Sticks and Stones (5 page)

          Rick placed a
hand over his heart. “Ack! You wound me!”

          She giggled and
held her palm up. “Sorry.”

          He took her
hand into his and turning it, he placed a kiss on the back of her hand. “So…how
do you know my brother?”

          She blushed.
“We’re business partners.” She shifted nervously on the bench. “And does
Blake’s brother have a real name or did your parents not like you when they
named you Ricochet?”

          Rick released
her hand and sat next to her. “Rick. O’Shea,” he shrugged. “Ricochet.”

          A smile curved
on her lips. “It’s very nice to meet you, Rick. Are you here to see Blake?” she
asked when she began to stand.

          “Um, you
shouldn’t walk on that,” Rick cautioned.

          A small yelp
escaped from her lips, causing her to sit in a huff. “How am I supposed to get
to my office if I don’t walk?”

          He wiggled his
eyebrows. “I could carry you.”

          She giggled and
shook her head.  He was quite the flirt!

          “Grace?”

          She swallowed
hard. It came from a voice that’d forever be etched in her memory. Her entire
body stiffened and she lifted her chin. When she gathered enough strength, she
turned her head. “Ben.”

          Rick shifted
uncomfortably on the bench. He studied the man before him. Mr. Three-piece
suit. Black suit, to be exact. Black hair, hazel eyes and smooth skin. His eyes
narrowed at the bouquet of purple flowers in his hand.

          Three-piece
gasped. “What happened to your ankle, Gracie?”

          A flood of
emotions hit Grace hard, but she swatted them back. But, man, how she loved
that suit on him! Her throat felt raw, and gritty. “My heel broke and I twisted
my ankle,” she rasped.

          Ben looked at
the young man next to Grace and lifted an eyebrow. His eyes narrowed when the
punk winked at him. “I need to talk to you and I, uh, brought these as a peace
offering,” he murmured, handing her purple Calla Lilies. “But now I see I need
to get you to a doctor.”

          Grace eyed the
flowers, then pinned Ben with a glare. “Give them to your wife because I’m not
interested.” She took Rick’s hand into hers. “Does your offer still stand?”

          “You bet,
sweetheart!” he replied, sweeping her off the bench. In one hand she held her
purse and shoes, the other wrapped around the back of his neck. Rick grinned
down at her and as he carried her to the elevator, he planted his lips firmly
onto hers.

          She began to
protest when his tongue pushed through her lips, but then, gave up. As immature
as it was, she
needed
this. She wanted to hurt Ben, but at the same time
it just felt good to be kissed and kissed thoroughly.

Chapter
Three

          “Damn! That
chick’s lucky!” a young woman said softly to her friend.

          Ben stopped the
women. “Who is that guy?”

          The brunette in
the business suit stifled a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?” When Ben shook his
head she rolled her eyes. “Only the best defenseman the Wind has ever had!”

          Ben shrugged,
“The ‘Wind’?”

          She glanced at
her friend and sighed. “Ah, number eight? Rick O’Shea, also known as Ricochet.
The Wind is a hockey team.”

          “I don’t watch
hockey,” Ben mumbled. “Here, take these as exchange for the information.” He
handed her the flowers and walked away, numb.

*        *        *

          Grace tore her
lips from Ricks. He said softly, “‘My God, you’re fun to kiss.’”

          “Isn’t that a
Fitzgerald quote?” she grinned.

          He nodded, “My
favorite writer.”

           “You can put
me down now.”

          He sighed and
gently placed her feet on the floor. She winced at the pain in her ankle.

          “Funny, I
didn’t picture you to be a mistress to a married man,” he mused wrapping his
arm around her waist to steady her.

          Her eyes
narrowed, “I’m
not
!” She pushed his rock hard chest and glared. “Why did
you kiss me, anyway?”

          “Because I
wanted to.”

          She gaped at
him, not knowing how to respond.

          Grace began to
hobble from the elevator when Rick wrapped a strong arm around her waist. “Lean
into me,” he ordered.

          She half-walked
as he mostly carried her into the office.  Zee hung up the phone and gasped.
“Girl! What happened to you?”

          “Gracie! What
happened?” Blake shrieked.

          Rick led Grace
to a chair. “We need ice.” Blake nodded and sprinted for the kitchen.

          Rick lifted his
head and saw Chase staring intently at him. He shot him a lopsided smile. “Chase,
this is the woman.”

          Chase nodded
solemnly with a grin. “My work here is done.” He walked towards the door and
turned. “Miss Ryan? I look forward to your sketches and take care of that
ankle.”

