On Thin Ice (The Baltimore Banners Book 8) (2 page)

"I don't know. I wasn't paying any attention." Justin turned to Kenny, his brows raised in question. "Well? What'd she look like?"

Kenny bit back a curse, already regretting ever bringing it up. He should have let the tension disappear on its own instead of trying to help it along because now everyone was watching him, waiting for an answer.

He turned to Randy and tried to change the subject. "Shouldn't we be ordering already?"

"Alyssa already has it covered. So fess up. What's this ref look like and why were you staring her down?"

"Oh for shit's sake. I wasn't staring her down. And she's just—I don't know. Average, I guess." The lie almost stuck in his throat and he took a sip of water to wash it back. No, the woman had been anything but average but he couldn't admit that to anyone here, not without opening himself to even more questions.

But everyone was still watching him, waiting for a better answer. He took another sip of water and forced himself to stare at the middle of the table, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes.

"Taller, I guess. About up to here on me." He raised his hand and held it up to his nose, indicating her height. "Dark hair. Brown eyes."

"I know who you mean." JP nodded, a crooked smile on his face. "You need to stay away from her, my friend. She's a tough one. Fair, but tough."

"She didn't look very tough to me."

"She survived your stare down, Haskell. That means she's tough."

"For the last time, I was not staring her down. Why do you keep saying that?"

Everyone laughed, which only increased Kenny's frustration. He shot Justin another dirty look then glanced over his shoulder, wishing their food would suddenly appear. But there was no sign of any of the waiters so Kenny turned back around and slumped down in his seat.

"If you want to meet her, you should come to Taylor's game with me next weekend, eh?"

"Next weekend? You do know our first game is Saturday night, right?"

JP shot him a look to let him know how stupid the question was. "Her game is Sunday morning. You should go."

"Thanks but no thanks. Don't take this the wrong way, JP, but I'd rather sleep in than watch your niece play hockey."

"Suit yourself. But if you want to meet this woman, that would be your best chance."

"I never said I wanted to meet her." But nobody was paying any attention to him because the waiters were bringing out their food. Kenny breathed a quiet sigh of relief, thankful the attention had been diverted from him. Then he caught Justin's stare, saw the small smile on the man's face and heard the words, spoken quietly enough that only Kenny could hear.

"You are such a liar."

Chapter Two

Lauren Gannon dropped the phone into the cradle then leaned forward and banged her head against the desk.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Three times. Not hard enough to give herself a headache but just hard enough to stop the dull ringing that had been buzzing in her ears ever since she answered the phone. She lifted her head and glanced at her watch, frowning at it. Had it only been ten minutes ago? Probably. It only seemed like the conversation had taken longer.

She dropped her head to the desk and banged it one more time, for good measure.

"You're going to break the desk if you keep doing that, and I'm not buying you another one if you do."

Lauren didn't bother looking up, just raised her hand and held up her middle finger in a quick salute. A masculine chuckle greeted the gesture, the sound doing nothing to humor her.

"That good of a day, huh?"

Lauren finally raised her head and glared at her friend and boss, Rick Foster. "That was Mrs. Sanders. Again. She doesn't like the way her new patio doors look and wants them changed."

"Didn't we just do that?"

"Yeah. And she doesn't like them and wants to go back to the slider instead of the French. Says the French doors confuse her because she doesn't know which side to open first."

"You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Lauren pushed away from the desk, swiveling in her chair as she rolled across to the filing cabinet. She pulled open one of the lower drawers and reached for a thick file, her hand finding it automatically before she rolled back to her desk and tossed it down.

"And when does she expect us to do this?"

"Oh, you know: today would be nice, yesterday would be even better." Lauren opened the file and thumbed through the papers, her eyes scanning each sheet before finding the one she needed. She pulled it out then looked over at Rick, trying not to smile at his outraged expression. "Don't worry. I told her we wouldn't get to it until at least next Thursday, and that she should just tie a ribbon around the handle as a reminder until then."

"Good thinking. Do we have anyone free to handle the job?"

Lauren glanced at the calendar, chewing on her lower lip as she ran her finger along all the jobs already penciled in. "Maybe. If John and Tony finish that club basement they're doing on time, they should be able to get it in. If not, I can give it to Walt. Or I'll go do it myself if I have to."

"No, I'll do it."

"What? Afraid I might ask for a raise if I go do it?"

"Exactly. I pay you too much now as it is."

Lauren snorted. "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Maybe it'll ease your conscience over the slave wages you give me."

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing after saying the words. They both knew that Rick paid her very well—but that never stopped her from giving him a hard time and reminding him that she had never planned on working for him in the first place.

Rick Foster was her older brother's best friend and she'd known him for most of her life. He had been looking for someone to help keep him organized and run things from the back of the house when he first started his home improvement business eight years ago. Lauren had just started college and was looking for something part-time.

