“If you kiss her, she’ll like you more than Charles,” Lexie whispered.
John pushed aside the drapes and gazed out at the Detroit night. From his room at the Omni Hotel, he could see the river looking like a long oil slick. He felt restless and edgy, but that was nothing new. It usually took him several hours to come back down after a game, especially after a match with the Red Wings. Last year the team from Motown had barely edged the Chinooks out of the play-offs with a one-goal backhanded fake by Sergei Fedorov. This year the Chinooks started the long season with a 4-2 victory over their rivals. The win had been a nice way to start the season.
Most of the team was in the bar downstairs, celebrating. Not John. He was restless and edgy and too stoked to sleep, but he didn’t want to be around people. He didn’t want to eat bar peanuts, talk shop, or fend off rink bunnies.
Something was wrong. Except for the blindside hit he’d given Fetisov, John had played textbook hockey. He was playing his game the way he liked to play it, with speed, strength, skill, and hard body checking. He was doing what he loved to do. What he’d always loved to do.
Something was wrong. He wasn’t satisfied. You can have your career with the Chinooks, or you can have Georgeanne. You can’t have both.
John dropped the drape back into place and glanced at his watch. It was midnight in Detroit, nine in Seattle. He walked to the table next to the bed, picked up the telephone receiver, and dialed.
“Hello,” she answered after the third ring, stirring something deep within him.
If you kiss her, she’ll think you’re handsome. Then you can have a baby. John closed his eyes. “Hi, Georgie.”
“John?”
“Yep.”
“Where are… What are you…? Cryin‘ all night, I’m watching you right now on the television.”
He opened his eyes and looked across the room at the closed curtains. “It’s a delayed telecast on the West Coast.”
“Oh. Did you win?”
“Yes.”
“Lexie will be glad to hear it. She’s in the living room watching you.”
“What does she think?”
“Well, I believe she really liked it until that big red guy knocked you down. Then she got upset.”
The “big red guy” happened to be an enforcer for Detroit. “Is she okay now?”
“Yes. When she saw you skate around again, she was okay. I think she really likes watching you. It must be genetic.”
John glanced down at the notepad by the telephone.
“What about you?” he asked, and wondered why her answer felt so important to him.
“Well, I don’t normally like to watch sports. Don’t tell anyone, because as you know, I am from Texas,” she drawled, “but I like to watch hockey more than football.”
Her voice made him think of dark passion, reflections in windows, and hot sex. If you kiss her, she’ll like you more than Charles. The thought of her kissing her boyfriend made him feel as if he’d taken a boomer to the chest. “I’ve got tickets for you and Lexie to the game on Friday. I really want you both to come.”
“Friday? The night after the wedding?”
“Is that a problem? Do you have to work?”
She paused for a few long moments before she answered, “No, we can be there.”
He smiled into the phone. “The language gets a little salty sometimes.”
“I think we’re used to it by now,” she said, and he could hear the laughter in her voice. “Lexie is right here. I’ll let you talk to her now.”
“Wait, there’s one more thing.”
“What?”