Cold as Ice (2 page)

Michelle hangs her head. “Graeme. And yes, it's going well, thank you.” She lifts an eyebrow and smiles. “He's a good guy. I'm happy. He's taking me to a junior hockey game Saturday night.”

“Since when do you like sports?” Carla asks.

“I'm only going because he's been talking about it since our first date. His nephew plays for the team. He wants to introduce me.”

Carla lets out a barely there whistle. “Sounds serious if he wants you to meet the rest of his family.”

Michelle's eyes sparkle. “So far his family has been accepting and very kind.”

“Why wouldn't they? You're thoughtful, educated.”

“This drink was just bought for you,” the waitress says, sliding a martini over on a coaster toward Carla.

“For me?” Carla asks. “From whom?”

“That hockey player . . . Miller,” the waitress says. She thumbs over her shoulder.

“Did it come straight from the bartender?” Carla asks, skeptical. The last thing she wants is a drink laced with some drug.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did he say why he bought this for me?” Carla asks.

“Nope. He's at the bar. Ask him,” she says and walks away.

All three women turn their heads to the bar and stare.

“Where is he?” Michelle asks. “It's hard to tell from this angle.”

“Is it the guy wearing the military boots or the one with the ponytail?” Gabby asks, trying to keep a straight face.

Carla lets out a huge breath and wiggles out of her seat, securing her shiny black heels on her feet. She ignores her friends' questions and takes a step out of the booth, marching toward the bar, where she spots Devin watching the big screen overhead. She swallows hard as she stares at him. The closer she gets, the slower her feet move. His large shoulders are hunched over, his hands cradling a glass like he wants to be alone. She notices the cut on his cheekbone and wonders if the pain is as bad as it looks.

She inhales a big breath, holding it and counting to three before taking the last step before saying hello. Carla opens her mouth to speak and when he turns his head toward her, she is taken back by his tanned complexion and dark brown eyes that make her insides melt. He straightens his back and his shoulders roll into good posture, revealing his muscular upper body. There's another cut above his eyebrow that alarms her. Even still, his face is a handsome one.

“So, Miller,” she says, making a popping sound with her lips. “You could have admitted to me that you weren't staying in Carolina.”

“I didn't know.”

“You had to have known.”

“It was too early to tell.” Devin pushes his coaster away from him. “How did you know?” His eyes narrow in on her.

“You had to make a move. My guess was you were done with Carolina and wanted a new team to play with that had better chances.”

Devin shakes his head. “You called it.”

“So, what do you want?” Carla asks, one hand on her hip. Devin gives her a half smile, looking at her with his weighty brown eyes. The thickness of his eyebrows and short black hair have Carla taking in his every facial feature.

He hasn't stopped looking at her. Is her makeup okay? Is her shirt too revealing? It always feels good wearing something loose or low-cut, something she wouldn't or couldn't wear to work.

“Nothing,” he says. “Thought you'd want a drink. Who are you with?”

“Why? Are you interested in one of them?”

“Nope. I'm interested in you.”

She throws her head back and her heel falls behind her other foot for balance. “Seriously?” Carla puckers her honey-dipped lips and puts a hand on the bar, facing him.

“I am!” he says, turning his hand over before grabbing his glass. “You don't believe me.”

“I'm not sure that I do,” she says, eyeing him.

“Have a seat!” he says, with a wave of his hand at the empty seat.

She looks beside her at the empty bar stool. “I can't. I'm with my friends,” she says. “I'd invite you over, but I'd want to interview you.” She steps away from the bar. Does he remember the last time they spoke? Didn't he think she was an idiot? “I've had a couple of drinks, so it would be unprofessional.”

“I'm sure we can find something to talk about other than hockey.”

She blinks her eyes. “Tempted, but hockey's on my mind,” she says. Work was always on her mind. If she could interview Devin and break a story—a story that's desperately needed in sports right now because the reporting has been so dry—it would excite her and her audience. “Plus, I'd want it taped.”

His expression goes from smirk to serious. “I can talk hockey anytime. It's never stale.”

“Let me know when you're available.” She flips her hair back off her shoulder.

“Give me a place and time. I'll be there.”

“Come on, Miller, you're not that easy. I've been trying to get an interview with you since you arrived here forty-eight hours ago. You never returned my calls.”

“I don't remember giving you my number,” he says, feeling the wet glass with his fingertips.

