Hot Ticket (21 page)

“Well, he didn’t, but”—David looked completely confused—“why would
you
know about him wanting to thank
me
?”

“Remember yesterday morning, when Mindy was yelling in my face and you intervened?” David nodded. “Well, Bruce assumed you were sticking up for me because you were my boyfriend.”

“Ah.” David’s embrace seemed to grow a teeny bit stronger. “And what did you tell him?”

“That you were just a regular guest.”

“Which I am. Technically. I mean, I’ve always
been
a guest, but until last night I was—more.”

“Technically.”

“Right.”

“What was your advice?” Tierney asked.

“What, to Bruce?” Tierney nodded. “It was nothing.”

“No, tell me. C’mon.”

David rolled his eyes. “He wanted my advice on how to get Mindy into bed before they actually said ‘I do.’ ”

Tierney stiffened. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him that if she wanted to wait until their wedding night, then he should wait. That women like things to be special.” His eyes searched hers. “Right?”

“Right.”

“Speech!” someone called out. “Speech from the best man!”

The sound of the piano faded away, replaced by the clinking of metal on glass as guests tapped their silverware against their champagne flutes.

David looked horrified. “They have
got
to be kidding.”

The clinking grew louder. “Speech! Speech! Speech!”

“Oh, shit,” David whispered. He broke their embrace. “Excuse me a minute while I go throw myself out the nearest window.”

“You can do it,” Tierney encouraged.

She squeezed his arm, resuming her seat beside Aggie. David walked slowly back to the Herd table, his casual pace belying the panic building inside him. He could handle pucks being shot at his head, no problem. But public speaking? The thought made him want to throw up. All eyes in the room were on him as he picked up his champagne glass.

“What the hell should I say?” he murmured to Thatch out the side of his mouth.

“Make a bunch of jokes about the wedding night,” Thatch advised. “You know, how it’s a stretch that the bride is wearing white and stuff like that. The crowd’ll love it, trust me.”

“You’re an idiot,” David groaned. Bruce and Mindy, radiant with love, were looking at him expectantly.
Everyone
was looking
at him expectantly. His eyes caught Tierney’s. “You can do it,” she mouthed.

“Yeah right,” he blurted loudly. People’s eyes clouded with confusion.

“Now’s not the time to turn into nutty goalie man, bro,” Hawk cracked under his breath.

David inhaled deeply. “Just relax,” he told himself. He needed a ritual. Something to get him through, bring him luck. He blinked once, twice, three times—the number of NHL teams he’d played for so far. Coughed once into his fist to signify the number of Stanley Cups he had under his belt. Then he raised his glass.

“I’m sure everyone here joins me in wishing Bruce and Mindy the best. I don’t know them very well, so I don’t know if they’ve been together for a long time, or if they’ve had to battle more than the weather to say their ‘I do’s’ tonight.” The guests chuckled appreciatively. “In the end, I guess it doesn’t matter how long they’ve been together. I know couples who have been married for years but are still strangers to one another. And then there are others who see each other rarely, but somehow, their connection is very deep.” His eyes instinctively sought out Tierney’s. “What matters is the quality of the time two people spend together, not the quantity.” He raised his glass high. “To Bruce and Mindy. May all the time they spend together be special.”

Monday, 10:30
A
.
M
.

Tierney sighed with relief as she surveyed the crowd in the Barchester’s lobby. Roads were open, trains were running, and half the runways at O’Hare were cleared and ready for business. The relief of guests was palpable as they impatiently waited their turn to check out. Tierney was busy securing everything from taxis to stretch limos for departing guests.

She’d spent a sleepless night in the room assigned her by
management, haunted by David’s behavior. Part of her wanted to spend one final night with him, but she was afraid he might think she just wanted sex. The truth was, she wanted more than that now. Maybe he did, too. There was that toast. And he had kissed her outside in the snow. And told her she was “special.” She hated the way her mind hoarded these little tidbits, trying to make them all add up to something. Maybe they did. But maybe they didn’t. What did it matter? He’d told her he didn’t want to be distracted on the ice, hadn’t he?
And
he was leaving town today.

“Hey.”

