On the Surface (In the Zone) (6 page)

“Tim, what caused you to blow?”

Tim leaned toward the microphone. “He pushed her down. The way I was brought up, you don’t lay hands on a woman that way. Ever. End of story.” He turned and made eye contact with Erin. His direct gaze did stuff to her insides and as a modern woman, she sort of resented getting a cheap thrill from his He-Man mentality, and yet, if she had a son, wouldn’t she teach him the same thing?

Sam Harris ignored him and continued, “But come on, Tim, surely a strongly worded reprimand would have sufficed. Do you regret having resorted to violence? And at a fan event, no less?”

Bastard
, Erin thought, irritated.
Hindsight’s twenty-twenty.

“I just reacted. Now that I’ve had several hours to think about it, I can think of dozens of other, better ways to handle it and I’m sorry it happened, but what’s done is done.”

“Tim, do you think the man is going to press charges?”

Tim’s inscrutable expression didn’t change. “I have no idea.”

“He’d better not,” Erin said, riled up again at the thought.

All eyes turned to her.

Whoops.

A female reporter asserted herself. “Erin, Rochelle Narritt with the
San Diego Tattler.
How terrified were you when that man pushed you?”

Erin gathered her courage. “I didn’t really have time to be scared.” Tim moved the microphone closer to her. “Mainly, I was annoyed with him. That’s why I said what I said. I didn’t want him to get away with his cock-and-bull story about being a Big Brother. Have any of you guys checked that out yet? I’m sure the Big Brothers organization keeps records. Someone should be interviewing him and finding out what his background is. He probably has a criminal record.”

Atwater cleared his throat. “So, here’s how it usually goes, Erin,” he said with exaggerated patience and a slight grin. He gestured toward the crowd. “The reporters ask the questions.” He inclined his head toward her. “And you answer them.”

Everyone laughed and Erin felt a little less nervous. This wasn’t as hard as she’d thought it was.

Rochelle Narritt asked another question. “Do you think that guy would have hurt you if Tim hadn’t stepped in?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” She glanced at Tim who sat there like a statue. His lips were pressed together tightly. “Maybe.”

Atwater clucked his tongue. “Erin, Erin, Erin. That is not the answer we talked about before. You were afraid for your very life and Tim deserves a medal, remember?”

She laughed. Atwater clearly liked to keep things light with humor. Tim wasn’t laughing, though. He wasn’t even smiling. He seemed tense, which was odd considering how often he probably did this sort of thing.

“Who started the fight, Erin?”

Erin felt her cheeks get hot. “If you want to get technical about it, I did. The guy asked Tim if he was going to sign the stuff or not, and he was being a real jerk about it. I ended up muttering, ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ and the guy flipped out. So, it’s not Tim’s fault at all.” She put a hand on Tim’s arm and tried to ignore how solid it was and how much she wanted to squeeze it a little.

“So, you don’t think Tim was looking for a fight? Terry Oliver,
SoCal SportsNews.
Maybe provoked this guy? I mean we all remember Bottlegate.”

Atwater said, “I think you’d better do some better research, Mr. Oliver. Tim didn’t provoke anyone in Bottlegate. That Philly fan did all the provoking.”

“And I don’t know anything about Bottlegate, whatever that was,” Erin said, “and frankly it doesn’t matter. I do not for one minute think Tim was spoiling for a fight. He was there to give autographs to his fans. That’s all.”

“Tim, Erin, if the fight had gone on longer, who would have won?”

Erin scoffed. “Hello. Did you see that guy?” She chuckled. “Tim, no doubt.”

“There’s some speculation that this was all staged for publicity, considering he’s visiting the hospital you work at tomorrow. Can you comment on that?”

“That’s ridiculous. Today was pure coincidence. I was having a bad day at work and went to Q Burger for comfort food. That’s all.”

Atwater said, “One more question, folks.”

Rochelle Narritt jumped in again. “Erin, after today, would it be safe to say you’re Tim’s number-one fan?”

Erin recalled Tim’s ready smile and the intoxicating thrill she’d felt when he’d leaped to her defense. “Absolutely.”

“Tim’s a single guy, you know,” Rochelle pointed out. “If he asked you out, would you say yes?”

Surprised by the question, Erin faltered. She glanced at Tim again. He had a tight expression on his face and looked a little gray around the gills. “I don’t know,” she said with a slight frown. “He’s not really my type.”