“You haven't,” she snaps, folding her arms against her chest. “Your PR lady said she would pass along the message. Did you get it?”

His eyes close slightly, his look mysterious, like the first time they met at the Dome.

“Maybe I did,” he says. “I don't remember now.”

“I'm a reporter, not a crazy fan,” she says. “You don't have to worry; I won't give out your number.”

“I like crazy fans,” he says, arching the side of his lip.

“I can only imagine,” she says, blinking, thinking about two different things. She had to stop thinking about Devin's lips, and how they would feel against her skin. He probably had a girlfriend or girlfriends. He wouldn't be interested in her anyway, and she is definitely not interested in him. No way would she be caught gallivanting around with a guy who is on the road half the year with God only knows how many women nipping at his feet.

“Imagine what?” He tilts his chin.

“That you have an entourage following you everywhere you go? I don't doubt it.”

“Every team has them,” he says.

“Sure they do.”

“It's a bit crazy at times here, too, after a game . . .”

“So, Devin, what do you want from me?”

He glances down at his almost-empty beer. “If you want an interview, I want a night out with you. Show me the city.”

She burst out laughing. “You have teammates for that,” she says, staring at his prickly chin. “Ask one of the guys.”

“I plan to stay here for a while. I need to know about the city I'm playing in.”

“Do you do this in every city you play in? Get a chaperone to show you around?”

“No, this is the first.” He looks up at her and their eyes meet. For a second, Carla can barely breathe, mesmerized by his seductive eyes, so dark they make her heartbeat carry on with double rhythm.

She swallows hard. “For some reason I don't believe that.”

“Believe it! Do you have a hard time making friends?”

“No.”

“Then it shouldn't be a problem if we get to know each other.”

She stares at him, contemplating. “That can't happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . .” She's stumped. “Because it can't.”

“You don't think I'm good enough for the team, do you?”

“I didn't say that!”

“You implied.” He looks at his glass and then at her. “I know how you feel about me.”

“I don't know what I said.” She tries to recall her last newscast.

“It's not what you said, it's what you want.”

“Is that right?” She taps her toe.
Is he always this cocky?
“And what do I want?”

“You have questions about me being here, I can see that. Hell, you mentioned it on your last broadcast.”

“I did? Look, the Warriors need a new forward line,” she mumbles. “And we were fine before the trade.”

“I'll let you interview me and you can judge for yourself.”

Carla laughs. “That doesn't change a thing.”

“It will.” His back arches, leaning into the bar, and he takes a sip of his beer. His head turns in her direction. “I want to see my new city. I'm gonna be here for a while.”

“Six years?”

“We should get to know each other better. Don't you think?” He takes another sip. “I'm sure I'm going to see a lot of you at the games. We might as well be friends.”

Carla smirks. “Is this your way to get on my good side?” Her grin tightens.

“Do you have a bad side?” His eyes brush over her face as though reading her. “Never mind, don't answer that.” He cups his beer. “When do you want to do this interview?”

“Sounds like you want it more than I do.” She throws a hand on her hip. “When are you available?”

“Next practice.”

“You won't stand me up, will you?”

He brings a hand to his chest. “I'm insulted!”

“I'm sure you are,” she says with a wink.

He smiles at her. His teeth are white and straight, like she remembers. She wonders how many are real, knowing he's probably knocked out a few over the years. “See you at practice!” she says and returns to the booth. Her girlfriends are watching her, blinking their eyes with wide grins. If they only knew what Devin was really like, maybe they wouldn't be drooling over him.

“When are you seeing him?” Gabby asks, her mouth slightly open.

“I'm not!” Carla slides into the booth and takes a sip of her paid-for martini.

“Why? He's cute!” Gabby exclaims.

“How did you get to know him?” Michelle asks.

“I didn't. He wants me to take him out and show him our city. Can you believe that? What nerve. He must be a jerk if he thinks so highly of himself. He thinks I want him. Please!” She shakes her head. He probably thinks every girl wants him.

Michelle and Gabby stare at their friend with perplexed expressions on their faces. “You said no?” Gabby shrieks.

Carla lifts a shoulder. “Why should I? He just wants me to rave about him on the air. It's not because he wants to get to know me,” she says, believing that his comment about being friends is just a front. “There's nothing more to it.”

“Why does he care what you think?” Michelle asks.

