Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  “Mary Claire can handle the shop—”

  The bells over the door jingled.

  “—it’s going to be perfect.”

  The scent of turpentine filled the air. Speak of the angel. Mary Claire, dressed in painting clothes, sauntered toward them and pushed her red hair out of her eyes, leaving a streak of yellow paint on her forehead. “What’s perfect?”

  Karma waggled her eyebrows and was about to pat the spot on the chintz couch beside her, but after taking another look at the paint-splattered Mary Claire, nixed that idea. “When Stryker Gyllenhaal comes to Boise for his week-long media blitz, Trish is going to be his handler. You can run the shop, and I’ll deal with all the last minute decisions and details regarding the media, The Cup events I have planned, and run Humpin’ Hannah’s. See? Perfect.”

  “H-h-h-how could this p-p-possibly be p-perfect?”

  All the hair on the back of Karma’s neck stood straight up. It was as if she’d been zapped by a car battery. “Stryker hasn’t hurt you in some way, has he?”

  “H-h-hurt m-m-me? How could he h-h-hurt me?”

  “You’re stuttering. I haven’t heard you stutter since that night I walked in on Billy Cavanaugh forcing himself on you and I made his head one with a crystal vase.” She’d knocked him out and left his lifeless body on the front stoop of their apartment, allowing him to come to surrounded by Denver’s finest.

  Mary Claire followed the conversation the way she always did—she stepped in only when things got out of hand, but soaked up all the information like a dried up sponge dumped into a sink of soapy water.

  Trish took a measured deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Stryker and I were never involved. I was never anything more than his tutor.”

  Karma raised an eyebrow and kept her better-than-a-lie-detector stare riveted on Trish.

  “He didn’t know I was alive other than to meet at our scheduled times. I don’t think he so much as looked at me, no less touched me.”

  “Then what’s the big deal?”

  Trish’s mouth opened and shut, and opened again, but nothing came out.

  Mary Claire reached over and slid her hand up and down Trish’s arm. “Trish? What is it? What’s going on?”

  Trish looked like she was zapped with the same battery that had Karma’s hair standing on end.

  “Nothing’s going on. I’m just busy and I don’t have time to take a week off from the business to babysit Stryker and do Karma’s bidding. Contrary to popular belief, I actually work full time here. I put in over fifty hours last week.”

  Mary Claire, the nurturer among them, continued soothing Trish. “I know you work full time, and I appreciate you covering for me the other day, I really do, but I can’t help but think there’s more to this that you’re not telling us.”

  “There’s not. It’s nothing. I’m leaving. I’m done. I have an auction to get to tomorrow morning at the crack, so I’m taking off early.” Trish spun on her heels, her long hair flew in a wave around her, and settled perfectly over her shoulders. The sound of angry bells ringing filled the air followed by a slam of the door.

  Karma tamped down the spurt of jealousy over Trish’s perfect hair. Trish had never had a bad hair day in her entire life, and it was so dark—Trish’s hair, not her life—that Karma couldn’t help but envy it. Karma had curly dishwater blonde hair that was a little like Karma herself—it had a mind of its own and an aversion to anything or anyone trying to control or tame it.

  “What are you really up to?”

  Mary Claire’s question dragged Karma out of her moment of hair envy. “Nothing.” Okay, she hadn’t meant to start anything, but now that she obviously had, she wasn’t going to let it go. When Karma caught Mary Claire’s dubious expression she laughed. “Honest, I just needed to find someone who would babysit Stryker and make sure he shows up and does everything he’s supposed to do. I don’t know why, but Stryker doesn’t seem at all enthused about this little venture of ours.”

  Trish laughed, and it wasn’t a funny-ha-ha laugh either. It was an annoying and slightly scary Evil Witch of the West laugh. “You know damn well why Stryker is unenthused. No guy like him wants to be paraded around like the grand champion at the Westminster Dog Show for a week—especially since he seems to have a real reluctance to attract attention of any kind that doesn’t involve his performance on the ice. Is it so extraordinary to think that Trish might be uncomfortable being the one asked to spend a week responsible for holding the man’s leash and forcing him to perform, knowing how much he’s going to hate it?”

  “Trish spent four years tutoring Stryker knowing full well how much he hated that. It never bothered her before—what’s so different now?”

  Trish kept one eye on the speedometer and the other on the road while practicing mindfulness—rather unsuccessfully. This whole mindfulness practice proved much more difficult than it had initially sounded. It was the same with meditation. For something that, in concept, seemed so easy—concentrate on breathing and empty your mind of all thoughts—meditation was the most difficult exercise at which she’d repeatedly tried and failed. She’d never been unable to succeed at something she diligently tried.

  Her phone rang, interrupting her umpteenth attempt to practice mindfulness, and Trish pressed the phone icon on the screen when Mary Claire’s name popped up. “I’m still not doing it, Claire.”

  “Okay, but just hear me out.”

  Damn, Trish hated it when Mary Claire spoke to her using that soothing, tell-me-all voice she’d developed while taking a course in art therapy. Trish let out a slow breath and reduced the pressure she’d inadvertently put on the gas pedal. “Fine.”

