“Have you been drinking?”
“Why?”
“You smell like vodka.”
“I had a couple martinis with dinner.”
“Ah,” he said as the doors opened and they stepped into the empty elevator. “Which floor?”
“Three.” Jane looked down at the toes of her boots, then moved her gaze to his blue and gray running shoes. As the doors closed, he leaned against the back panel and crossed one foot over the other. The hem of his Levi’s brushed the white white laces. She lifted her gaze up his long legs and thighs, up the bulge of his fly and the buttons of his shirt to his face. Within the cramped confines of the elevator, his blue eyes stared back at her.
“I like your hair down.”
She pushed one side behind her ear. “I hate my hair. I can’t ever do anything with it and it’s always in my face.”
“It’s not bad.”
Not bad? As compliments went, it ranked right up there with, “Your butt’s not that big.” So why did a tingle in her wrist travel to her stomach? The doors opened, saving her a response. She stepped out first and he followed.
“Where’s your room?”
“Three-twenty-five. Where’s yours?”
“I’m on the fifth floor.”
She stopped. “You got off on the wrong floor.”
“No, I didn’t.” He took her elbow in his big hand and moved with her down the hall. Through the material of her sweater, she felt the warmth of his palm. “When you stood up in the lobby, you looked like you were about to fall over.”
“I haven’t had that much to drink.” She would have stopped again if he hadn’t kept moving her along the blue and yellow carpet. “Are you escorting me to my room?”
“Yep.”
She thought of the first morning when he’d carried her briefcase, then told her that he wasn’t trying to be nice. “Are you trying to be nice this time?”
“No, I’m meeting the guys in a few and I don’t want to have to wonder if you made it to your room without passing out on the way.”
“And that would ruin your fun?”
“No, but for a few seconds it might take my attention off Candy Peeks and her naughty cheerleader routine. Candy’s worked real hard on her pom-poms, and it would be a shame if I couldn’t give her my undivided attention.”
“A stripper?”
“They prefer to be called dancers.”
“Ahh.”
He squeezed her arm. “Are you going to print that in the paper?”
“No, I don’t care about your personal life.” She pulled her plastic room key from her pocket. Luc took it from her and opened the door before she could object.
“Good, because I’m yanking your chain. I’m really meeting the guys at a sports bar that’s not too far away.”
She looked up into the shadows of his face created by her darkened room. She didn’t know which story to believe. “Why the BS?”
“To see that little wrinkle between your brows.”
She shook her head as he handed her the key.
“See ya, Ace,” he said and turned away.
Jane watched the back of his head and his wide shoulders as he walked down the hall. “See ya tomorrow night, Martineau.”
He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Are you planning on going into the locker room?”
“Of course. I’m a sports reporter and it’s part of my job. Just as if I were a man.”
“But you’re not a man.”
“I expect to be treated like a man.”
“Then take my advice and keep your gaze up,” he said as he turned once more and walked away. “That way you won’t blush and your jaw won’t hit the floor like a woman.”
The next night Jane sat in the press box and watched the Chinooks battle it out with the Los Angeles Kings. The Chinooks came out strong and put three goals on the board in the first two periods. It appeared Luc would have his sixth shutout of the season until a freak shot glanced off defenseman Jack Lynch’s glove and flipped behind Luc into the net. At the end of the third frame the score was three-one, and Jane breathed a sigh of relief. The Chinooks had won. She wasn’t a jinx.
At least not today. She would have a job when she woke in the morning.
She remembered in horrid Technicolor detail the first time she walked into the Chinooks’ locker room, and her stomach twisted into a big knot as she passed through the doorway. The other reporters were already there questioning the team’s captain, Mark Bressler, who stood in front of his stall taking questions.
“We played well in our own end,” he said as he pulled his jersey over his head. “We took advantage of power plays and put the puck in the net. The ice was soft out there tonight, but we didn’t let it affect our play. We came out knowing what we had to do and we did it.”
Keeping her gaze on his face, Jane felt around in her purse for her tape recorder. She brought the notes she’d been taking throughout the game up to eye level. “Your defense allowed thirty-two shots on goal,” she managed between the other questions. “Are the Chinooks looking to acquire a veteran defenseman before the March nineteenth trade deadline?” She thought the question was quite brilliant, if she did say so herself. Informed and knowledgeable.
Mark looked through the other reporters at her and said, “That’s a question only Coach Nystrom can answer.”
So much for her brilliance.
“You scored your three hundred and ninety-eighth career goal tonight. How does it feel?” she asked. The only reason she knew about the goal was because she’d heard the television reporters talking about it in the press box. She figured a bit of flattery would get a quote out of the captain.
“Good.”
So much for a quote.
She turned and headed down the row of towering men, moving toward Nick Grizzell, the forward who’d scored the first goal. Long Johns fell and jocks snapped as if on cue when she walked passed. She kept her eyes up and her gaze forward as she clicked on her tape recorder and let it record questions asked by other reporters. Her editor at the Times wouldn’t know that she hadn’t asked the questions. But she knew, and the players knew it too.
Grizzell had just returned the week before from the injured list and she asked him, “How does it feel to be back in the game and scoring the first goal?”
He looked across his shoulder at her and dropped his jockstrap. “Fine.”
Jane had had about enough of this crap. “Great,” she said. “I’ll quote you on that.”
She glanced at the stall several feet away and saw Luc Martineau laughing at her. There was no way she would walk over there and ask him what he was laughing about.
She just didn’t want to know.
Chapter 5
Ringing the Berries: When the Puck Hits a Player’s Cup
Jane leaned back against her seat, pushed up her glasses, and studied the laptop resting on her tray table. She read what she’d written so far:
Seattle Checkmates Kings
The Seattle Chinooks crowned all six Los Angeles power-play chances and Goalie Luc Martineau blocked twenty-three shots on goal in a 3-1 victory over the Los Angeles Kings. The Kings put a goal on the board in the last few seconds of the game when a freak shot glanced off Seattle player Jack Lynch’s glove and flipped into the Chinooks’ net.
On the ice, the Chinooks play a fast, fearless game, aggravating the opposition with skill and brute strength.
Inside the locker room they seem to love to aggravate journalists by dropping their pants. I know of at least one reporter who would love to put “the big hurt” on them.
She reached forward and deleted the last paragraph. It had only been six days, she reminded herself. The players were leery and superstitious. They felt she had been forced on them, and they were right: She had been. Now it was time for them to get over it so she could do her job.