Atwater interrupted. “And we’re done. That’s it, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your time.”

The lights went off and Tim got up quickly. “Let’s go,” he said curtly and left the room. Erin hurried after him, followed closely by Atwater. He had long strides and she had to jog to keep up.

“Hey, what’s the hurry?” she asked.

“I feel like shit,” he said. “I need to get back to my hotel.”

She noticed a sheen of sweat on his face.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

He fumbled for his keys. “My stomach’s fucked up. I feel shaky. I think I’m going to be making real good friends with the toilet tonight. Atwater, can you drive her back to the hospital?”

“Sure.”

“No way,” Erin said. She touched his face, which felt clammy. He looked several shades paler than he had only moments ago. “You’re in no condition to drive. James, get some kind of container like a small trash can and meet us at the car. He’s going to vomit long before we get to the hotel.”

As Atwater dashed off on his mission, Tim gritted his teeth. “I am
not
vomiting in my brand-new Escalade.”

“We’ll see about that,” Erin said. “Give me those keys. I’m driving.”

Chapter Seven

It was four a.m. and Tim lay on the bathroom floor in his hotel room. He hadn’t dry heaved since three. He was thirsty but afraid to drink for fear it’d come right back up.

He could hear Erin snoring softly in the other room. He’d tried to stop her from coming to his room, but although she was a little bit of a thing, she had a strong will and all his energy had gone toward holding it together until he could get to the bathroom. Once there, he barely avoided making a huge mess. Erin handed him damp cloths, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders when he got the chills and murmured soothing things to him as he slumped over the toilet bowl in misery.

It shouldn’t have mattered. She was a nurse, for fuck’s sake. She did this type of thing and worse for a living, but he hated that a woman had seen him weak as an infant, puking his guts out and unable to do a fucking thing about it. Call him a Neanderthal, but a large part of his self-image came from his strength and toughness. He had a reputation that he enjoyed and worked to maintain, and he really hated that Erin had seen him laid low.

He lifted his head in small increments. The world didn’t spin, but his mouth tasted like a used jock strap. He decided to sit on the edge of the tub for a minute or so before attempting to get completely upright. He felt like a deflated balloon. He imagined that’s exactly what his stomach looked like, all wadded up inside his gut, emptier than empty. Carefully, he stood. Still okay. He shuffled to the sink, filled a glass with water and rinsed his mouth, then risked a couple swallows. In the mirror, he looked like shit warmed over. He really needed a shave and his color reminded him of roadside snow. He went out to the bedroom. In the semidarkness, he wasn’t surprised to see Erin curled up on top of the king-sized bed at the far edge. She’d flat-out told him she wasn’t leaving until she was sure he was okay.

She didn’t take up much room. Probably didn’t weigh much over a hundred pounds. Shit, he could bench press three of her without breaking a sweat. As he listened to her girly snoring, he wondered how he was going to make this up to her. It didn’t seem right to offer her money, even though she was a nurse and had nursed him. Maybe she’d like some choice tickets to the season opener.

Taking care to walk quietly, he went back to the bathroom. He suddenly wanted a shower more than anything. The water hadn’t come back up, so he drank some more.

Ten minutes later, refreshingly clean and feeling about seventy-five percent human again, he toweled off and realized he’d neglected to bring some clean clothes with him into the bathroom.
Damn it.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and ventured back out. The dresser drawer opened almost silently and he pulled out some sweatpants and a T-shirt.

He glanced at the bed where she still slept. He should go back into the bathroom to dress, but he didn’t. Instead, he watched her warily and risked dropping the towel to pull on the pants. She didn’t move a muscle. He put the shirt on without any problems either, then chuckled silently that he’d worried at all. He didn’t care if she saw him naked, and as a nurse, she probably viewed nudity with even less concern than he did.

He wondered what would have happened if she’d woken up. She probably would have rubbed the sleep from her eyes and told him to get some clothes on. She didn’t seem the type to get all red-faced about seeing a guy’s bare ass.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand as an enormous yawn took him by surprise. 4:26 and still not any twinges from his stomach. He carefully eased himself onto the bed. After tonight, finding a place to live was now his top priority. He’d put it off for too long, always finding some excuse. He spent weeks on the road every year in less-luxurious places than this, but being sick in a hotel sucked, and he missed having his own bed in his own place. If that made him a wimp, so be it.

* * *

When Erin woke up in the dark, unfamiliar room, it took her a moment to get her bearings. The large shape on the other side of the bed was a man.

