“Yeah, but he does wear all those gold chains around his neck,” argued Hugh, who was famous for talking trash just to get a reaction. “Either Jagr is a sissy-man or a fan of Mr. T.”
Dmitri bristled and pointed to the three gold necklaces around his neck. “Chains does not mean sissy.”
“Who’s Mr. T?” Claude wanted to know.
“Didn’t you ever watch The A-Team on television? Mr. T is the big black dude with the Mohawk and all the gold jewelry,” Hugh explained. “He and George Peppard worked for the government and blew up stuff.”
“Chains does not mean sissy,” Dmitri insisted.
“Maybe not,” Hugh conceded. “But I know for a fact that wearing a lot of chains has something to do with the size of a guy’s dick.”
“Bullsheet,” Dmitri scoffed.
John chuckled and stretched his arm along the back of the beige leather couch. “How do you know, Hugh? Have you been peeking?”
Hugh rose to his feet and pointed an empty Coke can at John. His eyes narrowed and a smile curved his mouth. John knew that look. He’d seen it hundreds of times just before “The Caveman” went for the kill and verbally kicked the guts out of any opposing player who dared to skate too close to the goalie crease. “I’ve showered with guys all my life, and I don’t have to peek to know that the guys who are weighed down with gold are compensating for lack of dick.”
Claude laughed and Dmitri shook his head. “Not true,” he said.
“Yes it is, Tree,” Hugh assured him as he walked toward the kitchen. “In Russia lots of gold chains might mean you’re a real stud, but you’re in America now and you can’t just walk around advertising something like a small dick. You have to learn our ways if you’re not going to embarrass yourself.”
“Or if you want to date American women,” John added.
The doorbell rang as Hugh passed the entry. “Do you want me to get that?” he asked.
“Sure. It’s probably Heisler,” John answered, referring to the Chinooks’ newest forward. “He said he might drop by.”
“John.” Dmitri got John’s attention and scooted to the edge of the leather chair in which he sat. “Iz true? American woman think chains mean no deek?”
John fought to hold back his laughter. “Yes, Tree. It’s true. Have you been having trouble finding dates?”
Dmitri looked perplexed and scooted back into his chair again.
Losing the fight, John burst into laughter. He glanced at Claude, who found Dmitri’s confusion hilarious.
“Ahh, Wall. It’s not Heisler.”
John glanced over his shoulder, and his laugher died instantly when he saw Georgeanne standing in the entry to his living room.
“If I’m interrupting y’all, I could come back another time.” Her gaze darted from one male face to the next, and she took several steps backward toward the door.
“No.” John quickly jumped to his feet, shocked by her sudden appearance. He reached for the remote control on the coffee table, then cut the power to the television. “No. Don’t go,” he said as he tossed the remote on the couch.
“I can see that you’re busy and I should have called.” She glanced at Hugh, who stood beside her, then she looked back at John. “I did call actually, but you didn’t pick up. Then I remembered that you said you never answer your phone, so I took the chance and drove here, and… well, what I wanted to say was…” Her hand fluttered at her side and she took a deep breath. “I know that arriving uninvited is incredibly rude, but may I have a few moments of your time?”
She was obviously rattled at finding herself the object of four big hockey players’ interest. John almost felt sorry for Georgeanne. Almost. But he couldn’t forget what she’d done. “No problem,” he said as he rounded the couch and walked toward her. “We can go upstairs to the loft or outside on the deck.”
Once again Georgeanne looked at the other men in the room. “I think the deck would be best.”
“Fine.” John motioned to a pair of French doors across the room. “After you,” he said, and as she walked past, he let his gaze take a slow journey down her body. Her sleeveless red dress buttoned around her throat, exposed her smooth shoulders, and hugged her breasts. The dress brushed her knees, and wasn’t especially tight, or revealing. But she still managed to look like his favorite selection of sins all wrapped up in one convenient snack pack. Annoyed that he should notice her appearance at all, he shifted his gaze from the big, soft curls touching her shoulders to Hugh. The goalie stared at Georgeanne as if he knew her but just couldn’t recall when they’d met. Even though Hugh sometimes played as if he were dense, he wasn’t, and it wouldn’t take long before he remembered her as Virgil Duffy’s runaway bride. Claude and Dmitri hadn’t played for the Chinooks seven years ago and hadn’t been at the wedding, but they’d probably heard the story.
John moved to the doors and opened one side for Georgeanne. When she walked outside, he turned back to the room. “Make yourselves at home,” he told his teammates.
Claude stared after Georgeanne with a smile twisting one corner of his mouth. “Take your time,” he said.
Dmitri didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to. The conspicuous absence of his gold chains spoke louder than the dopey look on his young Russian face.
“I shouldn’t be long,” John said through a frown, then stepped outside and shut the door behind him. A slight breeze ruffled the blue and green whale banner hanging from the rear balcony while waves softly slapped the side of John’s twenty-three-foot runabout tied to the deck. The bright evening sun shimmered on the ripples cut from a sailboat slicing peacefully through the water. The people on the boat called to John, and he waved automatically, but his attention was focused on the woman who stood near the water’s edge with one hand raised to her brow, gazing out onto the lake.