See Jane Score

by Rachel Gibson

  “How can I help you?” Kirk asked.

  Jane turned and looked at the balding editor. “You didn’t run my Pierre Dion interview?”

  He took a drink of his coffee, then shook his head. “Post-Intelligencer printed an interview with him the day after he signed.”

  “Mine was better.”

  “Yours was old news by then.” He looked at the papers on his desk.

  She didn’t believe him. If one of the guys had done the interview, they would have run it as a feature instead of burying it in her regular column.

  “Anything else?”

  “I got an interview with Luc Martineau.”

  That got his attention and he looked up. “No one gets an interview with Martineau.”

  “I did.”

  “How?”

  “I asked him.”

  “Everyone asks him.”

  “He owed me a favor.”

  He lowered his gaze to her feet, then raised it back up again. He was too smart to say what he was thinking, but she knew. “What favor would that be?”

  She was half tempted to tell Kirk she’d blown Luc, but not until after the interview. So technically she hadn’t exchanged sexual favors for her story. “When I was fired, I only agreed to come back to work if Luc gave me an exclusive interview.”

  “And he gave it to you?”

  “Yes.” She handed him a hard copy of the interview along with a disk. She could have sent it in an attached e-mail like she did all her columns, but she’d wanted to see his face when he read it. She was proud of the piece and knew every word by heart.

  Martineau in His Zone

  Controversy is no stranger to Chinook goaltender Luc Martineau. His private and professional lives have been dissected and discussed and written about until no one is quite sure of the truth. Martineau himself claims that most of what has been written about his personal life is fiction and has little to do with the actual facts. Fact or fiction, he will tell you that his past is his own business.

  These days he is totally focused on what takes place between the pipes.

  When I sat down to interview this enigmatic goalie, I discovered that he is by turns forthright and aloof. Relaxed and intense. Contrasts that make this Conn Smythe winner one of the best all-time tenders in the NHL.

  What is not in dispute is that two years ago, he was reported to be finished, his days in the NHL all but over. Oh, how wrong those reports were. Currently ranked second, Martineau leads the league in goals against average at 2.00. Fast hands and cool control are the trademarks of this premier goaltender. He has as much aptitude as attitude, and when he is in his zone, his nuclear stare intimidates…

  As Kirk read on, a begrudging smile lifted one corner of his thin lips. A modicum of respect, albeit reluctant, softened the lines on his face and her mood changed in an instant. Jane didn’t want to feel anything or take any pleasure in Kirk Thornton’s change in attitude toward her. But she did. She hadn’t known how much until now. It burned like a little light in her chest and filled her with pride.

  He looked at the schedule. “I’ll make room for it in the Sunday edition after next.”

  She’d be on the road next Sunday. “A feature article, right?” she asked just to make sure.

  “Right.”

  When Jane left the building, the sun was shining, the mountain was out, and life was pretty darn good. As she walked down John Street toward her Honda, she allowed herself to feel a few moments of triumph. Whether the guys working the sports beat wanted to or not, they had to take her seriously now. Or at least they couldn’t easily dismiss her as the bimbo who wrote the silly Single Girl columns. An interview with Luc would get picked up by the Associated Press, and they would all know it. She didn’t delude herself that this would make things easier for her in the newsroom. The opposite might happen, but she didn’t really care. She’d gotten the interview that all of them would have killed to get.

  Yep, life was pretty good today. Yesterday had been a different story. Yesterday she’d sat at home staring at the telephone like she was fifteen again, waiting for it to ring. After she’d left the Key Arena Sunday night, she’d been positive Luc would call her. After he’d pulled her into the janitor’s closet and made her rethink her decision not to have sex with him anymore, she’d half expected him to call or show up on her doorstep. She’d thought they’d made a personal connection, that they’d talked about something important, something other than her underwear, and she’d been sure he’d contact her.

  He hadn’t, and as she’d sat on her couch watching birds mate on the Discovery Channel, she’d discovered that falling in love with Luc was the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Of course, she’d known the stupidity of it weeks before it had actually happened, but she’d been powerless against it.

  Jane drove to the Laundromat and shoved her dirty clothes into four washing machines. Beneath her suit, she wore a pair of days-of-the-week panties. It was Tuesday, and she had on Saturday’s. Not that it really mattered, she supposed. But it did illustrate her life at the moment.

  While she watched her clothes tumble dry, Darby called her cell phone and asked her advice. It seemed that he too had fallen for someone unattainable.

  “Do you think Caroline would go out with me?” he wanted to know.

  “I don’t know. How did the drink with her go?” she asked, even though Caroline had called her the next morning with the gory details. The evening had started out okay but had taken a nosedive.

  “I don’t think I impressed her much.”

  “You told her about being a member of Mensa.”

  “So?”

  “I told you not to do that. Those of us with average intelligence don’t want to hear about your big brain.”

  “Why?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to hear Brad Pitt brag about how good-looking he is?”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No. Brad doesn’t have to brag about his looks. Everyone can see that he’s good-looking.”

  Hmm. He was right about Brad. “Okay. How about a porn star? Do you want to hear a porn star brag about his huge package?”

