Getting Lucky - Jennifer Lazaris


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Getting Lucky by Jennifer Lazaris ©2015 Jennifer Lazaris

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.

Cover: Hockey player Image Credit/ © Nicholas Piccillo/Shutterstock

Textual elements added to the cover image by Jennifer Lazaris

For more information, please email Jennifer Lazaris at: jenlazaris*gmail or visit jenniferlazaris.wordpress /


For Mom, who saved the very first story I wrote in 1st grade. You are my rock.

And for Kim, who left us far too soon. I miss you every single day, sweet girl. Love you forever.


For my Mom, who taught me to read when I was four years old. Thank you for opening so many new worlds to me. Your encouragement, support, love and eternal belief in me means more than you could ever know. You are the absolute best. I love you.

For my Dad, who faithfully attended my deck hockey games, and who never sugar coated the truth just because I’m a girl. Thanks for teaching me to never follow the crowd, but to always follow my dreams. Love you, Daddy.

Finally, to my husband, Mike. If it wasn’t for this sport we love so much, we never would have met. Thanks for putting up with piles of laundry, dirty dishes, and too many frozen pizzas. You never stopped believing in me, and that means the world. The plan is finally in action. S’agapo, honey.


The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Jumbotron, Sony Corporation

NHL, National Hockey League

Stanley Cup, National Hockey League

Cadillac Escalade, General Motors Corporation

iPhone, Apple, Inc.

Pontiac GTO, General Motors Corporation

Facebook, Facebook, Inc.

Twitter, Twitter, Inc.

Armani, Giorgio Armani S.p.A.

Xbox, Microsoft Corporation

Google and Google Images, Google


“O’Bryan, you’re an asshole!”

A large man next to Zoe at the Las Vegas Kingsnakes hockey game cursed the Nevada team from the moment he took his seat. Beer sloshed over the plastic cup he held in one large, beefy hand. His Chicago jersey reeked of alcohol and cigarettes.

With two minutes left in the third period, Chicago’s Corey Anderson gained possession of the puck and raced down the ice toward Nevada’s goal, attempting to score. Behind 2—1 to the Kingsnakes, they needed a goal to tie the game and force overtime.

Ryder O’Bryan, right winger for Las Vegas, charged into his defensive zone and backchecked Anderson to stop the offensive rush.

The two players had been at each other the entire game—pushing, shoving and trading insults. O’Bryan managed to wrestle the puck away from Anderson, but his clearing attempt knocked it out of bounds. The referee blew the whistle, stopping play.

Anderson’s temper finally got the best of him. He grabbed O’Bryan by the jersey and landed a left hook directly to his jaw.

“Yeah, kick that pussy’s ass, Anderson!”

The Chicago fan lumbered to his feet and slammed his fists on the safety glass surrounding the ice surface. Zoe glanced warily at the man and slid left in her seat, attempting to put as much distance between them as possible.

Anderson’s punch spurred a brawl between the two men directly in front of Zoe’s section, causing all hell to break loose on the ice. Gloves dropped and fights broke out between players on both teams.

The Chicago fan stumbled and grabbed Zoe in an effort to regain his balance. Clutching a handful of her shirt, he yanked her from her seat, spinning her around and propelling her forward. She shrieked, falling into the glass shoulder-first. He swayed and fell, all three hundred pounds of him crashing into Zoe.

Pain blazed up her arm and into her jaw. Bitter-tasting bile rose in her throat, and she fought an urge to puke all over the Nevada Arena floor. She cried out again, but the sound got lost amidst the screaming crowd.

“Get off me, you jackass,” Zoe rasped. Pinned by his massive girth, she wrenched her good arm free and elbowed him in the stomach.

“Red-haired bitch,” the man mumbled. A few fans seated nearby banded together and managed to pull him away from Zoe.

Dazed, she hung her head and grabbed the boards for support. A large, crimson welt began to form on her upper arm.

She glared at the drunk. “You nearly broke my shoulder, asshole! Do you act like a douchebag at every hockey