horny imagination. He had to figure out a better way to deal with both. “I’ll try to be…”
“Nicer? Make her happy.”
“More respectful. It’s your job to make her happy. Maybe you two can go shopping, buy matching sweaters, and have a girls’ night.”
“What?” Jules folded his arms over his big chest, again looking like he was big, bad trouble. “I’m not gay.”
Ty stood and dropped his towel. “I don’t give a shit if you’re gay or straight or somewhere in between.” He knew several gay players who hit like freight trains.
“Why do you think I’m ‘gay or straight or somewhere in between?’” Jules looked truly baffled. “Do the other guys think I’m gay?”
Ty shrugged.
“Because I use hair product?”
“No.” He stepped into his underwear. “Because you say ‘hair product.’”
Chapter 7
A discordant wave of cheers and cowbells rose from the arena below and clashed with the clinking of wineglasses within the skybox inside the Key Arena in Seattle. Faith leaned forward, her fingers gripping the arm of her chair as she gazed down at the scrum in front of the Chinooks net. Sticks and elbows flew in the crease, and of course Ty Savage was right in the center of the action. Goalie Marty Darche went down in a butterfly, stacking his pads while the players on both teams battled it out in the second period.
“Clear the puck,” she whispered, just as the blue light at the back of the cage spun, tying the score at two.
“Shit,” Jules swore as a small contingent of loyalSharks fans went wild in the stadium below. “Who Let the Dogs Out” blasted from the speakers, and Faith put a hand over her eyes. Now that she was so invested in the game, it was painful to watch. It made her nerves jump and her stomach knot and had her wishing for something stronger than the Diet Coke she had sitting next to her right foot.
As if she’d read her mind, Valerie took Faith’s hand from her eyes and pressed a glass of wine into her palm. “This will help.” Then she went back to the buffet set up in the box to entertain her girl friend, Sandy, up for a few days from Vegas. Valerie hadn’t even asked if Sandy could stay before she’d invited her. Faith had known and liked Sandy all her life and didn’t mind, she just wished her mother had asked.
After the game, her mom and Sandy planned to hit some bars and “raise hell.” Faith wasn’t sure who was the most pathetic. Them, for wearing spandex and “raising hell” at their age, or her, for going home and going to bed early.
Faith took a drink of her Chardonnay as the goal was replayed over and over on the sports timer suspended in the center of the arena.
On the ice at the other end, Marty Darche rose to his feet and grabbed a water bottle from the top of his net. Ty stood in front of him while the goalie shot water into his mouth. Marty nodded and Typatted the top of the goalie’s helmet with his big gloved hand before skating toward the bench.
On the big sports screen, the camera zoomed in on the back of Ty’s broad shoulders and the white letters spelling out SAVAGE across his blue jersey. The San Jose Fans booed. The Chinooks fans cheered and Ty moved across the ice with his head down; the hair at the back of his neck curled up around his helmet. Last night in the Chinooks locker room, she’d run her fingers through his hair and a warm little flutter had tickled her stomach. The kind she hadn’t felt in years. But later that night after she’d returned home, the little flutter had turned into a burning stab of guilt. Virgil had been dead less than a month and she shouldn’t be feeling warm little any things with any man, let alone the captain of Virgil’s hockey team. Correction: her hockey team.
Ty stopped in front of the bench and glanced up over his shoulder. His blue eyes looked out from the sports screen. One corner of his mouth kicked up into a half-assed smile as if he enjoyed both the booing and cheering fans,
“Nicer? Make her happy.”
“More respectful. It’s your job to make her happy. Maybe you two can go shopping, buy matching sweaters, and have a girls’ night.”
“What?” Jules folded his arms over his big chest, again looking like he was big, bad trouble. “I’m not gay.”
Ty stood and dropped his towel. “I don’t give a shit if you’re gay or straight or somewhere in between.” He knew several gay players who hit like freight trains.
“Why do you think I’m ‘gay or straight or somewhere in between?’” Jules looked truly baffled. “Do the other guys think I’m gay?”
Ty shrugged.
“Because I use hair product?”
“No.” He stepped into his underwear. “Because you say ‘hair product.’”
Chapter 7
A discordant wave of cheers and cowbells rose from the arena below and clashed with the clinking of wineglasses within the skybox inside the Key Arena in Seattle. Faith leaned forward, her fingers gripping the arm of her chair as she gazed down at the scrum in front of the Chinooks net. Sticks and elbows flew in the crease, and of course Ty Savage was right in the center of the action. Goalie Marty Darche went down in a butterfly, stacking his pads while the players on both teams battled it out in the second period.
“Clear the puck,” she whispered, just as the blue light at the back of the cage spun, tying the score at two.
“Shit,” Jules swore as a small contingent of loyalSharks fans went wild in the stadium below. “Who Let the Dogs Out” blasted from the speakers, and Faith put a hand over her eyes. Now that she was so invested in the game, it was painful to watch. It made her nerves jump and her stomach knot and had her wishing for something stronger than the Diet Coke she had sitting next to her right foot.
As if she’d read her mind, Valerie took Faith’s hand from her eyes and pressed a glass of wine into her palm. “This will help.” Then she went back to the buffet set up in the box to entertain her girl friend, Sandy, up for a few days from Vegas. Valerie hadn’t even asked if Sandy could stay before she’d invited her. Faith had known and liked Sandy all her life and didn’t mind, she just wished her mother had asked.
After the game, her mom and Sandy planned to hit some bars and “raise hell.” Faith wasn’t sure who was the most pathetic. Them, for wearing spandex and “raising hell” at their age, or her, for going home and going to bed early.
Faith took a drink of her Chardonnay as the goal was replayed over and over on the sports timer suspended in the center of the arena.
On the ice at the other end, Marty Darche rose to his feet and grabbed a water bottle from the top of his net. Ty stood in front of him while the goalie shot water into his mouth. Marty nodded and Typatted the top of the goalie’s helmet with his big gloved hand before skating toward the bench.
On the big sports screen, the camera zoomed in on the back of Ty’s broad shoulders and the white letters spelling out SAVAGE across his blue jersey. The San Jose Fans booed. The Chinooks fans cheered and Ty moved across the ice with his head down; the hair at the back of his neck curled up around his helmet. Last night in the Chinooks locker room, she’d run her fingers through his hair and a warm little flutter had tickled her stomach. The kind she hadn’t felt in years. But later that night after she’d returned home, the little flutter had turned into a burning stab of guilt. Virgil had been dead less than a month and she shouldn’t be feeling warm little any things with any man, let alone the captain of Virgil’s hockey team. Correction: her hockey team.
Ty stopped in front of the bench and glanced up over his shoulder. His blue eyes looked out from the sports screen. One corner of his mouth kicked up into a half-assed smile as if he enjoyed both the booing and cheering fans,
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