Body Check (10 page)

“Janna.” Her head was down again, fascinated by her beer. Carefully, oh so carefully so as not to startle or offend, he put his index finger beneath her chin and gently tilted her head up so he could see her eyes, which were now glistening with liquid.
Shit
. The last thing he'd wanted to do was make her cry. And of course, right on cue, Kevin and Abby were laughing their way back to the table.

“Hey, you two—”

Abby stopped short when she saw the anguished expression on Janna's face and slid immediately into her seat, taking her hand.

“What did you do?” she hissed at Ty. Before Ty could roar back in self-defense, Janna jumped in.

“He didn't do anything,” she reassured Abby. “We were discussing something very sad, that's all.”

“You sure?” Abby asked suspiciously, her eyes still reprimanding Ty.

“Honestly,” said Janna.

Abby relaxed. “All right, then.” Her hand slid from Janna's, reaching for her purse. “Kevin and I told the sitter we'd be home by twelve-thirty, so we'd better run.” She peered at Janna, concerned. “You sure you're okay?”

“I'm
fine,
” Janna insisted.

Abby rose, pointing a finger at Ty. “She's supposed to be having fun, not sitting here crying. Think you can manage that?”

Ty's jaw clenched. “I'll try.”

“Good.” Abby leaned over, kissing the side of Janna's face. “We'll see you soon.”

Again Ty's eyes sought Kevin's as he and his wife drifted from the table, but this time the message in them was different:
Tell your wife I didn't do anything!
Kevin gave a small nod, seeming to understand.

Ty looked back to Janna, who had twisted around in her seat to again check on Theresa, who appeared to be reading palms for some of the guys. At least, that's what Ty thought she was doing. If it was some bizarre courtship ritual, he didn't want to know.

“She having fun?” he asked when Janna turned back around. She nodded. “I'm sorry I made you cry,” he murmured.

“No, no, it's okay,” she replied with what seemed to him false breeziness. “What you said is the truth, and sometimes, as we all know, the truth hurts.”

His voice was a persuasive rumble. “You should do it, Janna. You should decide what kind of business you want to run and give it a try. If you don't, you'll hate yourself.”

She glanced away, clearly ill at ease. “That's easy for you to say. You're a leader. A winner. The concept of self doubt is alien to you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I can't sympathize. I can't tell you how many of the guys on the team—guys who have made it into the NHL, for Chrissakes—lack confidence.”

“Really?”

“Hell, yeah. But they feel the fear and do it anyway—with a little help from me, of course, and the coaches. We all work hard to help them build up their esteem. And it pays off. But you gotta take that first step off the cliff; you have to have faith, you know what I'm saying?”

She frowned. “Can we change the subject, please? This pep talk is starting to depress me.”

“Just trying to help.” Since it was clear that any further discussion on the subject was off limits, he stood. “Would you like to dance?” Some slow, R and B tune had just kicked in on the jukebox—Percy Sledge's “When A Man Loves A Woman”? He was so bad with these oldies, and it seemed the perfect deflection.

Janna hesitated a moment, weighing his offer. “No thanks.”

Ty was surprised to find himself feeling rejected. “C'mon,” he urged. “It's three minutes of your life. It will cheer you up.”

“Okay,” Janna capitulated, still sounding unsure.

They made their way out to the dance floor, Ty well aware that all his teammates were nudging each other and turning to watch Hatfield dance with McCoy. Jesus, was he gonna catch hell for this on Monday.

Out on the floor, he extended his left hand to her, and she took it gracefully as her other hand came up to rest on his shoulder. He felt awkward putting his hand around her waist, but she didn't resist, so he let it rest there, just above the small of her back. Careful not to bump into the other couples clinging to each other as they shuffled around the floor, he drew her closer. With that, they slowly began swaying in time to the music.

Ty was amazed at how natural it felt to hold her like this, and wondered if she felt the same way. He got his answer when she moved in closer to him, nestling her head on his chest. In contrast to the slow, sensual rhythm of the music, he could now hear his own heart pounding in his ears, rapid-fire and insistent. Could she hear it, too? He breathed slowly, deliberately, trying to keep one step ahead of the slow spread of heat beginning to simmer through his body. She was so tiny, perfect, like a little bird that needed shelter. Who needed him. As if reading his mind, she lifted her head from his chest and gazed up into his eyes. Neither of them said anything.
Maybe,
Ty thought,
because nothing needs to be said
. Or maybe because neither of them had the guts to. She lowered her head again, sighing, and they danced on.

The music ended, and the spell broke. For a split second, neither of them seemed to know what to do or who should do it first. They jerked apart awkwardly, Janna seeming to blink away the dreaminess he swore had been in her eyes only moments before. Regaining her senses, she was all business now.

“I better get Theresa home,” she said shakily, “before she proposes to Lex.”

Ty nodded, his pulse rate slowly dropping down to normal. “Need a lift?” he asked politely, hoping it wasn't too obvious that he wanted her to say “No.”

“We'll just grab a cab.” She started moving in the direction of Theresa's table, then spun back around as if she'd forgotten something.

“Thanks for the beer,” she said quickly. “And the dance. See you at practice Monday.”

“Yup,” Ty replied, watching her propel herself toward Theresa like a drowning woman making for a lifeboat. Some line had been crossed tonight and they both knew it. That's why she couldn't get the hell away from him fast enough. She was terrified. Normally, a woman treating him like he'd suddenly contracted a contagious disease would have pissed him off, but not tonight. If he could get away with it, he'd do the same thing, hotfoot it out of there with one of his pals and shove what had just transpired between them deep down into the cracks of memory, where it would never see light again.

In fact, that's what he was going to do anyway.