Neither one of them had expected the arrangement to be long-term. But the business had taken off faster than Rick had expected, especially considering the economy. He expanded two years ago and the business was going stronger than ever. Lauren finished college but kept working for Rick, enjoying the casual family atmosphere and the flexibility of working from home if she wanted. Yes, she enjoyed the money, too, as well as being able to help him grow the business. And it certainly beat getting dressed up in a business suit and breathing stale air for ten hours straight in a cubicle somewhere.

"Yeah. Slave wages and a cushy schedule. I'm a real monster." He propped his hip against the edge of her desk and looked down at her, studying her with a serious gaze that had her rolling her eyes. "So what are your plans for this weekend?"

"Same as every weekend this time of year." Lauren closed the file and stacked it with the others on the corner of her desk. "Games and reading."

"Why don't you come over to the house for dinner tomorrow night?"

"Why? So you and Cindy can try fixing me up with your next victim? I'll pass. Besides, it's the Banners' first home game so I'll be parked in front of the television."

She heard Rick's sigh and looked up in time to see him rolling his eyes. "You have no life. Why don't you come on over? We won't invite anyone else, honest. I'll even turn the game on so you can watch it."

"Hm. And we won't even make it halfway through the first period before the kids have us watching something else."

"So you're just going to stay home?"

"I happen to enjoy having time to myself."

"Lauren, you need some excitement in your life."

She laughed, the noise short and brittle, surprising even her. She shook her head and grabbed her oversized tote bag. "No, I don't. I get enough excitement from Lindsay's antics. Trust me, that's more than enough."

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Rick's face hardened, the soft lines around his eyes deepening as he scowled. Lauren held up her hand, silently telling him not to say anything. And of course he ignored her.

"You're still letting her live with you?"

She shook her head and stood, tossing the bag over her shoulder. "She's my little sister, Rick. What am I going to do, throw her out on the street?"

"She's twenty-one. She needs to grow up some time, you know."

"Great. Now you sound just like Dale."

"Good, because I happen to think your brother's a fairly smart guy. And you know we're both right."

Lauren pursed her lips and shook her head again, wondering how the conversation had taken this turn. She didn't want to discuss her sister with Rick—or with anyone else—because the conversations always ended the same. And because Lauren could never make a convincing argument in her favor. How could she, when she secretly agreed with them?

Lindsay was immature, reckless, and irresponsible. She had failed out of college—twice. Their parents had refused to pay for tuition after the second time, telling Lindsay she needed to grow up and start taking responsibility for her own actions. In a fit of temper, she had moved out of their house and essentially disappeared for a year—until six months ago, when she showed up at Lauren's condo begging for a place to stay.

Lauren had given in, only to learn that she was Lindsay's last resort because even the friends she had been staying with had grown tired of her. So Lauren had laid down some ground rules, telling her sister exactly what she expected.

Get a job.

Pay something toward rent and food each month.

No parties at her condo.

Start acting like a responsible adult.

Six months later, Lindsay was on her third job and Lauren was still waiting for money—and for her sister to start acting like an adult.

"She's using you, and you're letting her. Don't deny it."

"I'm not discussing this, Rick. Now let it go."

They locked gazes, each of them stubborn in their own right. A muscle ticked in Rick's clenched jaw and she was starting to wonder if she'd be the first to look away. But he finally sighed and pushed away from the desk.

"Fine. No more discussion." He grabbed his jacket and waited for her by the door, palming the light switch off as they left. "Let me know if you change your mind about tomorrow night."

"I won't."

"Just think about it."

"Fine, I'll think about it. But don't hold your breath."

Rick locked the door then gave her a look she didn't particularly like. It was a mix of impatience, irritation, and something that looked too much like worry. "Trust me—with you, I know better."

Chapter Three

The crowd, such as it was, left the stands and moved to the outer areas of the rink. Some had walked over to get into line at the concession stand but most of the parents were busy helping the younger kids get out of their gear. Lauren skated off the ice and moved away from the crowd, heading for the lone bench near the back of the arena so she could sit for a few minutes and rest.

She took a seat then stretched her legs out in front of her, flexing her feet and bending forward until the muscles in her calves and thighs stretched. She realized she was holding her breath and slowly exhaled, wishing the pounding in her head would ease.

Which was nothing more than wishful thinking. The headache had been with her all weekend, since yesterday morning when she'd been awakened by loud music and laughter. Lindsay had come home a little after six, looking—and smelling—like she had been at some all-night party. Lauren had walked out of her room just in time to see some guy with his pants down around his ankles push her sister up against the kitchen counter. Her skirt had been up around her waist, her legs spread open in invitation as she bent over for him.

Yet Lindsay had the nerve to act like she had been the one who was wronged when Lauren kicked the guy out thirty seconds later. It was all Lauren's fault.

