Hot Ticket (19 page)

“I’m feeling better,” David replied.

“We thought you might be,” Hawk added cryptically.

David looked at his teammates. “What the hell is with you guys?”

Hawk and Thatch exchanged amused glances. “What do you think we are, retarded?” Thatch snorted. “You leave the bar with a ‘headache,’ and five minutes later, the concierge splits just after arriving. She’s the one you’ve been nailing, bro.”

“You’re out of your mind,” David scoffed, but deep down, he was surprised: he hadn’t given Thatch’s off-ice powers of observation much credit—until now.

“Are we?” said Hawk. “It looked pretty obvious to me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’ve got too much time on your hands and you view the world through sangria-colored glasses,” David replied.

“C’mon, give it up,” Hawk urged. “Who are we gonna tell?”

“There’s nothing going on between me and the concierge,” David maintained adamantly. The temptation to talk was strong. Things were over between him and Tierney; what would it matter? But there was a still a part of him that wanted to keep it private—not only for himself, but for Tierney. It was something they’d shared, something she had a say in. It wasn’t right for him to talk about it without permission. So he wouldn’t.

He’d woken up that morning the way he always did—alone. It felt different this time, though. Lonely. Final. A renegade thought had struck in the middle of his shower: Getting to know each other had made the sex between he and Tierney even better. He’d always assumed it was the element of semi-anonymity that made things so exciting. But it wasn’t. It was the two of them together, David and Tierney. What was he supposed to do with
that
?

Thatch was watching him with narrowed eyes as he devoured a Toblerone bar from the minibar in three swift bites. “So if you’re not banging her, mind if I take a shot?” he asked.

“What makes you think she’d want to hook up with a loser like you?” David replied, not without affection.

“What makes you think she wouldn’t?” Thatch challenged.

David shrugged. “Go for it, then.” His indifference was feigned, but he didn’t want to think about it right now. “Fifty bucks says she turns you down cold.”

Thatch jumped off the bed and headed for the door. “We’ll see about that.”

Sunday, 10:30
A
.
M
.

“Mass transit still isn’t running. The airports remain closed. We’re under a state of emergency.” If Tierney had to repeat this speech one more time, she was going to start loading the desperate guests onto her back and carrying them to their destinations herself. Watching hope die every time someone walked away from her desk was getting to her. People’s nerves were beyond frayed; they were about to snap. A fight had broken out in the lobby over a two-day-old newspaper. When the lights flickered from high winds, the gasps reminded Tierney of people watching a horror film—which this was, in a way. Except this was real.

“You have to do something, or I’m going to throw myself in front of a plow.”

Tierney looked up to see Mindy Mykofsky rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet in front of the desk. The bride-to-be looked insane. At her side, as usual, stood the hapless groom-to-be. He looked pale and extremely hung over.

“Miss, we’re doing everything we can in terms of keeping
guests completely up to the moment on the latest weather reports,” Tierney said gently.

Mindy sank to her knees and began to sob. “You don’t understand. I’m supposed to be getting married today!” Her keening filled the lobby.

Tierney slipped out from behind the desk and crouched beside her. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” she said, putting a consoling arm around Mindy’s shoulder. She glanced outside. The snow looked like it had abated somewhat, but that didn’t mean trains, planes, and automobiles were up and running.

“Do you know how much money we’re going to lose?!” Mindy wailed. “My grandma Ethel came all the way up from Boca! She’s eighty-two, and she’s sleeping on a goddamn cot at O’Hare, living on giant chocolate-chip cookies from Au Bon Pain!”

Hopeful for assistance, Tierney glanced up at Mindy’s fiancé. He gestured for her to speak with him a few feet away.

“Yes?” Tierney murmured.

“I am so, so sorry about this,” he apologized, his fleshy face pink with mortification. “I know you’ve got enough shit to deal with without Mindy going postal on you.”

“It’s okay. We’re used to dealing with difficulties.”

The groom looked somewhat relieved. “Thank your boyfriend for me when you get a chance, okay?”

Tierney was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“The guy from the Herd. He’s your boyfriend, right?”

