Scoring Lacey (9 page)

The conversation told him it was Kayla on the other end.

“Shayne. He was okay.” She laughed and it sounded a little nervous as his hand followed the loose waist of her skirt.

What was it about Lacey that was so touchable?

A tiny shiver moved through her as his hand wandered around to her stomach and up to the underwire of her bra. She shifted on his leg, a rocking of her hips, but she didn’t swat away his hand.

He tuned out the idle chitchat as he hooked his finger in the gap between her breasts then thumbed open the front clasp. The fabric fell away as a quivering breath escaped her. He leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck as he filled his palms with her breasts. Even her tits were exquisite.

Full and soft, the tips plump and hard. Her words became monosyllabic yeses and nos. Shayne grinned as he explored her with his hands. His tongue found the pulse pumping at the base of her neck while his fingers lightly pulled on her nipples. The tug seemed to cause her hips to roll. A hand landed on his knee, gripping hard.

But she didn’t stop him.

“Okay. See you soon, baby. Love you. Bye.” The phone bounced on the cradle then to the desk. “Asshole.”

His laugh was a little wicked as he pinched the swollen tips until she cried out and her back arched. “That the best you can do?”

“No.” She shifted, spreading her leg over his other one then pushed back so the wet flesh of her pussy kissed the length of his cock. “This is.”

“Fuck.”

Her responding laugh was more wicked then his had been as she proceeded to tease him when all he wanted was to bury himself in her again and again.

Photographs were scattered everywhere. Lacey sat on the floor, contemplating an old photo that was forty years old. Or a little younger. It was hard to tell since the photographer hadn’t dated the back. Jerk. If it were a little more focused she’d use it in the MHS yearbook. Her dad’s back was to the camera as he stood at center ice, a hockey stick held like a scepter as a bunch of boys sat on the ice.

Tossing it aside, she continued to root through the photos. She loved incorporating old pictures with each yearbook. One picture made her grin even as the front door crashed open then slammed shut. The 5’ 7” thunderstorm was home.

Carmen exploded into the living room and glared at Lacey. “I wanted to watch TV.”

“So watch.” In the photo, Carmen was six and wearing a Husks jersey with the pink pants she had loved so much because of the yellow butterfly on the knee. Little pink skates decorated her feet.

“This place is a dump. Where am I supposed to sit?”

She stood between Coach’s legs, a whistle perched between lips spread in a huge grin as if she was so happy she couldn’t blow. God, her baby looked small with an arm hooked behind Coach’s leg. “Look how small you were.” And happy. She flipped the picture around so Carmen could see it.

“Barely to Coach’s knees without skates. God, you were tiny.” Her five and half pound of wonder who had looked so small in her arms. “Now look at you. Ten feet of leg.”

“I remember this,” Carmen said softly, taking the photo, her finger on the picture. “I was assistant coach. I liked blowing the whistle when they were doing ice sprints.” She smiled before it vanished. A quicksilver grin.

Her baby was so unhappy. It was killing her. Kayla was handling the divorce better than Carmen. That or being away made it easier on her. Carmen was right in the middle of the battleground.

“How come Kayla’s not in the picture?”

“She was in school.” Lacey settled back against the couch. Carmen rested a knee on the cushion as she stared at the picture. “You didn’t have school that day. We had a day to ourselves. We went to see Coach for a few hours before we went shopping for shoes.”

“I don’t remember that. I wanted to go to Coach’s school.”

“I know.” Every morning for a week, Lacey would wake up to see her baby girl sitting at the kitchen table with her skates and little Magerin hockey jersey, ready to go to hockey school. Dad would’ve taken her despite that girls hockey hadn’t been that big when Carmen had been a kid. Kevin, though, had been adamant that his daughter wasn’t going to play hockey. Lacey had to be the one to break the news to her. Carmen had screamed and thrown a skate at her then gone to Kevin.

What had her husband done next? Told her that her mom was mean but girls didn’t play hockey. Asshole.

Girls went to MHS now. The teams were co-ed until middle school.

“You still can.”

Carmen snorted. “Right. Like you’ll let that happen.”

Fuck, she was tired of being the villain in Carmenland. Lacey tossed the pictures aside and stood up. “I am not the bad guy here, Carmen.” It was too late to fight but that was pretty much all they did nowadays.

