On the Fly (Crimson Romance) (12 page)

When the last woman left the ice, Jacey leaned forward and rubbed her temples. Tiffany tapped her pen against the pad of paper in her lap. “Now we have to pick fifteen.”

“They’re all the same. All I know is … ” Jacey straightened up and yawned. “The Phlynn-addicts are
out
. Their dancing ability is limited to pelvic thrusting and boob shaking.”

“What more do you need?” Carter angled himself to face them, and she swatted him in the chest.

Tiffany ignored the banter and crossed a few names off. “What about Lydia Jones?”

“Which one was she?” Jacey stretched her legs.

Carter grinned. “Purple hair. Blue eyeliner. That was right about when you whispered, ‘God, make it stop.’”

“I did
not
.”

Tiffany scratched the name off then handed Jacey the pad and pen, and she stared at the list. Carter pointed out his choices, and she batted his hand away. “I said you could
observe
. You do not get a say.” She ignored his pout and the way it turned her insides warm and liquid. For the hundredth time it struck her how wrong it was to have cheerleaders for a hockey team. She pressed her lips together and circled the lucky fifteen who hadn’t terrified her, made her burst out laughing, or cringe from lewdness. This could not go well.

Friday, October 28th

Jacey finished up the last piece of paperwork for the day, yawned, and glanced at the clock. One hour until game time. It would be tight, but if she raced home, she could sleep for half an hour.

As she stood, she slung her purse over her shoulder, feeling bone tired. The office was empty save for Madden, who eyed her warily but said nothing. That was smart. She didn’t have much left to say to him after the other night. She’d written him a few checks, left them on his bed while he was out. He never said a word. It killed him, she knew, to accept that kind of help. And whether it was healthy or not, they both dealt with it by ignoring the whole thing. That wouldn’t work forever, but it was a good enough Band-Aid for now.

The elevator ride and leaving the building were a blur, but suddenly she was walking through the parking lot to her Eclipse, unlocking it then dropping inside. Jacey looked down at the keys in her hand and willed her arm to rise so she could start the car. No dice. She couldn’t even feel her arm. If she tried to drive home like this, it would surely result in falling asleep at the wheel and careening into oncoming traffic. Jacey let her keys fall into the cup holder and leaned her seat all the way back. She fumbled blindly around in her purse and dug out her cell phone to set the alarm for forty-five minutes. After locking the doors, she closed her eyes and was out faster than a narcoleptic.

After a long week of promoting the new dance team, it was no wonder evil, zombie cheerleaders starred in her nightmares. One of them chased her with a shotgun. The discharge was so loud, Jacey jumped immediately and violently from sleep.

In place of the zombie cheerleader, a man stood outside her car and pounded on her window. She bolted up screaming and irrationally trying to push herself away from the stranger. In the mayhem, her knee jerked into the horn, beeping it long and loud. She screamed louder, and the stranger put his hands up, taking several steps back.

That struck her as absurd. If the man wanted to break in and kill her or rob her, he wouldn’t be backing away. So she stopped and pressed a hand against her chest, panting to catch her breath. The stranger calmed after she did, but not before a passing security cruiser parked in front of them.

The officer climbed out with a hand on his hip and looked between them. “What’s going on here?”

Jacey opened her door enough to climb out and stand behind it. “That man was trying to get in my car.”

The stranger went wide-eyed, and he scoffed in disbelief. “I was
not
trying to get in her car. I thought she was dead.”

“What? I’m not dead.”

“Well I thought you were. You weren’t moving — ”

“I was sleeping — ”

“Well, who sleeps in their car?”

“Who bangs on someone’s window? If I
were
dead, what were you expecting? That I’d miraculously come back to life the louder you banged?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” the officer cut in.

Jacey blew out a frustrated, flustered breath and looked at the guard. The glint in his eye said he probably thought she was nuts, and placating seemed like the best idea. The urge to bare her teeth made her think he might be right.

“It seems to me like there wasn’t any harm done here. So how about you go your separate ways and forget it?”

