to the front office to punch my card a little earlier than usual today. Another girl I skated with was having a breakdown in the locker room and I wanted out. I’d rather hang in the lobby than be pulled into that drama.

I didn’t realize he was in the office alone until it was too late to walk away. I would look awkward as hell if I did that. I took a shaky breath and handed my card over, reminding myself I’d be on the safety of the ice in five minutes. He lifted his head and gave a bright smile and his whole face up to his eyes seemed to light up.

I thought the whole exchange was going to happen without words until he suddenly spoke.

“Hullo again. What’s your name?” he said in what I detected as a slight Canadian accent.

I felt awkward under his gaze and paused a second too long, “Uh, Julianna…Hurley,” I stammered out. “Yours?”

“Makes sense,” he said, nodding seriously, and pushing a hand through his short brown hair.

“Huh?”

“Pretty girl, pretty name,” he said with his head tilted to the side as he studied me. “I feel like I’ve heard Hurley before,” he tapped his fingers thinking. “Do you have any brothers who play?”

I felt my face blush hot at his compliment and tried to focus on what he was saying past that. “Play?” I asked.

“The best sport,” he said with confidence, puffing out his chest, “Hockey.”

“Oh,” I hesitated not knowing how much I should share with a stranger. “My dad… uh…”

Realization dawned on his face and his eyebrows scrunched together. “I’m sorry, Julianna, I didn’t realize… I just-” he stammered for a second, and I felt the upper hand and eagerness to help him out of the uncomfortableness of the situation.

“It’s ok, I don’t remember at all,” I grimaced with the slight embarrassment I always felt over not remembering my father’s death, which I knew in the back of my mind was a misplaced feeling. It wasn’t unusual for people not to remember before the age of four, I’d looked it up enough times to be sure, but it never soothed the guilt for some reason. My father was a hockey star, I was told. He’d reached the NHL and played for the Rangers for two complete seasons. In the midst of his third season, he had a heart attack on the ice and never made it home to me. All I had of our father-daughter bond were a couple of photos: Him holding toddler me up on the ice after a conference championship game, and him proudly smiling with me sitting inside the coveted Stanley cup.

I guess I also had his parents, who raised me as well. He left them, however, with no information on my mother, an aspect I knew they were salty about. After being shut down at each point of questioning pertaining to my mother, I left the subject, but gathered the fact that they believed that with “all of the women throwing themselves at hockey players,” she was “just another puck bunny,” according to my grandmother. I had a hard time believing this because I couldn’t even talk to boys usually.

My grandparents didn’t understand my need to be on the ice, considering where his death took place and all, and if I ever asked to play hockey, I think they’d both have aneurysms. But I always chalked that up as another tally in my mental column of the ways they didn’t really know me. The rink was the only place I felt closer to knowing something about him; and at least they respected the sport of figure skating.

I felt the need to change the subject and push pity away. “Well, what’s your name?”

“Greyson Scott. But I go by Grey,” he added with a wink.

It was my turn to study him. It was a strong, but serious name. He didn’t seem like a serious guy to me. Maybe he’d grow into it one day… but that would be kind of a shame. I liked his lightness.

“So, Julianna, you ever skate at Tenny Park?”

The question took me by surprise. “Uh, no. I love outdoor skating, but I don’t get to go much,” I admitted.

“You love outdoor skating and you’ve never been to Tenny?!” He asked, acting aghast at the idea.

My face heated again, and I felt my lips twist in amusement. “I’ve always wanted to,” I pointed out, “But I’d probably get in trouble for skating out there.”

“In trouble?” He asked curiously.

“Yeah, because I have to practice every day. I’d have to skate there at night, and then somehow get my skates sharpened and ready to go for the next day.”

He nodded, “Because it kind of trashes your blades. I usually use old skates,” he said simply.

“I give ‘em away,” I replied lamely.

“What? What if you become a famous figure skater? You just gave away skates people would fight over!”

He said it as if it were the end of the world and I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but I laughed at his reaction and shook my head, “I’m not going to be famous.”

His eyes popped out and he looked at me like I was crazy. I felt myself get a little defensive until he said, “I’ve seen you out there, Jules. You’re pretty fucking great.”

Two thoughts popped into my mind almost simultaneously- I liked the way he said Jules. No one called me that. And he’d seen me skate? That really made my face hot. I wished I could turn off my self-consciousness. I couldn’t comprehend why he would watch me. This cute boy. Watched me? I tugged at the hole in my gloves and couldn’t look back at him.

“You could always drive to have them sharpened before practice the next day?” He suggested with a shrug. His shoulders were so much stronger and broader than mine, he practically looked like he had shoulder pads on.

“I can’t drive,” I said a little too quickly. I was shocked at how fast I was replaceing words. I usually couldn’t converse with boys, but of course I could talk just long enough to offer up an embarrassing fact about myself.