Okay
, she realized with unease,
I’m in Tim Hollander’s bed
.

And Tim Hollander is in it.

I’m in bed with a professional hockey player.

Holy cow. The unease escalated into anxiety until she reminded herself that he was just a person like anyone else and not too long ago, he was as sick as a dog. Sicker, actually.

She didn’t wish food poisoning on her worst enemies, and Tim had gotten a doozy of a case. His vomiting had been so violent and incessant that she’d been afraid he’d get dehydrated during the night and need hospitalization but refuse to call for help. She’d gone into nursing because of a strong maternal instinct and she wasn’t about to let his scowl and weak protests stop her from taking care of him or anyone else in need.

Still, she respected his dignity and had left him alone most of the time, checking on him as little as possible. Eventually, she’d fallen asleep, having worked that twelve-hour shift, stood up to a bully and faced the paparazzi. She sighed.

It had been a full day.

Tim turned his head opened his eyes. The nervousness returned full force.

“Hi,” he whispered.

He smelled like soap and his hair was damp. He must have showered and she hadn’t even heard him.

“Hi,” she whispered back.

“I tried not to wake you up.”

While you were in the shower.
Naked.
Six feet plus of sculpted
,
wet muscle.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He turned to face her. “But it was rough going there for a while.”

She nodded in sympathy. “I know. Food poisoning is the worst. You think you’re going to die.”

Even in the darkness, his eyes twinkled. “I’d have preferred death. I’d have preferred a stick to the face. At least that’s over quickly.”

“You need to drink something. Water or watered-down juice. I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”

“I had some water before. I’m good.”

She put a hand on his bristly cheek. He didn’t feel clammy anymore nor did his voice waver like it had before. “Okay, I think you’re past the worst of it so I should probably take off.”

She started to get up, but he reached out and touched her arm.

“Wait. You must be as tired as I am. You don’t have to go.”

She hesitated. After getting probably less than three hours sleep, she really was still exhausted.

“You should just stay a little longer,” he said in a low, rumbly voice. “We’ll both get some more shut-eye, then I’ll take you home. Do you have to work tomorrow? Today, I mean?”

“No, it’s my day off.” She bit her lip with indecision. “But, I really should go home.”

He slid his hand down her arm and took her hand. “What if I have a relapse?”

She laughed but didn’t remove her hand from the warmth of his. Her arm tingled where he’d touched her. “You won’t have a relapse.”

“You don’t know that. I’m a sickly guy. It’s pathetic. I’ve been thinking about hiring a personal health assistant for a while now.”

“That is the biggest load of crap I’ve heard in a long time. Personal health assistant.”

He grinned. She noticed he had exceptionally nice teeth. They gleamed in the dark hotel room. “It’s the latest thing for the all-around athlete. Trust me.”

She sighed, reconsidering. There were worse things she could imagine than getting a couple more hours of sleep. It wasn’t as if he was going to jump her. He didn’t have the energy, even if he wanted to. Besides, she’d left her car at the hospital and she didn’t really want to shell out the money and wait for a cab.

“How much do personal health assistants get paid?”

He thought about it and then faked a yawn. “Wow. I’m suddenly really, really tired.”

She laughed.

“Yeah, I don’t think I can keep my eyes open much—”

He shut his eyes and let his mouth drop open in a loud, phony snore.

“You’re a funny guy,” she said.

The snore continued, louder.

She smothered her giggle. “All right. You win. I’ll stay.”

He opened one eye, smiled and said, “Good.”

And he didn’t let go of her hand.

* * *

When Erin woke for the second time, the sun hadn’t been up for long. No one had pulled the blackout curtains. Her back was cold. She normally found hotel rooms to be nippy, but bad enough she was sharing Tim’s bed—she wasn’t about to get under the covers. So, she’d resigned herself to being cold.

Oddly, her front was warm.

Mainly because she’d spooned up against Tim Hollander’s back.

Oh my God.

She froze, mortified. Luckily, her sleep self hadn’t gone so far as to wrap an arm around him, but that was definitely his mighty fine ass against her groin area.

He had remained on top of the covers too. Meager daylight allowed her to see that after his shower, he’d dressed in a white T-shirt. What he had on the bottom, she couldn’t see. Her field of vision was limited to his broad shoulders and back. She could detect his man smell beneath the showery soap now, and that sort of went to her head like an aphrodisiac. Ever so slowly she raised her head.