  “No.”

  She switched the phone to her other ear. “Look, if you want to impress women, especially Caroline, don’t tell her how smart you are. Let it come out subtly.”

  “I’m not very good at being subtle.”

  He wasn’t kidding. “Caroline will be impressed with a guy who knows what wine to order.”

  “Isn’t that kind of gay?”

  And the flaming skull shirt wasn’t? “No. Take her somewhere nice.”

  “And she’ll go?”

  “Make it someplace really nice. Caroline loves to dress up. Always has.” She thought a moment and asked, “Are you a member of the Columbia Tower Club?”

  “Yes.”

  She’d thought so. “Take her there. It will give her a reason to wear her latest Jimmy Choos. And if she starts talking about shoes and fashion, pretend you’re interested.”

  “I’m into designer fashions,” he said.

  Jane smiled. “Good luck.” After she hung up, she called Caroline at Nordy’s and warned her that Darby would be calling. She was surprised that her friend didn’t have stronger objections to a date with him.

  “I thought he annoyed you with his talk of Mensa,” Jane reminded her friend.

  “He did, but he’s sort of cute in a Revenge of the Nerds kind of way,” Caroline explained, and Jane decided it was best if she stayed out of it. As she kept reminding herself, she had her own problems.

  That night at the Chinooks/Lightning game, Luc hardly paid her any attention when she called him a dodo. He didn’t tease her or remind her of the night they’d spent together. In goal, he was his near-perfect self, stopping pucks with his fast hands and big body. The game ended in a tie, and afterward he wasn’t waiting to pull her into a closet and kiss her senseless.

  Nor was he two nights later
, when he recorded his sixth shutout of the season against the Oilers. On the flight to Detroit the next morning, he hardly glanced at her as he passed her seat, and it was excruciatingly obvious to her that he was avoiding her as much as possible. She didn’t know what she’d done, and she relived their conversation in the janitor’s closet over and over in her mind. The only thing she could think of that might make him avoid her so blatantly was that somehow he’d discerned her feelings for him, and he was running fast in the opposite direction. She’d worn red lipstick and bought a red blouse just for him. She was so pathetic. He’d told her he fantasized about making love to her on a dessert tray, and she’d believed him. She was the worst kind of fool.

  Now he was avoiding her almost completely, and she was startled by how much it hurt. They’d made love and she’d thought they’d had a really good time. She hadn’t made demands, and if anything, by pulling her into that closet he’d led her to think he wanted more than a one-night stand.

  He’d told her he didn’t think of her as a groupie, and now he treated her as if she were the worst kind. A groupie that he must avoid at all costs. Not only did that hurt, it made her angry. Beyond angry to the point of doing him bodily harm. She’d even given a few moments’ thought to quitting her job just so she wouldn’t have to face his disinterest. But the few moments passed quickly when she reminded herself that she would not shoot herself in the foot over a man. Not even a man she loved with her whole aching heart. Not even when seeing that man made her miserable.

  Once in her room later that day, she tried to write a rough draft for her Single Girl article, but she stared out the window looking over Lake Michigan more than she wrote. Her relationship with Luc would have ended eventually anyway, she told herself. Better sooner than later. At least this way she didn’t have to feel as guilty about the Honey Pie article. Too bad she couldn’t make her conscience listen.

  A few hours later, when the telephone didn’t ring, she tried to tell herself that Luc was too busy with the team to call. That he wasn’t meeting one of his Barbie Dolls. She didn’t want to think about him with another woman, but she couldn’t help it. And the thought of him kissing and touching one of his women drove her crazy.

  At six that evening, she met Darby at one of the hotel restaurants. Over the course of the meal, she drank two martinis while she listened to him rattle on about Caroline.

  After dinner, they went to the sports bar inside the hotel. Five of the Chinooks sat at a table drinking beer, eating bar food, and watching Denver give the Kings a royal trouncing. Luc was with them too. At the sight of him, apprehension and relief lifted her stomach. He wasn’t with a Barbie Doll.

  “Hey, Sharky,” everyone called out to her. Everyone but Luc.

  The pull of his brow and the cool appraisal of his blue eyes told her that Luc wasn’t at all happy to see her. Her battered heart took another bruising.

  She took a seat between Daniel and Fish and was careful not to make significant eye contact with Luc. She was afraid that every hockey player at the table would see that she was in love with their goalie. That he would see it too, and become even more distant, which probably wasn’t possible.

  She couldn’t quite force herself to ignore him completely, though, and her gaze was drawn to his across the table. He sat back in his chair, his hand at his side, relaxed, at ease. Except for his intense gaze, which appeared for all the world as if he were trying to see to the back of her brain. He reached for his glass and took a drink of water. He sucked an ice cube into his mouth and a drop of water rested on his top lip. He chewed the ice and she looked away.

  “I read your last Single Girl column,” Fish told her. “I think you’re right that nice guys really do finish last. I’m a nice guy, and I have to give up my house on Mercer to my ex-wife.”

  “That’s because she caught you with another woman,” Sutter reminded him. “That really tends to piss off the old lady.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” Fish grumbled and looked over at Jane. “What are you writing now?”

