It's the night of Game Six in the Rangers series. We are standing outside The Rock. I have a brand new Zajac jersey on, and I am ignoring the dirty looks Z is giving me for wearing another players name on my back. I was against this outing. I wanted to go with a friend of mine. Anyone but him. I am still not ready for someone to recognize him. I am not ready for anyone to see the mousy, tiny, raven haired little thing on Zac Rinaldo's arm. I am not ready for the backlash, the hateful remarks that I am sure will come. I wear Red. Philly is orange.

I am trying to focus on the good about tonight. He pulled strings and got us seats behind the Devils Bench. I am watching warm ups right next to the glass, and he is trying to get me into meet some of the players. For a jealous jerk, he is trying his damnedest to make me smile. I love every second of it. Until some blonde bitch taps him on the shoulder, and decides to be nosy.

"Don't you play for the Flyers?"

I could have screamed. I wanted to cry. This bitch wasn't going to ruin my night. Nope. Nope. Nope. I tugged on his arm, ready to head back to our seats, and ready for the game to start. I was feeling hateful and feisty. I wanted blood. If not on the ice then someone else's. That blonde bitch and her red-head friend seemed like a good idea. And if they didn't stop pointing and giggling.. AND FUCKING SNAPPING PICTURES.

"Z, do not turn around. That blonde girl recognizes you. Her friends are snapping pictures."
Being the cocky jerkface he is, Zac turns around, and waves. The girls scuttle over and begin begging for pictures. I sink down in my seat, and pray for this to be over soon. Until I hear one squeak, "Oh! Is this your little sister!?" OH HELL NO.

"Actually, I am his girlfriend. But it's nice to meet another Devils fan!" My voice is clear with an edge. My eyes are bright, but dangerous with the almost too thick eyeliner. If Eddie were here he would be puling me back down to earth, telling me to calm down, and that I could scare little children right now. But he isn't and these puck sluts are going no where near MY boyfriend.

I catch Z fighting back a laugh, and he almost snorts. The girls apologize profusely, but I know I have done us in. I know that every social media network is about to light up with pictures of us. This isn't going to be pretty. I almost with I had kept my temper. I can hear them giggling still, and I am praying they just stop. But within seconds my phone buzzes to life. Zac has a twitter, and so do Allison and I. She has seen the pictures the girls posted, since they used his handle it in. After that is another one of the back of us, and one of me looking pissed the hell off. All it says is Zac Rinaldo's bitch of a girl friend..

Allison's text is short and to the point. "Have you seen this!?"

"No, Lis, I just lived it. Jesusfuckingchrist what am I going to do!?"

I don't have time for anything else, because the game is about the start. Out come my Devils, and I am screaming. Zac even joins along with me. I forget the encounter as we enter OT and nothing else happens until I pick up my phone and see my Twitter mentions have blown up. Zac follows me on Twitter, so they must have figured out who I am. Sure enough, they have. It couldn't have been that hard. I have a Devils shirt on in my profile picture. I have legit death threats from the crazy Flyers fans. I have people calling me ugly. Telling me I look like a drowned rat. This isn't what I want right now, and if you force me to be honest, ever. I couldn't help it he walked into my store and handed me his number, and damned if I was gonna suffer for it. I threw my phone back in my bag and pulled my focus back to the game.

Henrique broke away, and I jumped to my feet screaming. I knew he was going to score. Oh. MY. GOD. WE WON! We are going to the finals!!! Suck it, Rags!
---
I fell asleep on the car ride home, and wake up just as Zac pulls into his driveway. I guess I am spending the night. I had almost forgotten about the social media disaster when he brings it up. But for some odd reason, he doesn't look worried. He looks upbeat and happy. I don't get it.

"Aly, what is wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. My team made it to the Stanley Cup Finals after taking out my boyfriend's team, I got to sit right behind the bench during the game that clinched the series, and I got death threats. Oh, And I look like a drowned rat. I'd say that was a pretty epic night."

I peel off my knee high boots and leggings and then stalk into his bathroom to change. I keep a few essentials at his house, but tonight seems like a night to wear his boxers and t-shirt to bed. If only to reassure me that he is mine, and that those puck sluts are just jealous.

A knock on the door and creaking sound interrupt my fantasy of throwing them to the wolves on the ice, dressing them on Rangers Sweaters and letting Philly take care of my problem, a whole number of bloody things that are way out of proportion to the problem.

"You realize it will all blow over, right? Lis went through the same thing. Granted not on such a public level, and she didn't look like she was going to kill people who asked for Danny's picture. But look on the bright side, Pretty. We can go out the dinner!" His enthusiasm is killing me.

"Well you didn't get told you look like a drowned Rat. I did. Half of the female population of Philly who doesn't wanna kill Lis wants to kill me. Seriously. Death threats, over who I am dating? Did Sylvie go through this? Or Hartsy's wife? Or anyone else? Is it because I am such a proud Devils Fan? Do you fuckers hate me that much?"

I yank my spare brush through my hair, just to keep from shaking. His arms snake around my waist, and he leans down to rest his chin on my shoulder. "Maybe you should just date a Flyers fan.." I drift off and slip out of his arms and run to his room. I don't want to let him see my cry, even if he already knows I am.

Notes

two week break in negotiations my ass.