“I don't know. Last year, I predicted he'd be traded to Vancouver. I caught him off guard during an interview and I guess he hasn't forgotten. I might have also said that the team didn't need the trade.”

“Meaning him,” Gabby says, resting her chin on her fist.

“That's not nice!” Michelle retorts.

“It's the truth!”

“So, you can't say that. You can hurt a guy's ego,” Gabby says. “You know that!”

“And this is coming from a woman who gave away her boyfriend's favorite T-shirts because she didn't like the look of them?”

“They were V-neck! And he has chest hair!”

Carla rolls her eyes. “I saw how hurt he was.”

Gabby waves a hand as though done with the conversation. “It didn't last anyway.”

“Jeez, I wonder why.”

“He had it coming,” Gabby says. “I told him I hated them on him, but he didn't care. Anyway, this Devin guy is eye candy, if you ask me.”

“So attitude has nothing to do with it?” Carla asks.

“To a certain extent it does.” Gabby tucks a caramel strand behind her ear. “Devin isn't your ordinary guy. He's something to look at. If he wants to take you out, go for it! Hah! What would your mother say to that?”

“I wouldn't tell her I was dating him, not that I plan to. I can only imagine what kind of guy he is off the ice if on the ice he's all tense and aggressive. I've seen how he reacts when a call isn't made in his favor.”

“Well, there's only one way to find out and that's to find out for yourself,” Michelle says.

“Nothing's going to change my mind about Devin,” Carla says with a grin, grabbing hold of her martini and sucking it down. “He may be the hottest guy I've ever met,” she says, directing her words with her fingers, “but he's certainly not a good guy. An interview will prove it.” She looks over at the bar to get another view of Devin, but he's already gone. A twinge of disappointment hits her. She wants to dislike him, but he gives her a reason to talk about the Warriors. The team needs a push to make better decisions, and if no one is watching the team and on their case, they could make more mistakes if they're not careful. More reason for her to interview Devin and make him accountable for his game.

C
hannel Five News is a busy, productive television station. A lot has been going on in the city of Vancouver: A small plane crashed, missing greenhouses and taking out livestock; a targeted shooting at a major intersection; an Easter bunny that was thought to be at the mall for photos robbed a jewelry store.

For Carla Sinclair, the sports department is also a triumph of hockey trades and basketball predictions. She has been at work researching stories since midmorning. After the noon news hour, she is on the phone with agents, trying to secure interviews to update her information for the six o'clock news.

Carla hangs up the phone with a hard twist of her wrist. She leans back in her chair. “Got our top story,” she says to her coworker, sitting at the desk beside her.

“And what's that?” the young twentysomething says out of the side of his mouth, staring at his computer screen like he doesn't want to miss whatever it is that's captured his attention.

“It's official, Devin Miller's no-trade clause was broken. Guess he wanted out of Carolina.”

“I heard the rumor,” Ryan says.

“It's not a rumor. It's big news, considering the Warriors are paying him forty-six million on a six-year contract. Ridiculous!” she mutters as she types on her computer. “Can you believe the Warriors will pay Miller an insane amount of money, yet they let their forward line suffer?”

Ryan swings his chair around. “I wouldn't say they're suffering.”

“They didn't make the play-offs last year. They're suffering!” Carla snaps, looking over at her junior reporter. “This trade better make a difference or I'm sure the public will be making a stink about the team.”

“I think Ted Walker is more afraid of what the media says. He can convince the fans whatever they need. This city is devoted! They'll stand behind the Warriors even if they're in last place.” Ryan turns himself back to face his computer.

“I still think the team needs new forwards to sharpen their offense, not another defenseman. They also need more setup and action in front of the opposing team's net,” she says, watching Ryan grin slightly and then glance at his computer.

“The bottom line is,” she continues, “they need more goals in a game. They've plateaued! And why did Walker agree to sign Miller?”

“Come on! Miller's a decent player,” Ryan says. “Just 'cause the guy didn't perform well in Carolina; he rocked it in Florida and Ottawa.”

“Which makes me wonder why they traded him,” Carla hums.

“He needed a change.” Ryan shrugs.

Carla blows out a breath. “Did he want a trade or did his agent?”

“Money talks, money talks,” Ryan says smoothly, clicking away on his keyboard. He stops and tilts his head. “Why do you care so much about this guy? Do you know him or somethin'?”