He looked at me strangely then. It was true though. I was already 16, so I should’ve been able to, but my grandparents never had time to teach me, and I was pretty busy myself anyways. All my hours were dedicated to school or skating. I rode the bus to school. The rink was across the street from the high school. And then I rode the bus home. It was pretty simple, and I was fine with it.

“Let’s make a deal,” he said. His eyebrows scrunched together in fake concentration. “What if we go to Tenny Park tonight and skate, and then I’ll sharpen your skates before your practice tomorrow? I’m getting pretty good at it, and I can do it for free. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so you get here at 9, right?”

I ignored the second part, of course he knew figure skating hours because he worked here, not because he had specifically watched me… right? I focused on what really blew my mind, “You want to go to Tenny Park… with me?” I asked, I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. I was hesitant to say yes in case he was just trying to make fun of me. Why would this unbelievably cute boy want to take me out skating? I’d never been asked out on a date before… did this qualify as a date? I’m pretty sure it did…

“Yes,” he said firmly.

“Uh.. why?”

“Because I want to hold your hand,” he said with a confident look on his face. “And maybe kiss you,” he wagged his eyebrows at me. “And I’ve wanted to ask you out for a long time,” he smiled.

I opened my mouth, but no words came. I’d never kissed anyone before. I found it hard to swallow; it felt like I’d achieved a whole new level of nervousness.

“So, I can drive. You punched in for two hours, so you leave here around 5ish, so I’ll pick you up at 6:30ish?”

It was a good thing he kept talking, because I was too shocked to come up with words… so I gave him a swift nod.

We were going skating. I didn’t want to dress up. That would be dumb, I told myself. I stressed over what I was wearing anyway. I decided on black leggings, gray leg warmers, and my light blue warm-up jacket. It would be kind of chilly, but I didn’t want to wear a ton of layers and look all puffy. I wished I had a friend to run this by, but I usually kept to myself. At the rink, everyone was a competitor first, friend only second. I berated myself for not getting closer to anyone now though. Why wasn’t I more social? Then I wouldn’t be so weird. I debated putting my hair up or down for the last half hour and decided to leave it down. He’d never seen it down before because it was always pinned in my signature low bun for skating. I decided I’d bring a ponytail in case I wanted to jump or spin and needed to tie my hair up.

The doorbell cut off my thoughts. Well, I guess if I blew it, I wouldn’t have to tell anyone.

I quickly ran downstairs and opened the door to reveal The Boy. The very first boy who asked me out. He looked even more cute in his hockey warm up pants and a team sweatshirt, and he perfected the messy but nice look with his dark hair.

“Damn, this is a huge house,” Grey said, as he looked around the foyer. He finally rested his eyes on me, and I immediately felt my cheeks burn. He reached out to tug the ends of my hair. “You look lovely, Miss Jules.” It seemed he had decided on that nickname, and it made me feel warm inside. No one had ever given me a nickname before.

“Huge, but no one ever in it. The house,” I joked, but it didn’t come off as funny as I’d meant it to, and it left me feeling too transparent. I just wanted to turn his hot gaze away from me. Grey bit his cheek in and just nodded, like he understood what I was saying.

I grabbed my skating bag and following him out the door to his old truck.

“So, I was gonna take you to a fancy dinner, but I like really really love the pizza at Old Tenny’s concession stand… Annnd I only have like 10 dollars to my name right now. That okay?” He grinned as he climbed into his truck.

“That sounds perfect,” I felt myself relax a bit into the lumpy seat.

“You gonna be warm enough in that?” He asked genuinely, looking at me with a doubtful face.

“Yeah, I’m used to the cold. I won’t complain,” I told him, but I was questioning my wardrobe choice.

He reached behind him and grabbed another team sweatshirt from his back bench seat and handed it to me with a wink.

“I gotcha covered. You’re a tiny thing, you’ll freeze out there without it.”

I’d never worn a guy’s sweatshirt before. I felt a mixture of shock and giddiness over it and was immediately met with its strong woodsy mixed with clean laundry scent. I wondered if that was just him or some kind of guy cologne he used. Whatever it was, I wanted to bottle it up because it really put my candles to shame. I wondered if they sold “boy” scented ones.

I looked down at it in my lap and noticed that printed in big capitals was the name Scott and under it read #29.

“My birthday is the 29th,” I told him, and then internally slapped myself for saying something so dumb, like that was something we had in common or something.

But he didn’t make fun of me or act weird over it. He just gave me a bright smile. “My lucky number.”

At Tenny Park, we sat on a bench together and laced up our skates.

“I always tie up my left skate first,” he told me. “It’s my one superstition… that and my lucky undies,” he joked.

I arched an eyebrow at him, “You really have lucky undies?”

Red entered his cheeks, and I was shocked that this human actually got embarrassed, I was thinking it didn’t happen to him. He had a way of always seeming so sure of himself, I was envious of it.

