Hot Ticket (17 page)

No, he would just have to busy himself the way the rest of his teammates did, by watching endless TV.

He scanned the bar looking for Hawk and Thatch, who had stopped by his room earlier to invite him out for a drink. He spotted them across the room, tucked away at a small table chatting avidly to two young women who seemed to be hanging on their every word. Hawk spotted David and waved. David waved back, his heart sinking. Now that he’d been seen, there was no way he could just turn around and leave, which is what he longed to do. He couldn’t think of anything more uncomfortable than watching his teammates try to score. Knowing Thatch, they’d rustle up a third woman for him, and he’d be trapped with some ditz who laughed loudly at all his jokes while running her hand up and down his thigh under the table.
Moron,
David cursed himself. He should’ve just stayed in his room and watched porn on pay-per-view.

He shouldered his way to the bar—thirteen and one half steps exactly from the doorway in which he was standing—and waited for the bartender, Don, to take his order. Everyone on the Herd loved Don. He was old, crusty, and full of Chicago lore. If you ever wanted to know anything about the Windy City, Don was your man.

Seeing David, Don grinned. “Well, well, well, if it’s not my favorite netminder. I hear we kicked your ass.”

“Don’t rub it in, old man.”

“There’s always next year—if you’re lucky,” Don reminded him. “What can I do ya for?” He gestured at the table where Hawk and Thatch sat. “Your buddies are drinking pitchers of sangria. You want the same?”

David made a disparaging face. “You gotta be kidding me. I thought sangria was illegal if you’re over eighteen.” Don laughed appreciatively. “No, a vodka tonic will do me fine. Thanks, Don.”

“You bet, big boy.”

Don had no sooner loped away than David felt a tap on his shoulder. He braced, fully expecting to turn around and find Thatch grinning at him, babbling about “getting some pussy.” Instead he found himself eye to eye with the soon-to-be-groom whom earlier that day he’d predicted would bolt.

“Hey,” David said uncertainly.

“Bruce Goldfarb,” declared the groom, sticking out a clammy hand for David to shake. “You, uh, you’re the guy who was at the concierge desk earlier today, right?”

“Right.” David wished Don would hurry up with his drink. He had no doubt this putz was gearing up to start a fight with him because he’d told his fiancée to stop abusing Tierney.

Bruce weaved slightly. “I just, uh, wanted to apologize to you for my fiancée’s behavior—you know, when she asked you who the hell you were?” He burped. “She’s a little upset right now.”

“Yeah, I could see that.” Don handed David his drink, and he paid up. He wasn’t sure what to do: try to ditch this guy, or keep him talking until he came up with a discreet way to cut out on Hawk and Thatch.

“You married?” Bruce asked.

“Nope,” said David.

“Single?”

“That’s the usual alternative to being married.” Bruce was so drunk his eyes were crossing. David tried to take a step back, but it was hard: the bar was packed. He wanted to be out of range should Bruce suddenly throw up.

David took a sip of his drink. The Bangalore boys had progressed to Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” their rousing cries of “Ve vill / ve vill / rock you!” inciting the bar’s inebriated patrons to stomp their feet and clap along.

“What do you do?” Bruce asked.

“I’m a hockey player. With the Buffalo Herd.”

“Wow.” Bruce looked impressed, a reaction that always
surprised David. He tended to take his job for granted, forgetting that to most people, earning a living as a pro athlete was somewhat exotic.

“You must have to beat off the girls with a stick,” Bruce continued enviously. “A hockey stick.” He snorted with laughter at his own joke.

David’s smile was terse. “You bet.”

David did attract his fair share of puck bunnies, but only occasionally did he take advantage of the delights they offered. Most were kind of dumb, and none came close to Tierney when it came to sheer sexiness. The truth was, it had been a long time since he met anyone who truly interested him—apart from Tierney, and it was better not to go down that road. The realization depressed him.

“Let me ask your advice,” Bruce continued in a slurred voice, “since you have lots of experience with women.” David recoiled as Bruce’s unsteadiness had him lurching toward David. “My fiancée, Mindy?” David nodded carefully to demonstrate he knew who Bruce was referring to, but not so vigorously Bruce would think he was being encouraging. “We, uh, we’ve reserved the bridal suite for tomorrow night, which is our wedding night. But, um, since the wedding might not happen, I think we should use it
now
. Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” said David. His eyes slid back to Hawk and Thatch. Hawk had his arm around one of the women, and Thatch was whispering in the ear of the other. David couldn’t go over there now, even if he wanted to; he didn’t want to blow it for his friends.