“No!” she snaps. “I don't know him! I just think the team makes stupid decisions.” She sits back in her chair. Carla wouldn't want Ryan or anyone at work to know she chatted with Devin last night. Ryan is still looking at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head and smirking.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?” she asks, rubbing her cheek and chin. Panic sets in. Could she have blueberry on her face from a muffin she ate earlier?

“No, no.” He shakes his head. “Are you still single?”

Her face feels warm. The word
still
sounded like the word
years
to her. It wasn't easy finding a date that accepted her headstrong personality and career-focused devotion. Her last two relationships were short-lived, if you can call two weeks a relationship. There hasn't been anyone who has kept her on her feet and had her missing him when they were apart.

“A bunch of us are hitting the club after work. There'll be some single guys if you're interested.”

“Do I look desperate?” she asks with an awkward smile.

“No, no, not at all,” Ryan says, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “Just thought you might like options. You know, a younger guy—”

“I'm not old!”

“I didn't say you were.”

“Your friends are like, what, twenty-three?” Carla guesses.

“Twenty-five.”

“No, thanks. Not interested. Besides, I don't want to meet someone at a club.”

“How else will you meet someone? You're always working.”

“For your information, I just so happen to like working.”

“Nothing wrong with it. Just thought I'd mention it since you're always here.”

Carla sees that her phone is blinking. “Got a call! Maybe it's Ted Walker. I've been waiting for him to get back to me.”

“I just spoke to him,” Ryan tells her, keeping his eyes on his computer screen.

Carla shoots him a look. “When?” Her hand is on the receiver.

“He called me this morning. I had a question about Mark Buckley. There was an assumption that he would be out the next five games with a groin injury.”

“What did Walker say?”

“Buckley will be back playing tomorrow. He's fine.”

“Carla Sinclair!” she answers, resting the phone between her shoulder and ear as she reaches for her notebook and pen.

“Hi, Care Bear,” the voice soothes.

“Hi, Mom,” Carla says, releasing her pen to her notebook and hovering over her desk, holding her head. “You should always call my cell.”

“I'm saving you minutes.”

“Doesn't matter. What's going on?”

“There's a dance up at the community hall. Catered dinner, auction. Do you want to go?”

“No.”

“Your dad doesn't want to go either,” she whines.

“Ask Aunt Marie. She'll go with you.”

“I thought you could meet someone.”

“Mom! It's going to be all fifty- and sixty-year-olds.”

“Have you given much thought to Curtis?”

“Your neighbor?”

“He's a nice man,” she defends. “Trims his hedges so well.”

“He's a landscaper. And about your age! Mom, I don't need your help finding a man, thanks,” she hisses. “Why can't people leave me alone? I like my life!”

“You need someone, honey. You haven't brought anyone home to introduce me to lately.”

“There's a reason for that,” Carla says, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “You scare guys off. You talk about weddings and babies. Not something guys want to hear the first time they go out with someone.”

Ryan is chuckling to himself. Carla throws a balled-up paper in his direction to make him stop.

“You'll know where they stand if you get the big questions out of the way.”

“What's with everyone? Why can't I be single and happy?” She glances at Ryan, as though directing the question at him too.

“That's not happiness, that's loneliness.”

Carla looks up at the wall clock. “Mom, I have to go. I've gotta get back to work.”

“Are you coming by for a visit soon? Haven't seen you in a week.”

Carla blows out a breath.

“I'm making dinner for Sadie and Gavin tomorrow night. Do you want to come over?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Carla hangs up, sweeps her hair back from her face and stands up, straightening her skirt. It's time to take her place at the desk to report her sports findings for the day. Carla walks to her seat and attaches her lapel microphone during a commercial.

“Cookie?” David Gillies, the news anchor, offers, waving the box in front of her.

“No, thanks,” she says, appalled that he'd ask, considering they're on air in thirty seconds.

“Shortbread. Melts in your mouth.”

She chuckles and adjusts the height of her seat so that her hands are folded together as she waits for David to introduce her.

“Good evening,” Carla begins. “Good news, the Warriors should be able to make the play-offs now, thanks to a huge deal for defenseman Devin Miller.” She pauses. “Acquired from Carolina, Miller missed five weeks in January due to a knee injury and then suffered a concussion from a hit from Patrick Morris. Does the team need another guy added to the injury list? Is he worth the money? Here's what Ted Walker had to say. . . .”

