He tried to sound shocked. “You don’t believe in the Easter Bunny?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
She looked back at him as if he were stupid. “‘Cause rabbits gots little paws and can’t dye eggs.”
“Ah… that’s true.” Again he was impressed with her six-year-old logic. “Then I bet you’re too old to believe in Santa.”
She gasped, scandalized. “Santa is for real!”
He guessed the same reasoning that told her rabbits couldn’t dye eggs didn’t apply to flying reindeer, a fat man sliding down her chimney, or jolly little elves who lived to make toys three hundred-sixty-four days a year. “Let out some more of your kite string,” he said, then he just relaxed. He listened to her perpetual chatter and noticed little details about her. He watched the breeze toss her soft hair about her head, and he noticed the way she hunched her shoulders and raised her fingers to her lips whenever she giggled. And she giggled a lot. Her favorite subjects were obviously animals and babies. She had a flair for the dramatic, and was undoubtedly a hypochondriac.
“I skinned my knee,” she told him after reciting a long list of the injuries she’d suffered in the past few days. She pulled her dress up her skinny thighs, raised one leg out in front of her, and touched a finger to a neon green Band-Aid. “And see my toe,” she added, pointing to a pink Band-Aid visible beneath her plastic sandal. “Stubbed it at Amy’s. Do you have any ouchies?”
“Ouchies? Hmm…” He thought a moment, then came up with, “I cut my chin shaving this morning.”
Her eyes almost crossed as she looked at his chin.
“My mom gots a Band-Aid. She gots lots of Band-Aids in her purse. I could get one for you.”
He pictured himself with a neon pink bandage. “No. No, thanks,” he declined, and began to take note of Lexie’s other peculiarities, like the way she often said the word “gots” instead of “has” or “have.” He focused all of his attention on her and pretended that they were the only two people in the park. But of course, they weren’t, and it didn’t take long before two boys walked up to them. They looked about thirteen, and both wore baggy black shorts, big T-shirts, and baseball caps with the bills turned backward.
“Aren’t you John Kowalsky?”
“Sure am,” he said as he rose to his feet. Usually he didn’t mind the intrusion, especially by kids who liked to talk hockey. But today he would have preferred that no one approach him. He should have known better. After their last season, the Chinooks were bigger and more popular in the state than ever before. Next to Ken Griffey and Bill Gates, his was the most recognized face in the state of Washington, especially after those billboards he’d done for the Dairy Association.
His teammates had given him a whole shit load of razzing for the white milk mustache, and although he’d pretended otherwise, he had felt like a weenie whenever he’d driven by one of those billboards. But John had learned a long time ago not to take the whole celebrity-athlete thing too seriously.
“We saw you play against the Black Hawks,” said one of the boys, with a picture of a snowboarder on his T-shirt. “I loved the way you hip-checked Chelios at center ice. Man, he flew.”
John remembered that game, too. He’d received a minor penalty and a bruise the size of a cantaloupe. It had hurt like hell, but that was part of the game. Part of his job.
“I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it,” he said, and looked into their young eyes. The hero worship he saw there made him uncomfortable; it always did. “Do you play hockey?”
“Just street,” the other boy answered.
“Where?” He turned to Lexie and reached for her hand so that she wouldn’t feel left out.
“Over at the elementary school by my house. We get a whole bunch of guys together and play.”
As the two boys filled him in on their street hockey, he noticed a young woman walking straight toward them. Her jeans were so tight they looked painful, and her tank top didn’t reach her navel. John could detect a sexually aggressive rink bunny at fifty paces. They were always around. Waiting in a hotel lobby, outside the locker room, and positioned next to the team bus. Women eager to get it on with celebrities were easy to spot in a crowd. It was all in the way they walked and flipped their hair. It was the determined look in their eyes.
He hoped this woman would walk right on past.
She didn’t.
“David, your mom wants you,” she said as she stopped next to the two boys.
“Tell her in just a second.”
“She said now.”
“Dang!”
“It was good to meet you guys.” John reached out to shake their hands. “The next time you’re at a game, wait for me outside the locker room and I’ll introduce you to some of the guys.”
“Really?”
“All right!”
When the two walked away, the woman stayed behind. John let go of Lexie’s hand and glanced down at the top of her head. “It’s time to reel in your kite,” he said. “Your mom will wonder what happened to us.”
“You John Kowalsky?”
He looked up. “That’s right,” he answered, his tone clearly letting her know that he wasn’t interested in her company. She was pretty enough, but she was skinny and had that fake blond look to her, like she’d been left out in the sun too long. Determination hardened her light blue eyes, and he wondered how rude she was going to force him to get with her.
“Well, John,” she said, and slowly pushed the corners of her lips upward into a seductive smile. “I’m Connie.” Her eyes raked him from head to toe. “And you look pretty good in those jeans.”
He was fairly certain he’d heard that line before, but it had been a while and he couldn’t remember it exactly. Not only was she encroaching on his private time with Lexie, she wasn’t very original either.
“But I think I’d look better. Why don’t you take them off and we’ll see?”
Now John remembered. The first time he’d heard it, he’d been twenty and had just signed with Toronto. He’d probably been stupid enough to bite. “I think both of us should keep our pants on,” he said, and wondered why men were the only gender accused of using cheap old pickup lines. Women’s come-ons were equally bad, and most often downright raunchy.
“Okay. I could just crawl right on inside.” She ran the tip of one long red fingernail along his waistband, then down.
John reached out to remove her finger from his fly, but Lexie took care of the problem. She batted the woman’s hand away, then stepped between them.
“That’s a bad touch,” Lexie said as she glared up at Connie. “You could get into really big trouble.”
The woman’s smile faltered as she glanced down. “Is she yours?”
John chuckled softly, amused by Lexie’s fierce expression. He’d certainly needed his share of security before, especially in the City of Brotherly Love, where the fans could get real nasty if someone put the big hurt on their team. But he’d never been guarded by a girl, much less a girl under four feet. “Her mother is a friend of mine,” he said through his smile.
She looked back up at John and flipped her hair. “Why don’t you send her to Mama, and you and I can go for a drive in my car. I have a big backseat.”
A quickie in the back of a Buick didn’t even arouse his curiosity. “I’m not interested.”
“I’ll do things to you that no other woman has done.”
John seriously doubted her claim. He figured he’d pretty much done everything at least once; more often than not, he’d done it twice just to make sure. He placed his hand on Lexie’s shoulder and considered several different ways to tell Connie to get lost. With his daughter so close, he had to be careful how he phrased his rejection.
Georgeanne’s approach saved him the trouble. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said with that honeyed voice of hers.
He turned to Georgeanne and wrapped an arm around her waist. With his hand on her hip, he looked into her stunned face and smiled. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”