          Blake returned
with ice wrapped in a dish towel. “Now will you tell me what happened?”

          “Olga Cabot is
a demon from hell!” Grace grimaced when Rick placed the ice on her ankle. “Said
she only lived a few blocks away and we should walk to her home. She lives five
blocks away!”

          “That old
witch,” Zee growled. “Sorry, Grace. No disrespect.”

          Grace shrugged.
“
Then
when we get to her lair she tells me the elevator is out of
service and she lives on the sixth floor!” Grace hissed. “So, when I got back
here I used every ounce of energy I had and made a run for the elevator doors
and broke my heel in the process!”

          Blake gasped,
“Not the Louboutin’s!”

          Rick rolled his
eyes. Sometimes his brother sounded girly.

          “Yep,” Grace
nodded sadly. “Anyway, if Rick hadn’t been there, I’d have fallen on my face.”

          She gazed at
the brothers and frowned. “For brothers, you two don’t look alike.” Blake had
black hair and killer blue eyes and Rick had sandy brown hair and dreamy hazel
bedroom eyes. She cocked her head and noticed that they were about the same
height and shared dimples. Other than that, that’s where the similarities
ended.

          “Damn! You two
are brothers?” Zee grinned, sidling closer to Rick.

          Blake scowled
at his little brother and pushed him towards the door. “Thanks for helping
Grace. I’ll call you tonight.”

          Rick held his ground
and kept his gaze on Grace. “She can’t drive with a swollen ankle so I’ll take
her home.”

          Maybe it was
his steely resolve or the way he lifted an eyebrow, daring Blake to push the
issue that made Grace intervene. “Blake, Rick can drive me home. I’ll figure
out a way to fetch my car tomorrow.”

          “Or, I could drive your car
and Blake and Max can pick me up later so I can get my car,” Rick offered.

*        *        *

          “What the hell
is going on with Grace and the hockey player?” Ben yelled into the phone at
Max.

          “Whoa! Slow
down, Ben. Grace and who?” Max replied.

          Ben took a deep
breath. “I just saw Grace and some hockey player,” he sneered. “Is she dating
him?”

          “I have no idea
what you’re talking about and even if I did, what business is it of yours? If I
remember correctly you dumped her,” Max growled into the phone.

          Ben sat in the
parking garage and rubbed his forehead. “I know and I made a huge mistake.”

*        *        *

          After she gave
Rick directions to her house, Grace gazed out the window and wondered what Ben
wanted to talk about. She shook her head angrily. It didn’t matter.

          “Who is he?”
Rick murmured.

          She whipped her
head around. “Huh?”

          “The suit. Who
is he?”

          “My old
boyfriend,” she mumbled.

          Rick turned his
head to gauge her face. “And what’s he to you now?”

          She sighed sadly. “A
memory.”

*        *        *

          Rick placed the
icepack on Grace’s elevated ankle and walked to the mantle to check out the
photos. He grinned when he saw a younger Grace smiling back at him, surrounded
by a man and woman. “These your folks?” She cocked her head and nodded. “Do you
want to call them?”

          “Well, I could,
but they’re gone.”

          He settled
beside her and took her hand. “Grace, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

          She laughed and
nudged his shoulder playfully. “They’re not dead! They’re in Ireland
researching our Celtic roots.”

          Rick blushed.
“Oh. Well, that sounds interesting.” He glanced around the small living room
and smiled. “I like this room, it’s cozy and I might add, well decorated.”

          The walls were
painted deep red, not something Rick was used to. In fact, many would say his
condo was stark in comparison. A cream colored over-stuffed chair and ottoman
sat to the right of the fireplace and an antique looking couch sat under the
bay window.

          “That’s an
interesting couch,” he murmured.

          “It’s a
fainting couch from the 1800’s. One of my prized possessions,” she replied.
“And here comes another,” she smiled when Chewy jumped onto her lap.

          Chewy was very
discerning of strangers and only tolerated Ben. When Rick lifted his hand to
stroke her, she backed away. Slowly she moved forward and sniffed his hand.
Then she rubbed her head against the side of it.

          Within minutes
she was curled in a ball on his lap. Grace narrowed her eyes. In all the years
she’d been with Ben, Chewy never sat on his lap, let alone rub her head against
him.

          “Looks like I
made a friend,” Rick laughed, stroking the cat. “What’s its name?”

          “
Her
name is Chewy.”

          Rick’s eyebrows
furrowed. “Chewy?”

          “Every now and
then she makes a sound like Chewbacca from
Star Wars
,” Grace shrugged.

