It Begins With Us

2.

I take my seat in the stands and look around.

'Guess I'm really not going to see her again.' I confirm when she's nowhere in sight.

A dark haired woman with a huge backpack barrels past me and falls into the seat right beside mine.

'No way.'

"Hello there Ms. Leafs." I say turning to her with raised brows.

"Interesting to see you again Mr. Bruins." She mutters.

"How'd you afford another Leafs vs. Bruins ticket?" I ask curiously. "You don't  happen to petnap and sell people's pets, do you?"

"Of course not." She sighs. "I don't do pets, that's my neighbour. I take the kids."

"Risky." I chuckle and settle into my seat. "Who you betting on?" I ask suspiciously and she pretends to think.

"You know the blue and white ones that kicked ass yesterday?" She asks playing along and I savor the bad language.

"Yeah, you mean the ones that sucked ass almost every other game that they've played?" I snicker.

"No, that would be the other team." She laughs softly and for the fifth time I wonder what her laugh sounds like.

"Nice." I congratulate. "One point for Ms. Leafs."

"Thank you."

The first two periods of the game go by in a blur of scores and we're at a tie. Two to two. The two of us fall into our seats heavily and groan. Then we both sit up really fast and grab our bottles. We chug and chug till our bottles are empty.

"We should have waited till the last period." She states flatly her voice hoarse.

"Uh-huh." I mutter, distracted by the sound of her voice. "So really, how'd you afford a ticket?" I ask and she smiles making my skin tingle. There's a perfect little dimple that shows up right beside the lower corner of her mouth.

"I'm a violinist." She says proudly and I marvel at the idea.

"Seriously?" I wonder aloud. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Why not?" She asks lightheartedly.

"I just thought," I wonder inwardly for a bit. "I thought violinists are more elegant and graceful then most people."

"Hmm." She hums. "I get that actually."

"I don't mean any of that offensively, by the way." I say carefully.

"I know, but I mean my hands are pretty elegant." She says eagerly putting her hands forward.

I hesitate and take hold of her hands. Just as I do a cough hits her and she turns her head to direct it away. I keep my attention on her hands. They feel warm, and big in mine compared to most female hands that I've held. I examine the many veins sticking out all over her wide and flat hands.

"Yeah, definitely." I say reluctantly as she ceases coughing, because giving an answer means no excuse to hold her hands.

'When did I ever need an excuse?' I ask myself and keep ahold of them.