Truth be told, he had been invited to a bunch of parties. Some of the guys were going for a quiet dinner in Brooklyn at Dante’s, the restaurant Michael Dante’s family owned, and others were having casual get-togethers in the city, but he needed a little break from the boys, especially after being on the road with them the past week. He’d gotten a few invites to some swanky “do’s”, too—a couple of them being thrown by folks he didn’t know from Adam, but who knew an A-list guest when they saw one. But he was in no mood to do the monkey-suit routine.
That left a standing invitation to go out for a nice dinner with Kevin and Abby, but having just spent Christmas with them, he didn’t want to wear out his welcome. Christmas had been great, it always was, but this year he had felt somewhat awkward being there, like he didn’t belong. Christmas was a time for families, and much as he and Kevin were like brothers, the fact remained that the Gills were one unit. He was good old “Uncle Ty,” the bachelor. The same role he’d played for years. Maybe that’s why this Christmas had left him feeling depressed. It was the first time he really had a sense of what he might be missing by making hockey his first love rather than a real, flesh and blood woman.
Which meant he had to rustle up something to do tonight or else he’d wind up on the ledge. No way was he going to sit home alone like some pathetic, lonely loser. He reached for his address book and flipped it open. The first name and number that he saw was Linda B.
Linda B . . . He wracked his brains . . . Who was Linda B? He looked down to check his notes beside her name. “Likes limos,” was all it said. So much for Linda B.
Next up was Christie. That was it, just Christie. Ty paused thoughtfully. He remembered Christie, all right. Who wouldn’t? Perfect body, long dark hair, a real she-devil. Mmm, Christie. Maybe he’d call her. But first he’d examine his other options.
Denise Duncan . . . didn’t remember her and there were no notes. . . . Elul. Elul? He squinted at his own scrawly handwriting. “Israeli belly dancer. Talks a lot.” Sorry, Elul. Tonight is not your lucky night. Francois . . .”Thin, French, a biter.” Ty shuddered and crossed Francois from his book, wondering why he’d even included her in the first place. If he remembered correctly, he’d spent the week after Francois looking like he’d been attacked by a cheetah.
He sighed, and started thumbing through the book at random. He was about to give up when it fell open to a particular page. Ty looked down at the name and number written there, and a slow smile spread across his face. Of course. That’s whom he’d call. He knew she probably wasn’t even home, but what the hell? What was life without risk? And if she was home and said yes, well, he knew just what they’d do for fun.
“You’re pathetic. Completely and utterly pathetic.” Theresa tsked.
Janna turned the volume of the TV up one notch louder. It was New Year’s Eve, and Theresa was going out dancing with her brother Phil and a bunch of his friends. They had invited Janna, but she had declined, on the grounds she couldn’t dance worth a damn. Really, she just wanted to hole up in the apartment and torture herself, imagining which supermodel Ty was wining and dining over a romantic, candlelit dinner.
“I’m sorry, I can’t let you do this.” Theresa grabbed the remote and pointing it at the TV like a weapon, turned it off.
Janna sighed. “Theresa.”
“You don’t think it’s pathetic lying alone on the couch on New Year’s Eve, watching The Way We Were?”
“I watch it every year,” Janna protested.
“Not alone on New Year’s Eve you don’t.” She tried wheedling. “C’mon, Jan.”
“Theresa, I told you. I’m just not in the mood to go out partying, okay?” She burrowed deeper beneath the comforter tucked under her chin and stared her friend down. “Now please give me back the remote.”
Theresa reluctantly handed it over. “I’m not in the mood either. But I’m going. This is all about that lunkhead, isn’t it?”
“Lunkhead?”
“Gallagher.”
Janna switched the TV back on. “What about him?”
“You’re pining for him.”
“I don’t pine, Theresa.”
“Fine. Then you’re moping.” She slipped on heels that had her towering over Janna like a building. “How do I look?”
Janna grinned up at her. “Great.”
“I can tell Phil to wait if you want to get dressed real quick and put on some makeup. He won’t mind.”
“No, thank you.” She craned her neck to look past Theresa. “Now could you please move? Hubbell and Katie are about to meet for the first time.”