  She hadn’t really come up with much yet. Nothing she wanted to discuss anyway, but she opened her mouth and, “Is a one-night stand ever a good idea?” popped out. She immediately wished she could take that one back.

  “I think it is,” Peluso said from down the table.

  “Yeah.”

  “I say go for it.”

  “Unless you’re married,” Fish added. “You’re not planning a one-nighter, are you?”

  She shrugged and forced herself to sound cool and emotionless. Detached. Like a man. “I’m thinking about it. There’s a guy with the Detroit press who’s very hot. I talked to him the last time I was here.”

  Across the table Luc stood, and she watched him move toward the bar. Her gaze slid down the back of his blue-and-white-striped dress shirt to the behind of his Levi’s.

  “If you ever need help with your columns, we could tell you how guys really think,” Peluso added. “The real stuff.”

  Jane really didn’t want to know “the real stuff.” It was just too scary. “Maybe I’ll get back to you when I have a firmer grasp on the direction I want the column to take.”

  “Cool.”

  She looked up as Luc returned with two sets of darts. “You owe me a chance to get my fifty bucks back,” he said. “Same rules apply as last time.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do.” He grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Pick the sharpest darts,” he said, then he grabbed her hand and slapped them in her palm. Next to her ear he added, just above a whisper, “Don’t make me carry you to the tape line.”

  His brows were lowered and his gaze fierce, as if he had something to be mad about. Fine. It would feel good to kick his butt. Since she couldn’t do it physically, she’d wipe the floor with him in darts.

  “Remember the rules,” he said as she tested the points. “There’s no crying like a girl when you lose.”

  “You can’t beat me on your best day.” She flipped her hair like a girl and handed over the sharpest three darts. “This isn’t a sport for sissies like you’re used to, Martineau. Your teammates can’t save you, and there’s no hiding behind pads and a helmet in darts.”

  “That’s low, Sharky,” Sutter told her.

  Her mouth dropped open. “That’s trash talk.”

  “That was a real cheap shot,” Fish added.

  “Last time, you guys said I was a lesbian,” she reminded them. They all shrugged. “Hockey players,” she said and marched across the bar to the dartboard, with Luc walking beside her. Her shoulder brushed his arm, and she felt the contact all over. She widened the space between them.

  “What are you doing here with him?” Luc asked as they stopped at the tape line.

  “Who?”

  “Darby.”

  “We had dinner.”

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  If she weren’t so mad, she would have laughed. “That’s none of your business.”

  “What about the Detroit reporter?”

  There was no reporter, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “What about him?”

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  “I thought you didn’t care whom or how or what position I preferred.”

  He stared at her, then said through clenched teeth, “Shoot the damn darts.”

  She looked up at him. His clenched jaw, his eyes shooting blue flames like when someone dared to shoot a puck in his net. He was clearly angry. At her. He was insane. “Stand back,” she said as she lined up her first shot. “I’m gonna kick your butt.” She doubled on with her first throw and scored eighty by the time she was through.

  Luc scored forty and slapped the darts in her palm. “The light sucks in here.”

  “No.” She smiled and took great pleasure in announcing, “You suck.”

  His gaze narrowed.

  Weeks of anger and hurt poured out of her and she said, louder than she’d intended, “And worse- you’re
a whiner.”

  A collective intake of breath caught their attention and she and Luc turned and looked at the guys watching a few feet away.

  “Lucky’s gonna kill Sharky,” Sutter predicted from the sidelines.

  By tacit agreement they both went to their respective corners. Jane shot and scored sixty-five. Luc scored thirty-four.

  “Now, remind me. Why do they call you Lucky?” she asked as she reached for the darts.

  He pulled them back out of her reach as a slow, purely licentious smile curved his mouth. A smile that told her he was remembering her on her knees kissing his tattoo. “I’m sure if you think long and hard, you’ll remember the answer to that.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Some things just aren’t that memorable.” She held out her hand and he placed the darts in her palm.

  Instead of moving to stand by the guys, he remained right next to her and said, “I could remind you.”

  “No, thanks.” She shot a triple eight and aimed for a triple twenty. “Once was enough for me.”

  “If that’s true,” he said, “why’d we do it three times?”

  “What’s the matter?” She looked across her shoulder at him. “Is your ego in need of stroking tonight?”

  “Yes. Among other things.”

  He’d decided to talk to her and she was supposed to fall at his feet. He probably thought she’d fall there and kiss his tattoo again. Fat chance. “Not interested. Find someone else.”

  “I don’t want anyone else.” His words felt like a warm caress when he added, “I want you, Jane.”

  Her anger fled and all that was left was her deep hurt. It churned in her stomach and twisted her heart. Before she risked bursting into tears like a girl, she shoved the darts at him. “Too bad,” she said, turned on her heels, and left the bar. She made it to her room on the twenty-first floor before her vision blurred. She would not cry over Luc Martineau, she told herself as she blotted her eyes with a tissue.

  She was in her hotel room ten minutes before he pounded on her door. Afraid that the commotion would alert the security staff, she let him in.

  “What do you want, Luc?” She folded her arms across her chest and held her ground.