“Fine with me, man,” the stranger said, walking toward the stairs. Jacey heard him mumble, “That’s what I get for trying to be a concerned citizen … ” She bit her tongue and glanced at her watch.
Shit!
Five minutes until the game started. Keys in hand, she beeped the car locked then took off running in her four-inch heels. If she didn’t wish the team luck, they’d lose and blame it on her. And she had to ease their concerns about the new opening routine with dancers.

God, I love my life.

• • •

“Guys.”

Twenty-two rowdy hockey players sat on wooden benches, dressing, taping, praying, and talking. Loudly. Jacey raised her voice and tried again. “Guys!” The talking continued, but Carter lifted his head, and she begged him with her eyes for help.

“Yo!” he barked. Silence settled immediately, and he nodded toward Jacey. “Boss has somethin’ to say.”

She gave a small, appreciative smile as the other twenty-one heads swiveled in her direction. She put steel in her spine and lifted her chin. “Listen, tonight will work a little differently, and I’m told you have some concerns. To bring in more fans, we’ve acquired a dance team, as you know. You will go in through the ground level B entrance. Dancers will be lined up on either side, and you’ll skate through them and go to the bench from there.”

Whistles rang out mixed with jeers. She’d expected that. Then came the nervous complaints and a few flat-out refusals to enter the rink a different way. Ben Collier stood up shaking his head, gripping his stick close to his chest. “Can’t do that, Boss.”

“Why not?”

Ben glanced at Carter, who nodded then answered for him. “It’s tradition. We’ve only ever entered the rink from the tunnel. It’d be bad luck to switch it up now.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled in her chest, but she held it in check and bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep a straight face. She vaguely remembered her father telling her stories about how superstitious hockey players could be — she just never figured on having to face it first hand. This could
not
be happening. There wasn’t time to deal with it. “I understand your concern, but I guarantee you entering a different way won’t affect your game … ” She trailed off as they all shook their heads.

Her thoughts zipped at light speed. She scrambled for a compromise, and tried to tamp down the rush of anxiety. “Okay, how’s this? You enter from the tunnel just like always, but we have the dancers lined up outside of
that
, and you skate through them to the bench?” Silence. The men looked at each other, weighing the decision against karma. When they hesitantly nodded, Jacey released a rush of breath and felt light-headed.

In a minute, the little stars dancing in front of her eyes faded away, and she gave them a genuine, grateful smile. “Thanks, guys. Oh, and good luck out there, even though I know you’ll grind that team into the ice.” She shook her fist in the air for good measure, and as she jogged out, the wake of cheers made her grin.
Now to break it to the dancers.

Jacey made a mad dash up the stairs, the snapping of her heels echoing off the cement walls like gunfire. She burst out into a thinning crowd of fans still getting snacks and made a precarious left turn to sprint toward the ground-level B entrance. Panting, she faced down fifteen women scantily clad in green velvet uniforms with Lady Sinners printed across their ample chests. Oh, and crowns of black feathers pinned in their hair. It took all she had not to laugh when she saw their harlot war paint, but she managed.

“Listen up. Change of plans. The guys are going to enter through the locker room tunnel, so you’ll need to line up in front of the players’ box instead.” The slutty peacocks looked mystified. “Go!” Jacey yelled, and they jumped, moving out onto the ice in their thigh-high boots as the lights lowered and the music started.

Pulse hammering, Jacey held a hand to her cheek as she watched them slipping and sliding on the freshly Zambonied ice, arms pin wheeling. She squeezed her eyes shut, reined in a scream then started a careful climb through the crowd, around, up, and down until she stood by Madden alongside the carpet runner the team would use. Many of the fans recognized her and pointed, but no one said a word. Probably her woman-on-the-edge expression had something to do with that.

All she could do was watch as the dancers swayed their hips and clapped their pom poms in time to the music. Apparently, they all heard different tempos. She had a feeling it was because the roar of the crowd made it hard to hear the song. The announcer’s voice filled the arena. “Say hello to
your
Lady Sinners!” A thunderous roar sounded in response, and for the first time, Jacey looked around.