“You didn’t let me go to MHS, you won’t let me model, you kicked Dad out. Yeah, Mom, you’re the super parent.”

Lacey held up her hand and walked away.
Walk away, Lacey, and do not crush her illusions.
In her room, she closed the door. Bracing her hands on the wood, she struggled for control. Down the hall Carmen slammed her own door.

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. She thumped one fist on the door and pushed away. Her hands were shaking.

How had they come to this?

Every day was a new fight. Or an old one. Meanwhile Kevin could do no wrong as he shared a fancy condo with his lollipop. And Lacey got to hear how great and cool Amber was from her daughter. Carmen took after Kevin in one aspect. She sure knew how to wound with her words.

Once more she heard Carmen’s door slam then the front door a few minutes later. Sighing in exhaustion, Lacey flung herself onto her bed like she used to do when she was Carmen’s age and angry for whatever reason. A scream of frustration came from her and she kicked the air.

Why did God invent teenagers?

What had she possibly done to warrant this kind of punishment? Was it because she had snuck out when she was seventeen to see Lyle Thompson’s shiny new tractor and would’ve surrendered her virginity to him if he hadn’t invited Donna Simmons, now Thompson, the same night? Was it because she and Shannon would lie about their whereabouts and join the other kids at the gravel pit for too much beer? Maybe because her mom wouldn’t buy her those chunky earrings so she had pocketed them from the store. Or maybe she had been an axe murderer in a previous life and this was karma.

Lacey heaved a sigh. “Fuck.”

Feeling a tad better, she sat up and decided she was not going to ponder the goings on in her angry daughter’s head. If she stayed in solitary confinement, she’d go nuts.

She stripped off her clothes, pulled out a pair of jeans and a button top. Muttering, she wrestled with her boots, dragged a brush through her hair, grabbed her purse and went to the Penalty Box.

When all else fails, seek brother for free booze and food and a sympathetic shoulder.

The brat had to be good for something.

The Penalty Box would’ve been a dive in a past life. Her brother didn’t believe in prettying things up. “This is where you come to drink beer and curse at refs, Mom, it’s not the country club,” was his monthly argument whenever their mom swept in and bemoaned the neon beer signs on the wall.

There was a pool table that had seen its fair share of fistfights. There used to be a dart board until one night someone had been so mad at Todd, he had thrown darts at him. The next night, her brother had walked in, slapped a plastic gun that shot orange plastic darts on a table and told the guy to work on his aim. There were now at least ten plastic guns in the bar.

During playoffs, the majority of the darts would be decorating one of the five televisions. Not the big screen. God help anyone if they messed up Todd’s big screen baby. There was a jukebox that hadn’t worked since it had been body checked by a couple of drunk MHS players. There had been a karaoke machine until Todd had set it on fire when their sisters came in night after night to sing New Kids on the Block songs.

Hockey sticks were nailed to the wall with no consideration to the autographs on the blades. Jerseys looked like ghosts in the glass cabinets and the wait staff wore black and white striped shirts like referees. There were two kinds of wine: red and white of whatever he could get the cheapest, a vast collection of draft beer, and if you came in and ordered a girly drink, he poured water and stuck an umbrella in the glass.

One would assume he hadn’t grown up with five women.

The food, however, was incomparable in Granville. Yeah, the grub wasn’t that complex but it was frickin’ delicious. Every year, she gained five pounds during the playoffs from the beer and nachos. Those damn nachos.

Six kinds of cheese, tomatoes, jalapenos and peppered bacon.

The bastard.

He was behind the bar as usual, his hair a curly disaster as he manned the taps. He spotted her and his eyebrows rose while he plucked up a glass, tossing it like he was in the movie Cocktail. A pretzel was tucked in the corner of his mouth as he drew a beer for her.

“Carm?”

She nodded as she picked up her glass, not acknowledging him as she went to a booth. She dropped onto the bench seat, tossing her purse onto the floor. Naturally the hockey channel was on, showing a replay of an old game.

A few minutes later, Todd flung himself on the other bench, a huge beer mug filled with water. “Need an alibi?”