He had sweatpants on.

Thank God.

She let out a careful sigh of relief. Now all she had to do was extricate herself from her predicament. If Lady Luck smiled on her, she’d get free and he’d never know she’d stealth cuddled him.

Millimeter by millimeter, she eased her upper body away. She figured if she moved slowly enough, the temperature change wouldn’t wake him up. Her chest and tummy were pretty toasty.

She didn’t get far. He reached back and clapped a hand on her behind.

“Stop moving, damn it. You’re messing up my dream,” he muttered.

She froze again. He sounded annoyed, but if they stayed spooned, what the heck was he going to think? That she’d snuggled up to him on purpose? Plus, she was...well, getting turned on. He had big hands. Strong hands. One of them was now caressing her butt cheek, and man, it felt good. Wow. Wow. Wow. Desire like she hadn’t ever felt before started to spread over the entire bottom half of her body. She hadn’t had sex in forever, but that didn’t really explain the intensity of the feelings. She was actually tempted to reach around and find out if he was as turned on as she was. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She barely knew him. She didn’t do things like succumb to wild monkey sex with guys she’d met a little over twelve hours before.

“Er, Tim. It’s me, Erin,” she whispered, nudging his arm with stiff fingers. “
Nurse
Erin?” she clarified.

This time,
he
froze. His body tensed. He groaned and his shoulders hunched. He uttered a soft but fervent F-bomb.

“Nurse Erin. Whose butt I am currently holding without permission.”

“Yes.” She smiled, suddenly absolved of her guilt since he was now shouldering the entire burden. Well, most of it anyway. If you wanted to get technical, she had aided and abetted him.

Her smile faded when he removed his hand.

“Oh, jeez,” he said. “I’m so incredibly sorry.”

She scooted back, even though she really wanted to stay snuggled up against him.

“No harm done.”
Except to my libido which now
,
thanks to you
,
is no longer hibernating
. In fact, she pictured it as a mama bear, cranky and starving and ready to devour the first thing she found, including, or perhaps especially, a yummy, muscular hockey player.

She deliberately focused on something else. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

He turned to face her. “Better. Much better.”

“Hungry?” she asked.

“No. What time is it?” He raised himself up to look at the bedside clock. She looked too.

“It’s a little after six. You should really drink some more. Electrolytes wouldn’t hurt. Watered-down juice or Gatorade, like I said before.”

Getting out of bed, he squatted to rummage through the minibar while she sat up and stretched the kinks out of her back.

“No Gatorade, but there’s apple juice.” He turned his head. “You want something?”

She peered over his shoulder. “I’ll take some water.”

“Cheers,” he said. They tapped bottles and drank. “So about what just happened? I’m really sorry. It’s going to sound stupid, but you know when you’re having a great dream and you wake up halfway and you don’t want it to end, and even though it never works, you try to keep it going anyway?”

Her cheeks got hot as she remembered his hand squeezing her behind and how insanely good it had felt. His fingertips had delved into the crease deep enough to have displaced her underwear.

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s happened to me before. Was it a sexy dream?” she asked, not quite believing she had the balls to ask that.

His mouth turned upward in one corner. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Very.” He glanced away then, embarrassed, and she couldn’t resist turning the screws.

“Who’d you dream about?” she asked. “A movie star? A model?”

Clearly disconcerted, he shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not telling.”

“Oh, sure. Because it’s someone weird, like Margaret Thatcher or...or Julia Child.”

He laughed. “You caught me. I have a secret thing for Maggie. Always have. I’ve dreamed about doing her on the steps of Buckingham Palace with all of Parliament watching us.”

Erin screwed her face up in disgust and laughed. “Eew! Stop, stop. That’s disgusting.”

“You started it,” he countered.

An awkward silence hovered after the laughter had faded away. Erin stood and picked up her purse from the chair in the corner. “I should probably be getting home.”

“Right,” he said, patting his pockets as if searching for his keys, even though his sweat pants didn’t have any. “But I have to bring you to the hospital, remember? That’s where your car is.”

“I forgot about that.”

“You know,” he said, “If you want me to take you to your car right now, that’s fine. I’m happy to do that. But I have to actually be at Good Sam in a couple of hours for another personal appearance. You want to maybe get a bite to eat? There’s a nice bistro a couple of doors down that has great coffee. We could sit on the patio and relax, then I could bring you to your car afterward just in time for the signing. You said it’s your day off...”