“Well, then, how do I convince her?” Bruce demanded. “She won’t budge. You know women. How do I persuade her?”

How ironic was it that this guy was asking
him
for advice when the only “relationship” he could boast was a yearly one-night stand? Yeah, he was Mr. Romance, all right. But the guy looked so desperate David felt compelled to come up with
something
.

“Charm her.”

“I’ve tried. It gets me nowhere. All she does is watch the Weather Channel and cry, or else call our relatives and friends trapped at O’Hare and work herself into a frenzy. I keep telling her that sex will relax her, but she says nooooo, we have to wait until we’re married.” He made a face.

“Tell her that because you’re soulmates, you’re already married in the eyes of God,” David suggested.

Bruce appeared to mull this over. “Good one. But she’ll never go for it.” His expression turned petulant. “C’mon, man, I need your expert advice here.”

“Let me ask you a question.”

Bruce gulped his beer. “Shoot.”

“Do you love, er—”

“Mindy.”

“Do you?”

“With all my heart,” Bruce declared as his eyes began to mist.

His heartfelt declaration made David feel unexpectedly envious. How was it that this maudlin, pussywhipped bastard had found someone to share his life with and
he
hadn’t? Not that he would want a woman like Mindy, but still, they had something, didn’t they? Love, the Weather Channel, stranded relatives, a shared dream for the future. Which was more than David could say for himself. But whose fault was that?
He
was the one who’d continually opted for minimal emotional involvement, especially with Tierney. What the hell advice could
he
offer?

Bruce tapped his wristwatch. “Time’s fleeting, my friend,” he said obnoxiously. “If you’ve got any words of wisdom, speak them now, or forever hold your—”

“You want my advice?” David cut in.

Bruce nodded eagerly.

“Wait. Do it her way. It’s one more night, right?”

Bruce’s face fell. “Yeah, but—”

“She obviously wants it to be special. Special’s good, okay?
Women like special.” Special is what he and Tierney had. Sort of. Or used to have, before they took a hatchet to the mystery. He patted Bruce on the shoulder. “I’ve got to split, I’ve got some friends waiting for me. Good luck, man.”

Sunday, 12:13
A
.
M
.

“Who the hell was that?” Thatch asked as David slid into a chair at their table. The girls his teammates had been chatting up had left, much to David’s surprise.

“The guy’s getting married tomorrow—or was supposed to be until the blizzard hit—and he wants to use the bridal suite now.”

Hawk looked completely confused. “What the hell was he talking to you for?”

David shrugged bemusedly. “I’m not sure. We met in the lobby earlier in the day. I guess he was just looking for a sympathetic ear.” He stretched his legs out beneath the table. “What happened to your dream dates?”

Hawk frowned. “They said they were tired and needed sleep ’cause they had a big day tomorrow. Something about trying to find Oprah’s apartment building.”

David couldn’t resist a little needling. “So they weren’t charmed by the fact you could remove your front teeth? Maybe if you’d shown them the dents in your head . . .”

“Hey,” Thatch huffed, “at least we’re making an effort, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Yeah, where’s
your
mystery girl?” demanded Hawk, pouring himself another tall glass of sangria.

“Probably packed away in his suitcase until the next time he inflates her,” Thatch chortled.

David couldn’t let on, but his mystery girl had, in fact, just entered the bar with a short, tense-looking blond woman. At first, he wasn’t sure it was Tierney. He was so used to seeing her in her
work clothes that the sight of her in faded, form-fitting jeans and a tight sweater threw him off. She looked hot. That he thought so surprised him. Up until now, he’d been certain it was the image of Tierney as urban sophisticate that turned him on. Now he realized: he was turned on by Tierney, period. He wished they’d never opened up to each other.

“Yo, isn’t that the concierge?” said Hawk, tilting his head in Tierney’s direction. David played it cool as he and Thatch glanced Tierney’s way.

“I think so, yeah,” said David.