The deep timbre of David’s voice had always made her swoon a little, and now was no exception. The Herd had descended upon the lobby and had taken their place in the long, snaking checkout line. It amazed Tierney how loud they were. Their presence always seemed to dominate whatever space they inhabited.

“Hey yourself,” she returned, noticing David was bleary eyed. “You look tired.”

“I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Me, either.”

David’s eyes darted away from hers.
He doesn’t want to hear that,
Tierney thought.

“Do you need me to call you guys some cabs or something?” she said, trying to keep her voice from quivering. He was disengaging. She could feel it.

“No, we’re all set.” David’s hands dug deep into the front pockets of his jeans. “Uh, listen.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper and shoved it toward her so fast she almost missed it. “That’s my itinerary, and I wrote down my home number, too,” he said quickly. “Just in case you ever feel lonely and want to talk. Or something.” He looked away again.

“Oh.” Tierney’s face flashed with heat. “Okay.” She took the square of paper, slipping it discreetly into the breast pocket of her jacket. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” David slowly raised his eyes to hers. “So I guess I’ll see you next January.”

“I’ll be here,” Tierney said, her voice ringing with false cheer.

“Have a good year.”

“You, too.” Tierney’s throat felt tight. She was finding it hard to breathe.

David didn’t move. The longer he stood there looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words, the greater the odds
she
might blurt out something that would make their parting even more awkward.
Go
, she begged silently.

David turned on his heel as if he’d heard her, walking back to where his teammates were standing. He kept his back to her until the very last minute, when the Herd began shuffling out the front door of the hotel. Only then did his eyes return to hers. Tierney deliberately looked away. She didn’t want him to see her cry.

Monday, 1:15
P
.
M
.

“You were doin’ that concierge chick this weekend. Admit it.”

One of the things David hated about air travel was being trapped next to Thatch, who never knew when to shut up. But the two of them had sat in the same seats—12A and 12B—for every flight for the past three years. Occasionally Thatch was an okay traveling companion. But Tierney’s rejection of him combined with the sight of her dancing with David at the wedding had clearly wounded Thatch’s male pride. He wasn’t going to let up until David conceded something, anything.

“What if I was?” David challenged.

Thatch scowled. “Then you could have told me rather than let me make a jackass of myself.”

“You do that, anyway.”

“Yeah, love you, too, bro.” Thatch reclined his seat. “So, were you?”

“Was I what?” David replied, exasperated.

“Doing her.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I think you were. At least that’s the way it looked to
me
when you were guys were dancing together last night. There was—how shall I put it?—some real chemistry going on there.”

“Whatever.”

David closed his eyes, pretending to want to sleep so Thatch would leave him alone. He and Tierney had always had chemistry, right from the first moment they met. It was chemistry that led them to bed, and chemistry that led him to speak his heart during his toast to the bride and groom. He and Tierney
were
connected. What sucked was that it had taken him this long to realize it.

He’d spent the night tossing and turning, wondering what the hell to do with this realization. It seemed kind of futile to try to take things to the next level, especially since she’d specifically said she had no interest in a long-distance relationship. And now that they weren’t sleeping together anymore, the connection that had drawn them together in the first place wasn’t even there. Maybe he was imagining things, and their connection didn’t extend beyond the sexual. Maybe he was just lonely and squirrely with cabin fever and was making more of things than there actually was. But then why was he so bummed out to be leaving her and so miserable about not hearing her voice for a whole year?

In the end, he decided to put the ball squarely in Tierney’s court by giving her his road itinerary and home number. If she called, then maybe he wasn’t imagining their connection. If she didn’t call, then he’d just have to deal with it.

He stifled a yawn and reclined his seat. In the past, he’d used thoughts of Tierney to help him relax. He’d picture her beautiful brown eyes, or see the two of them entwined in blissful afterglow. He let the images come. It might be the closest he would ever get to holding her again.

Monday, 2:55
P
.
M
.

“Nugent wants to see you.”

Marius’s words made Tierney’s heart sink. She’d been counting the minutes until her shift ended and she could head home to sleep in her own bed. She was tired of working hours she wasn’t used to, tired of wearing the same clothing, tired of being cooped up in the hotel. She wanted her life back.