“No.” How could this guy possibly know anything about her and David?

The groom shrugged. “Oh. I thought he might be after the way he stuck up for you yesterday.”

“He’s just a regular guest at the hotel,” Tierney said politely, finding the words unexpectedly hard to say. “Nothing more.”

“Well, if you see him, thank him for the advice he gave me in the bar last night.”

“What advice was that?” Tierney couldn’t resist asking, even though it was completely inappropriate. Then again, Mindy’s tantrum was inappropriate, too. The way Tierney figured it, Mr. Groom kind of owed her.

“Romantic advice,” the groom answered. “It didn’t work, but I appreciate him taking the time to talk to me. He seems like a really great guy.”

“I’m sure he’d love to hear from you himself, but if I see him, I’ll tell him,” Tierney promised, masking her surprise. David giving romantic advice? She couldn’t picture it. Maybe she didn’t want to. It meant admitting that David had been in love at some point; that somewhere along the line, he
had
been able to balance hockey with a personal life. The thought irked her, and the fact she was irked bothered her even more. What did she care what he did or who he saw the other three hundred sixty-four days of the year? Besides, it was over between them.

She returned to Mindy, who had her arms raised heavenward, imploring, “Why me, God?! Why?!” It was an Oscar-worthy performance, one that was beginning to pluck on Tierney’s last good nerve. At least it was entertaining some of the hotel’s other guests, who were looking on in horrified amusement.

Mindy finally snuffled to a full stop, pinning Tierney with pleading red-rimmed eyes. “Are you
sure
there’s nothing you can do? I just have to get married today, or I’ll die.
I have to
.”

Tierney swallowed. “We’re doing the best we can,” she repeated, knowing her words offered no comfort. She couldn’t wait for her shift to be over.

Sunday, 10:40
A
.
M
.

“Hey, pretty lady, how you holdin’ up?”

Tierney immediately recognized the broadly built man with the wild red hair: He was one of David’s teammates. At first she
thought he was talking to Mindy. Then she realized he was addressing her. Tierney smiled cordially.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The man’s smile grew more confident. “I hope so.” Resting his left elbow on the desk, he cupped his chin in his hand. “My name’s Thatch.”

“Nice to meet you, Thatch.”

“I already know
your
name,” he said flirtatiously.

Tierney blinked. Her first thought was: David and his big fat mouth. It took her a few seconds before she noticed his eyes were fastened on her nametag.

“Can I help you?” Tierney repeated.

“What time do you get off work?” Thatch murmured.

“Three.” Tierney was growing suspicious. “Why?”

“How would you like to come to my room for some liquid refreshment?” Thatch’s voice was super-suave in an imitation of sophistication. Tierney didn’t know whether to giggle or crawl under the desk until he went away.

“No, thank you.”

“C’mon,” Thatch cajoled. “What better way to pass the time while we’re all snowbound? We could have a few drinks, get to know each other better.” His eyes brushed hers seductively. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

Tierney wasn’t sure whom she wanted to slap more: him or David. There was no mistaking what he was insinuating. David must have told his teammates that she was up for grabs, an easy lay. That son of a bitch!

“As you can see,” Tierney replied as she pointed to the ring of distressed Oprah devotees now edging toward the desk, “I’m very busy here. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Not right now,” said Thatch. “But if you change your mind, I’m up on the sixth floor. Room 662.” He departed with a wink.

Tierney watched him go. David Hewson was a dead man.

Sunday, 3:30
P
.
M
.

Thwap!
The snowball hit David squarely in the left temple. Stunned, he turned, expecting to confront some crazy Chicago fan who hated the Herd. Instead, some woman in a shearling coat and earmuffs was slowly wading toward him, her movement hampered by the deep snow and heavy winds. He thought he was the only one nuts enough to venture outside. Apparently not.

“You son of a bitch!”

David squinted, moving closer. It was Tierney.

“What are you doing out here?” he called to her.

“I could ask you the same thing!” Huffing and puffing, she finally reached him. “Jerk!” She shoved him backward into the nearest snowdrift.

“Hey!” Furious, David scrambled back to his feet. “What the hell is your problem?!”