Carla watches the clip play, her fingers lightly holding on to the paper script in front of her.

When the clip ends, she arches an eyebrow in response to the praise Ted gave his new player. “There you go! According to Walker, Miller is worth it. Let's see what he can do for us during the play-offs, hopefully a lot more than what he was doing in Carolina,” she scoffs. “And if he doesn't, we have someone to blame, don't we?”

Carla reads the next story. Her report is finished and the news hour ends. She takes off her microphone and wraps it over her chair.

“We're heading for dinner,” David says. “You're welcome to join us.”

“Thanks, but I'll pass tonight,” she says.

“Have you left the building at all today?” he asks, taking off his blazer. At fifty, David is a handsome man, with light brown eyes that are as calm as a marshy pond. The trace of gray along his temples adds to his mature look and seasoned reporting.

“I haven't needed to,” she says, stepping off the platform.

“You haven't left the building all this week. What happened to your afternoon walks and escaping for a latte?”

“I took the week off,” she admits.

“A brisk walk is what you need to clear your mind.”

“Maybe.” She heads to her desk, shaking her long hair behind her to create airflow behind her neck. The hot overhead lights keep her warm, even with the cool fans blowing.

Carla pulls her chair out from her desk and sees Timothy peeking over his computer. “Is it just me or are those lights getting hotter?” She rubs a strand of hair off her forehead.

“We can turn up the air,” he says.

“Anyone else complain?”

Timothy shakes his head. “Just you.”

“Is that right?”

“I heard what you said about Miller. You might get an interview, after all,” he says.

She sits down in her chair. “I doubt it.”

“He's going to want to defend himself.”

“I didn't say anything on the record. It's Ted Walker that's hard to reach. He doesn't like speaking if he doesn't have to,” Carla says, opening up a new file on her computer. “It was hard enough getting a quick comment on Devin Miller's contract.”

“Don't take it personally.”

“I don't.”

The newsroom becomes a distraction of phones ringing, reporters talking and some eating, which makes it hard to concentrate.

“He'll get back to me,” she says, shrugging it off. “I'm not a priority.”

“Well, you should be. The Warriors have always spoken to us. Look, if you're having trouble—”

“I never said I was.”

“I was going to suggest Ryan. He's well liked and he's interviewed Ted before.”

“So have I. But Ted doesn't want to talk because he knows what I want to ask him.”

“Maybe you should say something nice about his team and then he'll talk,” Timothy suggests.

“I report the facts.”

“And your judgment,” he says with a snicker. “I'm just saying, next time praise him when he does something good. You might be surprised.”

Carla sits up straighter and leans her chin into the palm of her hand, staring at a blank screen. It's getting harder to get in touch with the important people; they don't seem to want to talk, and she doesn't seem to have the patience these days either. Carla blows out a breath.

“What's going on?” Timothy asks, tapping his pen on his thumb.

Carla can't look at her ex-husband. He knows her well and she knows he can ask the right questions to make her open up, even if she doesn't want to. That's what she loved about him, and what pulled her close to him was his ability to listen. She was at ease with Timothy; but then he was laid-back and easy to get along with.

“Nothing,” she says, her bottom lip curving up into a pout. She couldn't look at him. Carla runs her hand across her forehead; wisps of her hair thread through her fingers. She stops, letting her cheek rest on her hand.

“Is it your mom again?”

The question is an honest one. “She's gotten a bit better,” Carla admits. “Now that Sadie is a mom, she's focused on the new addition.”

“So the pressure is off for a while?”

“Yeah, until Brinley is six months old and looking for a friend to play with.”

“That's how it works,” he says.

“Your mom and dad always left us alone,” Carla says.

“That's because my sister had two children as soon as she signed her marriage license.”

Carla lets out a relieved chuckle. “I forgot about that.”

“Don't let your mom get to you.”

“Yeah,” she answers, tapping her index finger on her desk. “I try not to.” Carla looks at the clock again. It's time to go, yet no one is waiting for her at home nor does she have any plans. Her days seem to roll into together. It's been like this for two years. Maybe her mom is right; if she doesn't start looking or at least try to get a date, her options in finding someone will be jeopardized. Her mom had a way of dissecting her life and Carla, as strong as she was, fell for it every time.

“She's trying to get control of you, make you believe that you failed when you have a life she wishes she had.”