“Mother o’ God, will you look at that ass?” Thatch marveled, practically drooling. “Who knew that under that little suit she was such a babe?”

“No shit,” Hawk agreed. “I wouldn’t mind getting me a piece of that.”

“Hey,” David said curtly. “Show a little respect, will you?”

Hawk and Thatch turned to him simultaneously. “What the hell’s up with you?” Hawk asked.

“Nothing,” David insisted, but inside, he was fuming. How dare his teammates talk about Tierney like that? She was—he almost thought
his
, but stopped himself. She was only “his” once a year, and then it was just sex. Even so, it irked him that Hawk and Thatch were acting like she was some faceless piece of ass. He was about to say as much when he was struck by his own hypocrisy and laughed out loud.

Thatch looked at him in alarm. “You having one of those loony goalie moments or what?”

“Maybe.” David continued watching Tierney as discreetly as he could. Her friend had disappeared. Tierney was still hovering in the doorway of the bar, looking like she couldn’t make up her mind whether to go in or not.

“Let’s invite her over here,” Thatch suggested.

“Show her a good time,” Hawk added with an elbow to David’s ribs. He and Thatch touched glasses, laughing lasciviously.

David rose abruptly. If that was going to happen—if his teammates were going to lure Tierney over to the table for a drink—he didn’t want to be here. There was no way he’d be able to take the strain of sitting here and pretending nothing existed between them. Yet the idea of leaving her to his friends made his guts twist. Neither of them had much respect for women. Not like him, who slept with her every year, no strings attached. Jesus, he was a mess.

“I’m getting a headache. I’ll see you clowns later,” he announced, draining his glass.

“Fucking goalies,” he heard Thatch mutter as he started to walk away. “They’re all nuts.”

He began threading his way through the thick crowd. Halfway to the bar, his eye met Tierney’s. Desire shot through him, undeniable and strong. He cocked his head questioningly. Tierney gave a small nod and held her hand up to indicate “five minutes.” David winked to indicate his understanding and continued on.

Five minutes later, he was up in his room waiting for her.

Sunday, 12:26
A
.
M
.

“We need to talk.”

Tierney could tell David was thinking the same thing as she sat beside him on the bed. There had been electricity in the look that passed between them in the bar, and David looked delectable right now in faded jeans and a forest green fleece. But she had to put that out of her mind. She’d come to a decision, and she needed to share it with him.

“Talk away,” said David.

Tierney’s hands twisted in her lap. “I don’t think we should do this anymore—you know, meet for sex once a year.”

David gave a long sigh—of relief or resignation, Tierney wasn’t sure. “I know. Now that we’ve opened up to each other, there’s the risk of it turning into something else, and that can’t happen. I need to be able to concentrate absolutely on hockey.”

“And I have no interest in having a long-distance relationship.”

David nodded. “So we’re on the same page. That’s good.” He paused. “Just one question, though.”

“Yes?”

“If we’re ending it, why are we here?”

“To end it.”

David blinked. “We could have ended it in the bar. Or the lobby.”

“True.” Tierney shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t thinking. I’m so used to meeting you in your room.”

“I hear ya.” He paused thoughtfully. “So, since this is going to be it, I guess there’s no harm in finding out just a tiny bit more about each other. That way, when we think about each other years from now, we’ll have more than just the sex to remember each other by, you know?”

“I agree,” said Tierney. She bounced nervously on the bed. “You first.”

“Ever ride a tractor?”

“Yes.”

“Feed chickens?”

“Yes. I grew up on a farm.”

A look of shocked pleasure crossed David’s face. “So did I. Boring, wasn’t it?”

“God, awful!” Tierney agreed with relief. “I couldn’t wait to get out of there!”

“Me, too.”

Since there was no harm in it, Tierney shared the visions of him that came to mind when she thought of Saskatchewan. David laughed. “Well, just to set the record straight, I’ve never gone hunting, camping, or trekking in my life.”

“Ever have to live off nuts and berries?”

“Nope. I’m allergic to nuts.”

“Me, too!”

“Ever go to the Nebraska State Fair? We have these fairs up in Canada, and they’re a blast.”

“I love the State Fair!” Tierney exclaimed. “When I was ten, my peach cobbler won first place!”