“As if you don’t know!”

“I don’t,” David insisted, brushing snow off his coat. Damn, it was cold. Inhaling actually hurt.

“I know what you did,” Tierney accused. “You told Howdy Doody that if he wanted a good time, he should come to me! How dare you?!”

She was breathing hard, her breath coming out in icy whorls. David couldn’t help noticing that the tip of her nose was adorably red.

“I would never do that!”

“Then why did he come down to the concierge desk and invite me back to his room, implying sex?!”

“Hmm, let me see.” David cocked his head thoughtfully, tapping his index finger against the frozen skin of his left cheek. “Maybe . . . because . . . he’s a
dick
?”

“I’m sorry, but the timing is just too suspicious. You and I decide to call it quits, and all of a sudden one of your teammates comes creeping around looking for a good time? Give me a break!”

“I would never do that, Tierney!”

“How do I know that?”

“Because I’m telling you!”

“And why should I believe you? I hardly know a thing about you!” She turned and began stomping off. Without even thinking, David tackled her in the snow.

“Let me go!” Tierney spluttered.

“In a minute.” He gazed down at her, pinned beneath him. “You want to know more about me? Here, I’ll tell you: My way off the farm was hockey. I haven’t had a girlfriend in at least three years because the last one broke my heart. When I’m not getting paid to let lunatics shoot pucks at my head, I unwind by reading mysteries and playing golf. I own a boat. I live in a really nice apartment. I hate cologne. I hate women who wear too much makeup. I love barbecue ribs. I love my brother’s kids because they make me laugh. When I retire from hockey, I’ll go to college. I don’t know what I’ll study, but whatever it is, I’ll succeed at it, because I’m a stubborn, tenacious bastard who refuses to accept defeat. I believe what goes on between a man and a woman is private. I never have, and never will, tell any of my teammates what we shared.” He glared at her for good measure. “That enough?”

Tierney nodded.

“Oh, and one more thing.” He kissed her—hard, swift, determined.

Tierney looked stunned. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know.” David’s head was spinning. His heart was still pounding from his speech. “Because it felt right.” He scrambled off her, extending a hand to help her up. “So do you believe me? About not telling my teammates?”

Tierney looked humbled as she brushed the snow off her coat. “Yes. I’m sorry. And if you ever tackle me like that again, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll tell the front desk to wake you up at 7:
20
.”

“You are one hard-hearted woman.” David stamped his feet an effort to keep warm. “I can’t believe how freakin’ cold it is out here.”

“This from a man who hails from Canada and lives in Buffalo?”

“Hey, I never said I
liked
the cold.”

“You also never said what you were doing out here.”

“Cabin fever. I had to get outside.”

“Me, too,” said Tierney. They both turned at the sound of a plow pushing snow to the side of the road. The snowbank it created was taller than David.

“Those guys must be getting triple overtime,” David observed.

“They deserve it, too.”

“By the way, where did you learn to throw a snowball like that?”

Tierney grinned. “My dad. We used to play catch together. He taught me how to throw like a guy.”

“Taught you how to kill is more like it,” David grumbled. “If that snowball had hit me one inch higher on the temple I’d be dead.”

“It couldn’t have been as fast as a puck.”

“At least on the ice I have a mask on.”

David looked around. Slowly but surely, a few people were beginning to emerge from the surrounding buildings. Not many, but enough for him to feel hopeful that perhaps the worst of the storm was over. Some folks were scrambling over snowbanks to walk down the middle of the newly plowed road; others were struggling up sidewalks haphazardly shoveled, if shoveled at all. David found the quiet blanketing them intoxicating. There was something about being outdoors just after a snowfall that always made him feel at peace. He was almost able to ignore the fact he was freezing his nuts off.

“I’m going to go back inside,” Tierney announced, tightening the scarf at her throat.

“Don’t you want to stay out here a minute more?” said David. “Look how beautiful it is.”

Tierney looked around. “Sometimes I miss living in the country,” she confessed quietly.

“Me, too. When it’s like this. So . . . still.”

“Yeah. Are you
sure
you’ve never seen a moose?”