High Stick
Page 7
Bankers didn’t hang up their own coats and get their own drinks.
“Is it all right if we eat?” The other twin looked longingly at the chafing dishes.
“Of course,” Merry said. “Would you like to serve yourself or tell me what you want and let me bring it to you?”
A pretty woman—Neyland, if Merry remembered correctly—looped an arm through his. “We’ll help ourselves. I doubt if you could carry the amount of food he will want.”
After putting out the pecan tassies, Merry felt useless. The guests were lined up at the buffet, drinks in hand. Finally, after they’d filled their plates and gone to the viewing area, she stirred the hot food and wiped up spills around the chafing dishes. They’d hit the jambalaya hard. A couple more servings and she’d order more. She was opening a bottle of wine when the announcer’s voice, which had never been anything except white background noise before, worked its way into her brain. “And starting at forward, number 91, Jarrett MacPherson!”
She could step closer and take a peep. The Beaufords and company wouldn’t care. They were all ganged up, eating and talking. Okay, not one step. Five, though it could have been three if they’d been giant steps. But she had a good view now.
He looked so much bigger on the ice. The crowd cheered as he skated across to where the others were lined up. When he stopped, he tapped his skates with his stick. What was the purpose of that?
Then they were announcing another player. Thor somebody. That snapped Merry out of her trance and she hurried back to the wine she’d left half open.
Emory turned and called, “Merry?”
Merry hurried to the viewing area. “Yes, what can I do for you, Mrs. Beauford?”
Emory smiled and shook her head until her blond curls bounced. “It’s Emory. Please. I don’t need anything. I thought you might want to come over and see Jackson sing.”
She hesitated, but then nodded and went to stand behind Pam Anderson. It would be insulting to tell Emory that she didn’t want to see her husband sing. Besides, it was Jackson Beauford. How often did a girl get a chance to see him sing for free?
But in the end, she didn’t watch Jackson at all. Her eyes were drawn to Jarrett. He had his helmet off and his hair was a mess—though not as big a mess as that number 5. But then, he had more than Jarrett. She would have expected Jarrett to stand still during the national anthem, but energy seemed to emit from him. He rocked back and forth on his skates and bumped his helmet against his knee in time to the music. He moved his head from side to side as though he was trying to loosen the muscles in his neck. Maybe he was.
But all too soon the song ended, applause broke out, and the players tapped the ice with their sticks. Then they skated to the middle of the ice. For the first time ever, she would have liked to watch the game, but she couldn’t.
Soon, Jackson Beauford would arrive with Dirk and Sammy. She’d need to unlock the door and see to it that they had food and drinks. Then she’d need to pass appetizers, refill drinks, and clear away dirty plates.
She heard Jarrett’s name announced several times, but it didn’t mean anything to her. In the second period, everyone got excited when a fight broke out, and Merry did go take a peep to see if Jarrett was involved. He wasn’t. It was number 17—Eastrom, the one they called Thor.
Between the second and third periods, a woman wearing a Sound jersey breezed in. Dirk met her at the door and Merry thought he was going to throw her out, but he hugged her. Turns out she was the Sound captain Nikolai Glazov’s wife and she was friends with the women here.
Meanwhile, Merry cleaned around the chafing dishes, ordered more jambalaya, and stored bags of trash in the closet.
Once, Beau Beauford saw her doing it. “Hey, do you want me to take that somewhere for you?” he asked.
Bankers did not take garbage out.
“Thank you, but Dirk wanted me to save it.”
Beau laughed. “He would.” And he walked away shaking his head.
Finally, it was over. The Sound lost 3-2.
Dirk took the trash and everyone, including Jackson Beauford, thanked her as she handed them their coats.
The assistant, Sammy Anderson, might have been the best looking man Merry had ever seen in her life—or would have been if he’d had a little peek-a-boo dimple. That was hard to compete with.
Sammy handed her an envelope. “This is a thank you from Jackson.”
She didn’t look inside until they were all gone. Jackson Beauford—or someone—had gone to the trouble to figure out how much their catering bill would have been if they’d been charged for it, rounded up, and been extremely generous—over twenty-five percent.
So what if she hadn’t gotten to go to The Big Skate—where Jarrett would no doubt be by now? This would go a long way toward January’s rent.
But she would be back with the bankers next time. They tipped okay, though not like Beaufords. Time to close down. It wouldn’t take as long, since bankers made a bigger mess than Beaufords.
After snuffing out the Sterno, she loaded the dishwasher and started it. With any luck, it would be done about the time she finished with everything else.
It took a while to inventory the liquor. She always triple counted and took a picture of it in case there was any question. Losing her job at the law practice was one thing; she’d brought it on herself. But she was not going to lose this one due to miscounting.
That done, she packaged up the leftover food for catering to pick up and dispose of. She was just beginning to clean the cooled chafing dishes when she heard someone come in. That would be Terrance from catering.
She didn’t turn around. “The cart with the leftovers is ready for you to take away. There wasn’t a lot left. They were a hungry bunch.”