“No.” She bent her leg and sipped her beer. She had no idea what it was and she didn’t really care. She’d prefer a good scotch but he made her pay for those. For her the beer was free. “You know how Mom was always screaming at us that one day we’d get our comeuppance?”

Todd nodded as he clasped his hands behind his head. “Is Carmen your comeuppance?”

She remembered the time she had shoved Shelley’s head in the toilet because she had used Lacey’s brand new lipstick. “Yes,” she answered. She missed her sister who was two years younger. Maybe she’d phone her, see what was happening on the West Coast.

“Wow. That’s some uppance. Food?”

She nodded and he left her to her beer, squeezing her toes as he returned to his post. By the time her glass was empty, a ginormous plate of sinful nachos was set down along with a new beer. “Bastard,” she muttered as she plucked a bacon bit free.

Despite agreeing to the food, she wasn’t that hungry. She listened to the conversations, to the boos and cheers thrown at a game whose outcome was twenty years old. “What a sad, pretty girl.”

She opened her eyes as Shayne slid into her booth. He had his own drink, a cola, and he studied her with an intense look in his eyes.

The olive green shirt made his eyes greener as it hugged all the muscley goodness that was Shayne. He took a chip loaded with cheese and peppers. Planting his elbow on the table, he offered the bite to her. “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t want you passing out on me again when my hand goes down your jeans. Eat.”

She dipped the chip into the small bowl of salsa and studied Shayne. “Think that’s where it’s going, hm?”

Instead of answering, he leaned back in his seat, his eyes smirking his answer that that’s exactly where his hand was going to be later. She wondered what had brought him here. “What brings you to the Box?”

He took another sip then found the right chip he wanted. A thin strand of cheese stretched to the plate before he broke it with a swipe of his finger. He scooped a large amount of salsa and guacamole onto the chip then ate the entire thing. He sipped his soda and set his foot on the edge of her seat by her hip. “You.”

“Followed or summoned?”

His eyebrow went up in answer. Summoned. “What did my baby brother say to have you don your superhero cape?”

“That you were a pitiful mess who was into her cups and cheese.” Shayne pressed his foot against her hip and she toyed with the small cuff of his jeans. “Are you a pitiful mess?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, feeling a little morose.

“Wanna go hit a few pucks?” He nodded his head at the door. “Come on.” He grabbed his glass as he stood up, waiting for her to move her self-pitying ass.

With a sigh, she took her glass and followed him out into the night. Two people sat on the bench against the wall as they smoked. A goalie net that had seen better days was against one wall. A couple of hockey sticks were in an umbrella stand along with a bucket of tennis balls. There was even a goalie glove that had seen better days. “Hey,” Shayne said, greeting the smokers, then set his drink down.

His foot tapped the bucket, spilling balls over the concrete pad. He tossed a hockey stick at her and she stepped back so it didn’t smack her in the face. The sound of the wood clattering filled the space and she went to set her glass beside Shayne’s. When she turned, he had the glove on and was smacking the sides of the goal in a head nod to the hockey gods. “Okay, Magerin, bring it.”

She picked up the stick, using the blade to draw a ball towards her. The odds of her scoring on Shayne were as high as Carmen giving her hug right now. Her shot was pathetic and the ball rolled sadly to him.

He stood up straight and his sigh was loud as he kicked the ball back at her. “Jesus, you’re a Magerin. Hit the damn ball--don’t nudge it.” Once again he crouched down, his body relaxed in the pose.

That was annoying. Lacey hunched down like him and looked him in the eye. “And the puck is dropped. It’s Magerin versus Payne. Magerin grabs the puck and it’s a break away.” Shayne snorted as he grinned. “She goes left dodging Payne. Right. Left. Now it’s two on the ice. Can she do it? Can she score on the great Donnelly?”

She grabbed the front of her shirt, flashed him her lacy bra then shot. “And she does it! Ladies and gentlemen, Magerin has scored on Donnelly. The crowd here is insane.” She lifted a hand to her mouth and imitated a crowd roaring as Shayne looked behind him at the green tennis ball resting against the netting then at her. Even the smokers were cheering. Though she assumed it was for her bra and not her hockey prowess.

“I can’t believe you...” he tossed aside his stick and began to stalk her. “You flashed me!”

She was laughing by the time he grabbed her by the waist and dragged her out of the small zone.