“Change of subject,” he said. “You have any superstitions?”

“I do,” I confirmed. “I have to warm up the exact same every day. And I have to do my double axel in the exact same spot every time. It drives my coach crazy.”

“Where’s that?”

“On the bleacher side of the blue line. The blue line furthest from the zam doors. I set up with crossovers kind of loosely around center ice.”

He nodded and regarded me with a look that said he was impressed, “Now every time I’m running drills by that spot, I’ll think of you landing a triple axel right there for me,” he smiled.

I rolled my eyes, “yeah, triple axel, sure,” I joked. “Because like three girls in the whole world can do that.”

“Well, whatever you do out there is pretty damn impressive to me.”

“I can’t believe you’ve watched our side,” I said.

“I don’t watch your side, I watch you,” he pointed out.

Those words really took me for a loop. I guess he could see the surprise on my face, because he let out a chuckle.

He looked out to the ice that stretched before us then. “I really love it out here,” he said. “Like a lot more than the regular rink. When I’m old I’m going to build a huge rink in my backyard.” He made a gesture with his arms to emphasize how big he wanted it. “I’ll have all my friends over and have a huge tournament party.”

“That sounds fun,” I mused. I couldn’t help but think of how different we were. I wouldn’t have anyone to invite. But I guess that could be the difference between playing a sport with friends versus going against them. “I love it out here too. This is much more fun. No pressure.” My eyes followed a little girl struggling to chase boys in hockey skates.

He turned to me, and I felt his gaze on my cheek.

“You feel pressure on the ice?” he asked in a surprised tone.

“Don’t you?”

He shook his head, “it’s my release of pressure.” He stood then and started gliding away from me. “Stick with me Ju-ju and I’ll teach you my ways,” he winked.

Skating with him was a different kind of fun. I didn’t get the triumphant feeling I usually did when I landed jumps or executed perfect spins. I was just having fun doing fancy footwork next to him, and then he’d try to replicate it, usually failing miserably and causing me to crack up laughing. It was probably the most I’d laughed in a long time. Every once in a while, I’d go off and throw a simple axle or double loop- the only jumps I felt comfortable enough to do in front of him because I felt confident that I wouldn’t fall on them. He applauded every time, making me feel special, even though I’d been doing those jumps since I was probably seven and they weren’t very impressive. I cherished the feeling of how deep my blades cut into the iced over river. I really had always wanted to skate here.

Tenny Park consisted of a river that ran through the city, so a couple times we skated under bridges that cars crossed over. As we crossed under an impressive looking bridge, I pulled myself into a quick layback spin, amazed at the cool sound of the echo the cars were making above me.

Still a little dizzy, I glided back to an awestruck Grey.

“You’re like art,” he said when I reached him.

“What?” I asked, laughing at the notion.

“Yeah, it’s like you’re so seamless. There’s no stop and start like hockey, it’s just one beautiful, ever-moving painting,” he said with admiration in his voice.

He was quite taller than me, but I could tell looking up into his eyes that they were serious. They were beautiful, kind eyes, deep brown and rimmed in red from the cold, with the most impressive eyelashes I’d ever seen.

“Thank you,” I told him, earnestly. No one had ever been that complimentary of my skating.

“I feel like you don’t even get it,” He joked.

“Huh?” I asked confusedly.

He stopped, reached out to grab my hand, and then tugged me back towards him.

“God, I love that. Any other girl would’ve fallen on her ass,” he said. He pulled me into a tight, warm hug and looked down at me.

“You have the prettiest, and bluest eyes I have ever seen.” He looked unsure of himself for the first time then. “Can I kiss you?”

Excited nerves coursed through my body, and I felt myself nod.

He slowly angled his head near mine, and touched my lips briefly, and then lingered. His lips were so warm and soft. I wanted more, and I think he sensed so. He pushed down firmer then, and my lips parted for his tongue. He swept it through my mouth and then playfully bit my lower lip.

When he lifted his head, I was immediately nervous. Did I do it right? I wanted to do it again, but did he?

“Damn,” he gave me a quick squeeze and rested his chin on my head. “Fuckin fireworks, Juju.”

I couldn’t help but let a happy little giggle escape.

When I got to the rink the next day, my skates were waiting in the locker room with a note scrawled in crappy boy handwriting: “I had a really great time Juju. Wanna grab donuts with me and the boys after practice today? They wanna meet my girl. And don’t worry about the damn bus. I’ll be giving you a ride.”

Was I already his girl? We’d only had one date, but by the end of it, it felt like we’d known each other for much longer. He was kind. He was exuberant. He was brilliant. The kind of person you wanted to be around. The kind of person you hoped to God really liked you.

And I really did want a donut and to meet his friends.

I felt suddenly seen and wanted. And I wanted more than anything for him to kiss me again.