Chasing Stanley by Deirdre Martin Page B

not feeling too hot, Coach. I think I’m getting a cold.”
    â€œI had the flu and was running a fever of one hundred and one when I won my second Cup. Don’t give me this ‘My nose is stuffed up’ bullshit.”
    Jason winced and glanced away, unsure of how to respond. Should he just come clean and tell him he was out drinking with Eric and other assorted hockey players until three a.m.?
    He hadn’t meant to get trashed. But he and Eric were having such a great time that one drink led to another, and before he knew it, late night had somehow turned to early morning. Yet the evening was great only in hindsight; right now, with a head filled with lead and his coach looking at him like he was the lowest form of scum, the previous evening seemed far from worth it.
    Jason forced his gaze back to Ty, who was still staring at him with contempt. “You’re hungover, aren’t you?”
    â€œYeah.” There was no point in lying. “I’m sorry,” Jason added, heartfelt.
    â€œMe, too. Because we’re playing Chicago tonight, and I really could have used you. Instead you’re not dressing tonight— and you owe me five hundred bucks.”
    The thought of not being allowed to play was torture. “It won’t happen again, Coach! I swear!”
    â€œYou’re fucking right it won’t happen again,” Ty snarled. “ ’Cause if it does, you’re gonna spend the rest of the season as the stick boy.”
    â€œCoach.” Jason was seconds away from tossing all dignity aside and pleading. “I really didn’t mean for it to happen. I was out with someone and—”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMy brother, Eric.” Jason removed his helmet and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “He can get a little wild sometimes and—”
    â€œJason?”
    â€œCoach?”
    â€œLet me point something out to you.” Ty still sounded disgusted. “We have a game tonight. New Jersey doesn’t.”
    Jason was confused. “So?”
    â€œDid it ever cross your beer-sozzled mind that your brother, who just happens to play for a rival team, got you drunk on purpose so you wouldn’t be one hundred percent? Or so you couldn’t play at all?”
    â€œUh, no, that never crossed my mind.” The thought made Jason vaguely ill.
    â€œWell, maybe the next time your brother invites you out for a brew, you’ll check to see if Jersey has a game the next day before accepting.”
    â€œI will,” Jason replied lamely.
    â€œGood. Now get back out there and skate until you puke. You can give me my check for five hundred dollars before the game.”
    Â 
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    â€œI’m not sure I’m up for this.”
    Delilah’s mouth felt dry as Marcus ushered her across the threshold of the Golden Bough, a New Age store down in Greenwich Village. Though she’d initially been excited by the prospect of a tarot card reading, now that she was actually here, she wasn’t so sure. What if this woman could read her mind and her long-running, secret crush on Wolf Blitzer was revealed? What if the cards said she hadn’t a hope in hell with Jason?
    Marcus inhaled deeply as he closed the door behind them. “Mmm, lavender. I love coming in here. It always smells so peaceful.”
    Delilah nodded in agreement. Marcus was right; the store smelled lovely, and the atmosphere created by the antique rugs and plump armchairs was welcoming. Delilah cocked her head, listening. Celtic music was playing softly.
    At the back of the store, a woman sat on a high stool behind a small wooden counter. She was small and curvy, with a wild tangle of red hair and the friendliest green eyes Delilah had ever seen. Spotting Marcus and Delilah coming toward her, she smiled. “Hello. I’m Gemma.”
    â€œHi, hon.” Marcus rounded the counter and kissed her cheek. “I want you to meet my friend Delilah.”
    Gemma