He went back to his table, chugged down the remains of his beer, and ordered another. Then he joined some of his teammates at another table, and, working harder at it than he ever had in his life, made sure he had a good time.

 

 

 

 

If it's true
that hearing voices is a sign of insanity, then I'm certifiable
.

It was the Monday following her weekend shuffle 'round the dance floor, and inner Janna was cursing on an endless loop.

Theresa's imagined voice then joined with inner Janna's, the two beginning a harmonizing duet of charge and counter charge.

Chemistry? Look who's talking! You're a perfect match for Michael Dante but you couldn't see it 'cause you were too busy batting your eyelashes at Lex like some deranged Mae West impersonator! Chemistry? What a stupid soap-opera word. How many insipid press releases did we churn out at
The Wild & the Free
gushing about “incredible” or “undeniable” chemistry between two actors who hated each other off the set?! Chemistry, shmemistry!

Then a third voice chimed in, making it a trio in her head. A deep, rich, confident voice. Ty Gallagher's voice.

But the voice sounding loudest in her head wasn't inner Janna, or imagined Theresa, or imagined Ty. It was a real voice, complete with New York accent, and it belonged to Lou. Two nights from now was one of the largest fund-raising events in the city, a black-tie dinner to raise money for the United Way. Janna had managed to coax former Blades Captain Roy Duncan, one of the most beloved players in New York hockey history, to attend, which was no small feat. But less than an hour ago, Lou had called her into his office to tell her that Duncan wouldn't be able to make the dinner, because his brother had died in Vancouver. They needed someone else—fast. Someone who was as big a draw as Duncan, so that those who'd paid a helluva lot of money to hobnob with a hockey legend under the guise of a good cause wouldn't be disappointed.

“Get Gallagher,” Lou had commanded, while murdering an egg and cheese sandwich. “Do whatever you have to do—beg, cry, sell your firstborn child—I don't care. Just get him.”

“I'll try,” Janna promised as she tried hard not to cringe at the yellow river of egg yolk cascading down all three of Lou's chins.

“Get him,” Lou repeated. “Today. Now. And pass me a napkin on your way out.”

So here she was, less than an hour until game time, on her way to try, once again, to sweet talk the world's most uncooperative man into doing the one thing he clearly despised. The timing couldn't have been worse: while the team was usually available to the press on an informal basis around four-thirty P.M. or so while they worked on their sticks and skates, after that it was a closed shop except for the players, coaches and trainers.

And now her.

Maybe, she thought, as she hurried along the labyrinthine concrete hallways beneath the arena, he'd cut her some slack. They'd turned some kind of corner on Saturday night, hadn't they? Maybe he'd have pity on her and agree to help her out just this once.

The locker room door was shut tight. Discreetly, she tried the handle. Locked. Not good. Swallowing, she rapped hard on the door, twice. A second later, the door jerked open just a crack. In the crack stood Ty. He already had his “game face” on. He did not look happy to see her.

“What?” he barked.

“I need to talk to you. It's important.”

“Now's not a good time.”

The door slammed.

Janna stood there, the old familiar nausea creeping up her throat. She took a deep breath and knocked again. This time the door flew wide open. Behind Ty, Janna could see all the players assembled in a circle. A minute ago Ty had held their rapt attention. Now it was fixed on her.

“When
is
a good time?” she demanded.

“If this is about PR, then the answer is never.”

He moved to close the door again but Janna wedged herself between the door frame and the door. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Ty chuckled mirthlessly. “Yeah, you are.” Gently but firmly, as if she were light as helium, he picked her up and put her back down in the hallway.

“I'm going to wait right here,” she informed him. “Like I said, this is important.”

“Suit yourself.”

Once again the door closed with a frame-shaking bang. Alone now in the hallway, Janna propped herself up against the cold concrete wall. Why had Lou insisted she talk to him
now
, when the team was trying to concentrate on the upcoming game? It was like deliberately sending a nice, plump lamb into the lair of a vicious, snarling wolf. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Half an hour. Janna knew he was taking longer than usual to give his pep talk to torture her. She knew it. Just as she was about to whip out her cell phone and call upstairs to Lou to let him know he should feel free to fire her, the door flew open and Ty stepped out into the hall.

“Well?” He was less than half dressed for the game in boxer shorts, big, thick socks, and the long-sleeve, gray cotton T-shirts issued to the team. His wrists and ankles were taped. His gaze was hard.

“Look, I hate to bother you, but—”

“This is important,” he mocked. “What?”

“Wednesday night is one of the biggest black-tie dinners in the city. Roy Duncan was set to go, but his brother died and now he can't make it.”

“So?”

“So I need you to fill in for him.” Before he could protest, Janna hurried on. “Please. If you do this one thing, I swear to God I will never ask you to do anything again.”

Ty blinked, unmoved. “Ask Kevin.”

“Kevin isn't you,” Janna replied, glancing quickly around the empty hallway to make sure there was no one there to hear. “He's not one of the greatest leaders in sports history. People aren't going to feel they've gotten their money's worth with Kevin.”

“ ‘Their money's worth'?” Ty repeated, his handsome face distorting with contempt. “What are we, circus performers, there to amuse the rich little donors?”

“You know that's not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Ty shot back, clearly unwilling to let her off the hook.

“Ty, this event raises a lot of money that goes to lots of worthy causes. The United Way is an umbrella organization for groups like Meals on Wheels, Literacy Volunteers. The more high profile people there are at these events, the more people want to attend, and the more money is raised. When word went out that Roy Duncan was going to be there, a lot of plates sold. If the Blades organization doesn't cough up someone comparable in his place, it's going to look really bad. It could hurt our reputation.”