  “I know you’ve been working really hard on this whole self-help thing you’re into. You’re studying the law of attraction, positive thinking, changing your vibrations, and opening yourself up to the possibilities of the Universe, God, or whatever you call your higher power, puts in your path, correct?”

  “You haven’t told Karma about this, have you?”

  “No of course not. I swore I wouldn’t and I always keep my word. I was just thinking that your reaction to the thought of spending the week being Stryker’s handler was a bit extreme. Maybe it’s something you need to, I don’t know, investigate. Think about the reason for your reaction. Cogitate on it.”

  Trish had nothing to say that wouldn’t be peppered with four-letter words so she chose to say nothing. An uncomfortable silence filled the line.

  “Trish, we’ve known each other since you skipped two grades and ended up in fourth grade sitting next to me. Even then, when you were the smallest kid in the class and knew no one, you’ve always been more or less unshakeable. This thing with Stryker shook you. Now if it’s true that you have no history or bad blood with him and no relationship, then why the extreme reaction?”

  The silence on the line did nothing but amp up the tension. Mary Claire knew too much as it was, and if Karma got wind of it, no one, no matter how well intentioned, could keep her from extricating every relevant piece of information. Having Karma, someone who could make the lead interrogator at the CIA look like an amateur, as a best friend certainly had its drawbacks.

  “Okay, I’ll back off, but know that I’m here if you need to talk about it, or if you need someone to bounce ideas off of. No pressure. It’s just that envisioning your future, goals, and dreams as if they’re already part of your life probably feels safe. But if this whole law of attraction thing starts working to manifest your dreams into reality, well, that would be enough to freak anyone out. Take my word for it. When Jack popped back into my life—someone who had been my ideal man, whom I thought was completely unattainable, well, it threw me for the loop of a lifetime. That first night we ran into him at Humpin’ Hannah’s shook me to the core. I have no doubt that I looked as shaken as you did when Karma asked you to be Stryker’s handler.”

  “This is different. When I envisioned my dream man, I kinda used Stryker—you know, as a place holder. Jus
t someone to fill the space in the picture in my mind. I want that space to be occupied by my dream man. I just couldn’t put a face to someone I didn’t know yet. Do you understand what I’m saying? I didn’t mean for Stryker Gyllenhaal to be the one I want to date, marry, and with whom I create a family.”

  “Do you find him physically attractive?”

  “Who wouldn’t? The man is gorgeous. But he’s a pro hockey player for God’s sake. He lives in New Orleans and I live in Boise.”

  “Other than his occupation, his physical location, and his apparent unattainability, do you have anything against him?”

  “Like what?”

  “Do you dislike him?”

  “No, why would I?”

  “You tell me? Your reaction was really extreme.”

  Trish turned onto Irving and saw her sweet little cottage surrounded by flowers and felt the slightest bit of tension leave her shoulders. Mary Claire might not have Karma’s inquisition skills, but she had no less determination—and that was scary. Trish pulled into her space in front of the house and turned the car off, then shoved the phone between her ear and her shoulder, and grabbed her purse.

  “Doesn’t this law of attraction thing espouse dreaming big? Doesn’t it say to dream about things that you might consider unattainable?”

  Trish tossed her purse over her shoulder and closed the car door with her hip. “Yes, but—”

  “Doesn’t it suggest that you can succeed beyond your wildest dreams? And then, due to the positive vibes you radiate, and the change in your vibration ’station,’ if you will, things, people, and situations that were completely unattainable before become possibilities and throw themselves directly into your path?”

  Trish unlocked the door. “Yes, so?”

  “So if this manifesting your dreams stuff works, then maybe by picturing Stryker—envisioning him—with or without the caveat that he’s not your real dream man and not someone you feel equal to attracting, the Universe just tossed him in your path. The problem as I see it is not that you don’t want him, it’s that you really don’t believe you can handle him.”

  “You think I can’t handle Stryker? I handled him for almost four years.” Trish pushed open the front door, stepped into her living room, and tossed her purse on the table.

  “As a tutor, sure, but everything is different now, isn’t it? Before, you thought of him as a student, but now, when you envision him, you’re thinking of him as a what? Boyfriend? Lover? Mate?”

  “Mate? Did you seriously just say mate?”

  “You know what I meant. Husband, life partner, significant other? Whatever it is you want to call it.”

  “Okay yes, but I never meant to attract the real him—just someone like him.”

  “Are you sure of that? Oh, and when you envisioned him, did you envision him with or without clothes?”

  She definitely was not going to answer that last question because half of the time, when she was lying in bed all alone, she’d imagined him beside her, and he certainly wasn’t wearing a hockey uniform. “I’m not sure of anything. I just started studying the Law of Attraction and manifesting my dreams stuff. I was just, I don’t know, taking a practice run, I guess. I’m not ready for it to actually work! What was the Universe thinking?”

  “I suppose this is the point where I tell you to be careful what you wish for—or in your case, envision, because you might just get it.”