Her fault for still being home.

Her fault for being too uptight.

Her fault for not knowing how to have a little fun.

Her fault for being a prudish bitch.

Lauren reached into her gear bag and pulled out the bottle of extra-strength ibuprofen, shaking out three then washing them down with a long swallow of water. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, resting her head against the boards as the arguments played through her head for the hundredth time.

Not for the first time, she wondered if Dale and Rick were right. Lindsay was running wild, with no signs of ever growing up. And why should she, when her prudish bitch sister took care of everything for her?

She was going to have to sit down and have a heart-to-heart with Lindsay. Lay down the rules—again—and stick by them.

Lauren would rather be strapped to a cold metal table and have a double root canal done. With rusty pliers. Without Novocain.

But if she didn't have a serious talk with her sister, Lindsay would keep taking advantage of her and Lauren's current foul mood would become permanent. Neither one was an option that Lauren would accept.

The noise around her shifted, becoming a little louder, a little more excited. The next teams were no doubt piling into the rink, waiting for the Zamboni to leave the ice so they could start playing. Lauren took another deep breath, trying to push the foul mood away before she had to hit the ice for the next game. She opened her eyes and straightened, then nearly choked on her surprised gasp. A young girl stood in front of her, a stick held in her hand like it was an extension of her body. Her light brown hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail that hung over her shoulder when she tilted her head to the side. She watched Lauren, her brown eyes filled with curiosity.

Lauren vaguely recognized her, but only from seeing her at previous games. Given her size, she had first thought the girl played on one of the 9-10 Squirts teams, but she had been wrong. She played Pee Wee with the eleven and twelve year olds. Lauren didn't think the girl was that old, but she definitely had the skill for it.

The girl didn't say anything, just stood there and kept watching her. Lauren sat a little straighter then glanced over her shoulder, checking on the progress of the Zamboni, then turned back to the girl. "Did you need something, sweetie?"

"No. But my uncle wants to know your name."

"Your uncle?" Lauren looked past the young girl, her gaze sweeping the growing crowd of adults and kids. She had no idea who the girl's uncle was, though, and nobody was really looking this way, watching them. And the last thing Lauren needed was for some jerk to be using his niece to pick her up.

Irritation simmered in her veins, causing the steady throbbing in her head to increase. This wasn't what she needed, not this morning. Not after all the other drama of this weekend. But it wasn't the girl's fault and she wouldn't take it out on her.

"Your uncle? Where is he?"

"Back there with some friends." The girl hooked her thumb over her shoulder, pointing to nobody in particular. So much for trying to figure out who her jerk uncle was that way.

"Maybe you should go find him. Or the rest of your team. I think your game is going to be starting soon."

"I know." But the girl didn't move. Lauren let out her breath and stood, taking her time zipping up her gear bag, hoping the girl would just leave. No such luck.

"Shouldn't you be with your team now?"

The girl glanced over her shoulder again then turned back to Lauren, a bright smile on her face that showed a small gap where a tooth had been. Lauren had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling back. "Yeah, but I told him I'd get your name first."

"Is that so? You can tell him my name is Ref Gannon. Will that work?"

"Probably not. I think he wants your first name. Mine's Taylor."

"It's very nice to meet you, Taylor. How about a compromise? You can call me Lauren, but still tell your uncle my name is Ref Gannon. Deal?" Lauren held out her hand, not surprised when the girl slapped it instead of shaking it.

"Deal. And I think he's right." The girl grinned then started walking away, her stride long and confident in spite of the heavy skates on her feet.

"He's right about what?"

Taylor stopped and gave her another big grin. "He said you were tough, that you had to be to do what you do."

Lauren opened her mouth then closed it again, not sure what to say. Not that it would have mattered because the girl was already out of earshot. She watched Taylor's progress, hoping she'd go over to her uncle so Lauren could see who he was. No such luck. The girl moved past the bleachers and headed straight for the group of other players on the home team, not even bothering to look at the crowd slowly settling in for the game.

So her uncle thought she was tough? Lauren had no idea who the man was, but something told her he didn't mean it as a compliment, even if Taylor had taken it that way. She squeezed her eyes closed and pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping that might help the growing headache.

Great. Well, she had certainly been called worse. As recently as yesterday, as a matter of fact.

So now, not only was she an uptight prudish bitch, she was also tough.

A tough, upright, prudish bitch.

Lauren grabbed her helmet and strapped it on, telling herself that there was nothing wrong with being tough. In fact, any other time, she'd revel in it.

But for some reason, right here and right now, the description that was obviously meant as an insult only worsened her mood—something she really hadn't thought possible until just now.

She clenched her jaw and glared at the crowd sitting on the bleachers. The unknown uncle wanted tough? Fine, she'd show him tough.