“I’ll be happy to take it if you’ll tell me where.” That was not a Southern accent. Unless she missed her guess, that voice came straight from Wisconsin. She dropped the pan she was washing and whirled around. No, not Terrance. Gray suit, snow white shirt, silver gray tie. Jarrett moved toward the loaded cart. “Is this it?” And he smiled that barely there smile and his dimple winked at her.
“I thought you were Terrance from catering.”
“No. I’m Jarrett from the Sound. But I’ll take this cart away if it will help you.”
“You aren’t supposed to be in here. Only authorized people are allowed in the suites.” That was clearly spelled out in the employee handbook: no friends, no family, no exceptions.
He smiled a little. “That’s one of the things I like best about you—you are not only committed to the rules, you can recite them.”
She shrugged. “How can you follow rules if you don’t know them?”
“I’ve been trying to convince people of that for years. Drive the speed limit. Buckle your seat belt, don’t go where you aren’t supposed to. Don’t take food into the movies. Don’t cheat on your spouse, your taxes, or at cards. Act decent. Don’t lie, which won’t be a problem if you do what you’re supposed to in the beginning.” Jarrett dropped his Bambi eyelashes. “But all that said, do you really think anyone at Bridgestone Arena is going to say I can’t be in here?”
It was hard to argue with that. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“I’m here, in part, because I admire, among other things, your complete dedication to the rules. As to how I found you—Packi, our trainer, knows everybody in this facility. No. Everybody in Nashville. I asked him to find out where you’d be. And part two of why I’m here—I came to apologize. I know it sounded like I was belittling your job earlier. I didn’t mean that. I wasn’t raised to think like that. I don’t think like that. All work is valuable. At least you’re seeing that people are fed. All I do is play hockey and hang out with Mickey Mouse sometimes.”
All work is valuable? What would you and all your “act decent and follow the rules” think about naked modeling? She drove the thought from her mind. It was in the past and none of anyone’s business except hers.
“It’s all right.” The words just came out. His mouth twisted and his eyes shone silver. “If I were to be completely honest, it threw me when you came to see me today. I overreacted.” She picked up a towel and dried the suds from her hands.
“We lost tonight.”
“I know. I was here.”
“I got a goal.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. And an assist. You didn’t see?”
“No. I wasn’t here to watch hockey. Remember?” He nodded and raised his hands, palms up like the scales of justice. “What are you doing?” Merry asked.
“Measuring whether my admiration for your excellent work ethic”—he raised his right hand over his head—“outweighs my childish desire to have you watch me be an ice warrior.” He lowered his left hand to waist level. “I think my admiration outweighs my desire.” He laughed. “But not by that much.” He raised his left hand to shoulder level. “I’m still pretty childish.”
“That’s nice to hear.” To be honest, she would have liked to have seen him play—even if she didn’t know anything about hockey.
He nodded. “I wish I’d considered that this morning.”
“What was it you said?” She smiled to show him she could laugh about it. “That I was here to wait on people who wouldn’t appreciate me?”
He half closed his eyes. “What can I say? I’m an ass. Did they appreciate you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. It was Jackson Beauford’s party. They were very appreciative.” She cocked her head to the side. “And genuinely nice.”
“I got the impression that you might have gone out with me after the game if you hadn’t had to clean up here.”
“I think I might have.” But there was a lot of maybe between might and yes, with a little probably shouldn’t sprinkled in. And it was a moot point.
He took off his jacket and began to roll up his sleeves. “I’m here to help you clean up so we can go. I had an orange and a Clif Bar after the game, but I’m starving. So tell me what to do so we can go eat.”
Unholy hell. “What? No. Do you think I’m going to The Big Skate in my work uniform?” Some of those wives and girlfriends sported game-worn jerseys with their designer jeans and some dressed to the nines, but none of them wore polo shirts embroidered with Bridgestone Arena, and none of them smelled like jambalaya. And there Jarrett was, looking like a million dollars in a suit that had probably been made for him to match his eyes.
“You look good to me, but fine. We’ll go someplace else.”
“Someplace where your pictures and jersey aren’t on the wall?”
“I actually anticipated this. I’m not interested in The Big Skate. It’s just a habit. I’m interested in eating. With you. And the sooner the better. How do you feel about Smashville Pizza? Not fancy, but it’s open late, walking distance, and won’t be as noisy as the honky-tonks. Plus they have that wood fired pizza.” That little smile again. There was some please mixed in with it.
What would it hurt? School hadn’t started yet, so she didn’t have anything to study. She didn’t go into work at Foolscap and Vellum tomorrow until noon, so she could sleep late.
“I feel all right about Smashville Pizza,” she said. “Actually, I feel all right about all pizza.” She was hungry. Right now, she’d eat a frozen store brand one, maybe without cooking it.
He took off his tie, exposing his neck. She felt it to her toes and she wasn’t hungry anymore.
“So tell me what to do.” Did he have to scratch his neck when he said it?
That was a dangerous request.
• • •
Outside on the street, a cold, nasty rain set in.