On a normal night, they’d have about six thousand in attendance. But tonight there had to be at least ten. The arena held eighteen. As much as she hated it … the
cheerleaders
had brought them there. The promotional pictures plastered to every telephone pole in the city, the slap-dash, last-minute local commercial, and the billboards had done their job. Jacey hated selling sex instead of hockey, but desperate times, desperate measures.

She felt her lip curl involuntarily, and she leaned her shoulder into the glass to watch the players emerge from the tunnel. They looked nervous as they clomped out then skated through the line of dancers, ogling and “accidentally” brushing up against the girls as they went. Jacey gritted her teeth and almost jumped when Madden poked her. She followed her brother’s gaze over to the Phlynn-addicts, who stared daggers at the dancers and pouted. She had to laugh at that, even if it did make her feel a little evil.

“And the captain of
your
Sinners, number twenty-seven, Carter Phlynn.” Before the announcer had even finished Carter’s name, the arena exploded with applause and screams as the whole audience got to their feet. She looked at Madden, who shrugged with an amused smile. Phlynn soaked it up, waving to the crowd as he circled behind the Sinners’ goal and started to warm up with his team.

The dancers wobbled their way off of the ice, and every player’s head turned to watch. Jacey blew out a slow breath and watched the red numbers tick down on the scoreboard. When the buzzer sounded, the players went still, and a decked-out showgirl stood between the penalty boxes and belted out a surprisingly good rendition of the national anthem.

The players faced the flag, expressions solemn. Some shifted from foot to foot to keep their muscles loose. Jacey’s gaze landed on Reese, who went through his ritual of knocking the blade of his stick against each leg pad and then against each shoulder. It was like the goalie’s version of crossing himself. The most interesting part was a little hop at the end where he landed in a prepared, game-on crouch. It made her smile. The showgirl finished strong, earning a full minute’s worth of applause, and then the lights came on as the players skated into place.

As the first period went by, the Sinners fought hard, though she could tell they were still nervous. They missed passes and shots they shouldn’t have. Could they still think karma was out to get them for breaking routine? With five minutes to go, Collier got an icing call, and the announcer said, “I’d like to direct your attention to the upper concourse above section 20 E for
yoooour
Lady
Sinners
!” Hip-hop music blasted, and the dancers burst into motion. The puck dropped to begin play, but they kept dancing. Jacey paled. This was a hockey game, not a strip club, but no one could tell by
that
choreography. She seemed to be the only one who had a problem with it. The male portion of the audience had abandoned watching the game to drool.

Silently fuming, she turned back in time to see a disaster in slow motion. Just out of the face off, Ben had the puck and moved with it toward the opposing goal. The arena broke out in gasps and shrieks as the Jumbotron caught a cheerleader’s costume slip, exposing half of her chest. In the confusion, he took a hard shoulder check that knocked him flat on his back. Referee whistles screeched, and play stopped while the athletic trainer hustled out to check on Collier. Jacey held her face in her hands and refrained from stomping her feet.

They never recovered after that. Between karma and cleavage, the team was too psyched out to step up. Not even two intermission breaks’ worth of screaming from Nealy got them back in the game. By the end, Jacey was ready to blow a gasket. They lost 5-2. She didn’t want to be in
that
locker room tonight.

• • •

Carter felt numb as he followed his team to the showers. They were dead silent, waiting for the inevitable tirade. Far be it from Nealy to disappoint them.

“What the
hell
was that?” She threw her clipboard against the metal lockers. All eyes focused on the floor as she paced in front of them, and Carter felt his pulse in his face. “There was
no
reason we should have lost tonight.” She was right, but he didn’t need her to tell him. For the hundredth time, he cursed Jacey for saddling them with the Wicked Windham of the West.

“Your routine was a
little
different. So what? I know damn well you’re not blaming the cheerleaders for your loss tonight.” Nealy’s tone bore a sharp edge that kept the team silent. They winced and looked anywhere but at her. Carter held his breath and counted to ten. It was more complicated than blaming the cheerleaders. They were better trained than that. Maybe the change in routine planted the initial doubt, but sometimes teams just fell into a funk, and it took a while to break out. He knew none of them would dare say that to Nealy.