Turning her post over to Marius, she made her way to Willy Nugent’s office. She was nervous. Suppose Nugent had somehow found out about her and David, that she’d been behaving in an unprofessional manner for three years running? Tierney’s mood darkened as she braced for the possibility that after bending over backward all weekend to make sure the Barchester’s snowbound guests were as comfortable as possible, she was about to be fired.

She knocked twice and entered. Nugent was seated with his feet up on his sleek, Danish modern desk, his head cocked as he balanced the phone between his ear and his shoulder. He gestured for her to sit down on the leather sofa opposite. Tierney sat, trying to quell the thoughts of doom slithering through her head.

“Tierney O’Connor.” Nugent hung up the phone with an exhausted sigh. “How are you?”

“Tired, sir. And you?”

“The same. It’s been quite a weekend, huh?”

“Yes.”

Tierney’s heart climbed into her throat as she watched Nugent swing his legs off the desk.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to see you.”

“Yes, sir.”
Here it comes,
thought Tierney, holding her breath.

“You’ve done an exemplary job this weekend, both as a concierge and behind the scenes in everything from helping out in the kitchen to getting that damn wedding off the ground.”

Tierney let herself breathe.

“To show my gratitude, I’m giving you this week off, with pay. You deserve it.”

Tierney was momentarily speechless. “But a lot of the staff—”

“—will be getting the week off, too,” Nugent finished for her smoothly. “Don’t worry; I know who rose to the occasion and who didn’t.”

Tierney let herself relax. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you?”

“That goes without saying.
Thank you
.” Tierney stood.

“Send Aggie in here, will you? She’s also done an outstanding job.”

“I will.” Tierney nervously licked her lips. “Anything else, sir?”

“Go home and get some rest, Miss O’Connor. I’ll see you back here next Monday. Oh, and Miss O’Connor?”

Tierney froze. “Yes?”

“Thank
you
. For all you’ve done.”

Tierney suppressed a gasp of relief. “You’re welcome.”

Wednesday, 11:22
P
.
M
.

“You were awesome tonight, my man.
Awesome
.”

David grinned in response to Hawk’s compliment as the Herd bounded back into their hotel after routing Los Angeles. After winning easily in Colorado, they’d flown on to California feeling cocky and confident, all of them glad to be back in the rhythm of play. Unable to get Tierney off his mind, David was fearful his lack of concentration would hurt his team and they’d fall prey to L.A.’s relentless trap. But it was just the opposite: he was responsible for another shutout. Maybe the forces of the universe had shifted, and thinking of Tierney while he was on the ice was now a good thing. He decided he’d think about her again tomorrow night, and if the Herd won in Dallas, he’d start including thoughts of Tierney in all his warm-up rituals, painful though it might be.

Hawk started toward the elevator. “You coming?”

“You go ahead,” urged David. “I want to talk to someone about the water in my room. I didn’t get a chance to take care of it before the game.”

“See you in the morning, then,” Hawk yawned, slipping into the open elevator.

“Yeah, see you.”

David waited until the elevator doors had closed before approaching the hotel’s front desk. “I was wondering if I had any messages?” he asked the pixie-ish blonde whose nametag indicated she was called Sara.

“What room number?” Sara asked.

“Oh, right.” David shook his head, embarrassed. “Sorry about that. I’m a little tired. It’s room 301. David Hewson.”

“Hold on a minute.”

David stared up at the ceiling while Sara checked for him. “Sorry, no messages, Mr. Hewson.”

“Thanks,” said David glumly. On the way back to the hotel, all he could think about was whether Tierney might have called. Now he had his answer.

Disappointed, he headed toward the elevator. He needed to face facts: she might never call. He was feeling sorry for himself. It was hard coming home from a road trip and watching how excited some of his teammates were about seeing their wife and kids, or their girlfriends. He got home from a road trip, and the only things waiting for him were milk souring in the fridge and guilt-inducing messages from his mother demanding to know why he hadn’t called. He knew it was his own fault, but still, it smarted. Riding the elevator up to the third floor, he was glad as always to know he had his own room to look forward to. Being a goalie had its rewards.