  2

  Stryker grabbed his bag off the luggage carousel and looked around for Karma. She was nowhere to be found. He checked his ticket against the email he’d sent her telling her his pick-up time. He’d probably made a mistake and transposed the numbers—again. He scanned the email, and as usual, concentrated hard to read the time he’d sent her, then he checked his watch. Unless he’d misread either the email or his watch, which was not outside the realm of possibility, he hadn’t made a mistake.

  He’d wanted to get a cab to the apartment, but Karma wouldn’t hear of it and insisted that she’d pick him up. He dropped his duffel at his feet and scrolled down his contact list looking for her number when he heard his name being called. He looked up and damn, there before him was a dark-haired goddess with alabaster skin so pale it looked translucent. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes and she wore a bright orange halter dress that showed just enough cleavage to draw any man’s attention, but not enough to make him think she was advertising the goods. His lips quirked into a smile and he wondered if he reached under her long fall of dark hair whether he’d be able to untie the halter with one pull of a string. He had a real affinity for sundresses—especially ones like hers.

  She cleared her throat and motioned to the duffel bag at his feet, “Is this all your luggage?”

  The Goddess was speaking to him and he stood like an idiot gawking at her. She lifted her hand to her glasses and pushed them up to the top of her head. Dark eyes met his.

  Familiar eyes.

  He ran through the list of the women he’d dated in Boise and found none that would have a prayer of matching this woman’s description. Her cheeks were showing evidence of a blush and the look on her face was full of uncertainty. Shit—talk about awkward.

  “I’m sorry, I know we’ve met before—it’s your eyes, I know them from somewhere, but for the life of me, I’m drawing a blank. Maybe that concussion I got a few months ago affected me more than I thought, because there’s no other explanation I can think of to excuse forgetting a woman as beautiful as you.”

  “Right, that’s a good one, Stryker.” Her face had settled on bright red, but then the color seemed to drain right out of it. “It’s been a few years, I didn’t expect you to remember me. I’m Trish—Trish Reynolds. I used to tutor you.”

  He took a step back as reality smacked him upside the head with more force than a hundred-mile-an-hour puck. “Trish? Wow, I knew I’d been stupid in college but I didn’t know I was blind too.”

  “You were never stupid—”

  “You certainly didn’t look like this while you were tutoring me. I’ve never had the best concentration skills but if you had showed up at our tutoring sessions looking like this, I never would have been able to concentrate on anything other than you.”

  Her smile was so cold, he wondered if it would shatter.

  “Nice try. Look, Karma sent me to pick you up and take you back to the apartment. I’m sorry I’m a little late…”

  He let out a laugh—either to cover his gaffe or get on more even footing. “This is Boise, you can’t blame it on the traffic.”

  “No, I just got caught up with something at work. So if that’s all you have, I guess we can go.” She turned on her heels—not fuck-me pumps but not your low-heeled sensible shoes most librarians wore—the ones that didn’t accentuate a woman’s legs. Trish’s legs, like the rest of her, were spectacular.

  Stryker followed along behind and racked his brain for other memories of Trish, well, other than the way she’d always made him feel like a bottom dweller in the brains department. It wasn’t anything she said, she’d always been very nice when she tutored him, it was just how freakin’ smart she was highlighted how freakin’ smart he wasn’t. He always thought she’d rule at Jeopardy. Trish Reynolds was, hands down, the smartest person he’d ever known.

  What confused him was her apparent transformation. “You never dressed like this while we were in school together. You always dressed like a—” He stopped himself right before he said dowdy librarian, thank God, since Trish already looked more than a little pissed at him. “What I meant to say was you dressed—well, very conservatively, I guess.” Kinda like a nun. He’d never known there were actual breasts beneath the clothes she wore, no less drool worthy breasts.

  She stopped, mid-step and stared at him. “People change, I guess I’ve started exploring color.”

  “Among other things.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that no one would have had a clue what kind of body you hid under all those oversiz
ed things you used to wear.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want you, or anyone else for that matter, to know, or maybe I was camouflaging extra weight.”

  “If your aim was to hide your body, you definitely succeeded.” He gently took her arm and turned her to face him. “May I?”

  Her confused shrug gave him the green light he’d been waiting for since the moment she’d said his name. Trish looked completely and utterly bewildered when he reached behind her and gathered her silky hair that was heavier than it looked, and pulled it up to expose her long neck. “You always wore your hair in a kind of bun thing.” He moved his gaze over her, taking in the subtle scent of vanilla and some kind of berry that wafted around her in the slow-moving air. “There you are—the tutor I’ve spent hundreds of hours with.” His fingers slid over her scalp and she shivered under his touch. “And no, you didn’t lose weight. Your face looks exactly the way I remember it. If you had lost weight, the shape of your face would have changed too.”

  Trish’s eyes dilated and she licked her lips before sucking in a deep breath. Maybe she realized how close he stood. He certainly did. The woman packed a hell of a punch. Why would anyone ever want to hide that light under a bushel?

  He released her hair, and instantly missed the silky feel and weight of it against his rough hands.

  Trish blinked, took a big step back, and looked around, almost as if she’d forgotten they were standing in the middle of the baggage claim. “You were always quite brilliant when it came to spatial intelligence, so I guess it makes sense you would notice that.”