          Rick stroked
the cats back. “Her tail looks like a raccoon’s tail.”

          Grace lifted
her leg from the oak coffee table and scooted to the end of the blue couch.
“Yeah, she’s a calico cat that acts like a dog.” Chewy yawned and nestled
deeper into Rick’s lap.

          “So, tell me
about yourself,” Rick requested.

          “Not much to
tell. I used to live in a luxurious condo on the Gold Coast, now I live in this
old Cape Cod and my Aunt Tilda lives three houses away. I’m an Interior
Designer and… that’s about it.”

          Rick twisted
his body to face her and placed his elbow on the back of the couch. Resting his
head in his hand he laughed. “I’m sure there’s more than that.”

          Grace glared at
the cat. She didn’t even protest when Rick moved. “Nope. That’s it.”

          Rick shrugged.
“Okay, I’ll tell you about myself. I’m a defenseman for the Chicago Wind, and a
damn good player, I might add. My favorite author is F. Scott Fitzgerald and I
tend to quote him often.”

          “So you’re an
educated
hockey player,” Grace grinned.

          He smirked. “My
favorite color is blue. I tend to enjoy the autumn more so than the winter and
you’ve been on my mind ever since you fell into my arms at the bar.”

          Grace shook her
head. “Rick…”

          “It’s true. In
fact, I described you to Chase and he drew a picture of you. It just happened
to be fate that he met with you today.” She rolled her eyes and he snorted.
“What? You don’t believe in fate?”

          “Actually, I do
believe in fate and Karma,” she mumbled and drew a long breath. “I also believe
that I’m not your type.” He began to protest and she held up a hand. “Rick,
you’re…very handsome and
young
. You should be interested in someone your
age.”

          He shook his
head. “How do you know how old I am?”

          “Well, I know
Blake is around my age, so I’m guessing you’re younger.”

          He moved
closer. “We all have souls of different ages.”

          She shrugged.
“I’m not looking for casual sex.”

          “Me neither.”

          He crept closer
and she closed her eyes, thinking of something to turn him off.

          Her eyes
snapped open and she held out a hand to stop him from inching closer. “I’m, um,
different.”

          Rick smiled.
“I’ve noticed.”

         
 
“I’m a
thirty-three year old witch who’s still raw from a past relationship.”

          He sat back
against the couch, causing Chewy to jump from his lap. Turning slightly, he
cocked his head. “You’re too harsh on yourself. I don’t think you’re a witch.”

          Giggles erupted
from her. “No, I’m Wiccan.”

          He lifted an
eyebrow. “‘I’m against the burning of witches. Whenever they burn a witch I get
all hot under the collar.’”

          “Fitzgerald?”
she laughed.

          He nodded. “I
told you I’m a big fan of his.” He turned and placed his hands on his thighs.
“So, do you cast spells and stuff?”

          “And stuff,”
she grinned.

          “My God woman!
Trying to get answers out of you is like trying to get a puck past the best
damn goalie in the league!”

          She rolled her
eyes. “I cast rune stones mostly and read auras. Sometimes I cast a spell or
two.”

          His cheek
lifted. “Aura’s huh?”

          “Yep. After Ben
and I broke up I took several classes in aura reading,” she shook her head.
“Sure wish I knew more about them when I dated the jerk. Might’ve saved me some
heartache.”

          “How so?”

          “In a nutshell,
each aura color has different meanings. For instance, if someone has a bright,
green aura it usually denotes a person who is a healer or a love-centered
person. Darker green means the person is jealous or has low self-esteem.”

          Rick arched an
eyebrow. “What color’s my aura?”

          Tucking her
hair behind her ears she let her eyes go out of focus until she saw a ripple
form around him. Slowly her eyes traveled from his shoulder, down his arm and
to his waist. Finally, her eyes traveled to his face and he came into focus.

          “You just
wanted to gape at my body, didn’t you?” he teased.

          She shook her
head and smirked. “Your aura is yellow.”

          “And that
means…” he pushed.

          “Well, you’re a
hard worker, intelligent and witty.”

          He nodded, “Yep
that sounds like me. Anything else?”

          “Well…you can
become withdrawn and depressed when you’re stressed out.”

          “That could be
said about a lot of people, wouldn’t you say?”

          “Yes, but you
tend to go a bit overboard.”

          “What? Like I’m
emo or something?” he scoffed.

          “Emo?”

          “Emotional. A
cry-baby,” he clarified.

          She shrugged.
“It means that you take things to heart. It’s not a bad thing.”