They would have to be on foot. Jarrett had thought it was more likely that Merry would agree to go if he chose a place within walking distance, so that’s what he’d done—against Packi’s advice. Packi had warned him that rain was predicted for late tonight, but Jarrett had disregarded it, never imagining it would take so long to clean up that suite. They’d washed, dried, swept, and wiped. And then they’d had to wait for the dishwasher to finish so they could count the freaking dishes and put them away. Growing up, he’d done plenty of wiping and sweeping at The Shooting Star, but he had never counted dishes. No one had. And on top of that, Merry had had to make a note that there was missing plate because a guest (Gabe Beauford, to be exact) had broken it. He was surprised that she hadn’t had to save the pieces.
Anyway, it had all gone on later than he’d expected, and now Merry was wet and shivering. Would he never get it right?
“You’re only wearing a windbreaker,” he said.
She nodded. “I parked in the garage. I didn’t think I’d be outside.”
“Here. Take my coat.” He reached for the buttons on his overcoat.
“No. That will just take time. We’re almost there.” She pointed ahead to the brick building with the neon sign. “Besides, your suit will be ruined and I suspect it cost a lot more than my Bridgestone-issued attire.” Oddly, her voice had a light lilt to it.
“You’re a good sport.” The rain picked up and he took her arm to hurry her up the street. Why had he not brought an umbrella—though that would have entailed buying one? He’d never owned an umbrella. Maybe it was time. Maybe that was why his relationships never worked out.
“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as they were in the door.
She smiled. “It’s warm inside and it smells like pizza. What’s bad about that? Do you think we could sit where we can watch the rain?”
“Yes.” And he would make that happen if he had to call a construction crew to build a window.
She took off her jacket and shook the water off, which he should have helped her with. Too late.
The hostess approached. “Two?”
“Yes. And we would like a booth beside the window. Near the fireplace if possible.” He was pleased with himself for thinking of that. It would be cozy.
“I think we can work that out. Follow me.”
Once they were seated, the hostess put the menus in front of them and said, “I’ll give you some time to look.”
“Actually, can we go ahead and order?” He finally had Merry across from him and he didn’t want a lot of coming and going.
The girl looked hesitant and he knew why. Hostesses didn’t usually take orders, but he was going to pretend he didn’t know that. He’d slip her a tip on the way out.
Finally, she nodded. “Sure. What can I get you?”
Merry was frantically reading the menu. “What would you like, Merry?” Waitstaff didn’t like that—insisting on ordering when you didn’t know what you wanted.
“Just the pizza. No salad,” Merry said. “You pick. I like all pizza.” She closed the menu and pushed it away.
“Even anchovies?”
“Even anchovies.” So did he, but anchovies were not good pre-kissing food, and he intended to kiss Merry before the night was over.
“No salad for me either. We’ll have the meat supreme, omit the onions, add mushrooms. Just water to drink for me. Merry, would you like something from the bar?”
She shook her head. “Sweet iced tea, please. With lemon.” That was good. He didn’t approve of drinking when driving. He always made sure he hadn’t had any alcohol—even a beer—a full hour and a half before driving.
“So you don’t like onions?” Merry asked.
“Not like onions? I do.” She looked puzzled. “Oh, the pizza. When I order standard pizza, I mix it up a little so they don’t bring a premade one.” Also, onions were not conducive to kissing.
She laughed. “Do you work all the angles?”
“I try.”
She unzipped her purse, removed hand sanitizer, and put a dab in her palm. “Want some?” She held out the bottle.
&nbs
p; “Thanks.” He held out his hand.
She rubbed her hands together, replaced the bottle in her bag, and rezipped it.
“You zipped your purse.”
She tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “Of course. Worst case, leaving it open invites someone to steal my wallet and phone. Best case, I spill everything out of it.”
Yes. No doubt about it. She was the girl for him. “I’ve been trying to tell my mom and sister that for years. They ignore me.” He’d never seen either of their bags when they weren’t gaping open for all the world to see, like a hungry baby bird’s mouth. The only time they got zipped or buckled was when he did it.
“They should listen to you.” Merry looked out the window where it was raining harder. There were some drops still clinging to her hair. She looked very serene—and pretty. She was so pretty.
“You like the rain?”
She laughed a little. “I like it when it isn’t getting me wet.”
“I’m sorry. We should have driven somewhere. I promise I won’t let you get wet when we leave.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I never do.”
“I don’t see how you can keep that one, unless we stay here all night.”
There are worse places to be, and much, much worse people to be with—possibly everyone in the universe. He wouldn’t say that, of course. Emile would have, pre-Amy, even if he hadn’t meant it. Bryant would have, too. Thor—probably not, though it was hard to tell about him. Sparks or Robbie wouldn’t have bothered. Either of them would have just grabbed and kissed her when she wasn’t looking. The very thought of that made Jarrett irrationally angry.
“Trust me. I’ll keep you dry.”
“We’ll see.” A glass of tea appeared before her. “Thank you.” His water had appeared too, but he hadn’t noticed.
He couldn’t think of anything to say and the silence was not an easy one.
“How was your Christmas?” He hated resorting to that worn-out question, but that was the best he could come up with.
She squeezed lemon into her tea. “Quiet. It was nice to have some downtime. How was Wisconsin?”