Theresa groaned in frustration and snatched up her beaded purse from the steamer trunk. “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.” She leaned down and gave Janna a quick peck on the cheek. “Remember, I’m crashing at my parents’ house.”
“Have a great time.”
“You, too,” Theresa called as she hurried toward the door. “Don’t eat too many Ring Dings.”
“I won’t,” Janna promised.
She hit “pause” and watched Theresa go. When she heard all three locks on the door click into place, she settled back down and relaxed. Okay, so maybe she was pathetic. But so what? She could have done worse: she could have accepted Robert’s invitation to attend an all-night reading of the poems of Leonard Nimoy. Besides, what was wrong with being alone on New Year’s Eve? She hated all that false, manufactured gaiety, the pressure to have a good time. Having a good time should come naturally, it shouldn’t be an obligation.
She turned her attention to her supplies on the steamer trunk/coffee table. Ring Dings, Krispy Kremes, Diet Coke. A copy of Ghost in case she wanted more tear-jerking amour after Redford and Streisand. Theresa doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Pathetic? Club Janna is the place to be, baby.
She plumped the pillows behind her, tore open the bag of Doritos, and hit “play.” No sooner had she made herself comfortable in optimal reclining-cum-dining mode than the phone rang. To pick up or not to pick up? A creature of habit, she picked up.
“Hello?”
There was a split second of hesitation on the other end. “Janna? It’s Ty.”
Oh. My. God.
“Ty,” Janna replied, hoping the mild squeak she’d just heard in her own voice wasn’t detectable on the other end of the phone. “What’s up?”
“Go to your living room window and pull back the curtains.”
“What?” Drunk, he had to be drunk. And it wasn’t even midnight yet.
“Just do what I say,” Ty urged. “Go to the window.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” She had visions of opening her curtains to find herself being mooned by the Blades.
“It’s not a joke,” Ty assured her. “Just do it, okay? Trust me.”
“Okay,” Janna replied reluctantly. She sat up, Doritos scattering, and with the comforter still wrapped around her, went to the huge bank of windows facing the street and pulled back the curtains. Down below, she saw a cab parked in front of a phone booth. In the phone booth, waving up at her, was Ty.
“What the—?”
“Get dressed. No need for anything fancy, jeans and a sweater will do.”
“Ty—”
“Don’t bother with makeup, either, you don’t need it. Meet me down here in five minutes.”
She was about to agree when it dawned on her that he’d shown up just assuming she had nothing else going on, like she was some kind of wallflower-loser. Well, she’d show him.
“I’m sorry, I have other plans.”
There was a split second of stunned silence before he replied. “Then why are you in sweats with a comforter wrapped around your shoulders?”
“Because my date and I are having a nice, cozy New Year’s Eve at home. In fact, he should be here any minute.”
“Really? Well, I’ll just wait here outside your building and check him out when the doorman lets him in.” He hung up the phone.
“Shit!” Janna yelled, bac
king away from the curtains and slamming down the phone. Why couldn’t she live on a higher floor? He had seen her sweats! Now what? She stormed back to the couch, flinging herself onto it. When the phone rang again, as she knew it would, she was not going to pick it up, she was not. Five minutes passed. Ten. Finally it rang. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she picked it up.
“So where’s your Mystery Date?”
“He just called to say he can’t make it. He has the flu. Can I help you with something?”
“I told you. Get dressed and meet me downstairs in five minutes. I have a surprise for you.”
“I need ten minutes at least.”
“Fine, ten.” She could practically hear him frowning. Meanwhile, her head was swimming.
“No offense, but how did you know I’d be home?”
“I didn’t. I took a chance. You know the old saying: Who dares, wins. See you in ten.” He hung up.
Stunned, Janna put the phone back in its cradle. She didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to think. She felt numb and excited and scared all at the same time. In a state of shock, she moved to her bedroom to get dressed. Jeans and a sweater, he’d said. That she could do. But no makeup? Forget it. She never went anywhere without at least a little mascara and lipstick, and tonight was no exception. Tonight was New Year’s Eve—one, she had a feeling, she would never forget.
Anxiety took hold as she followed Ty through the players’ entrance to Met Gar. All the way over in the cab, she’d been unable to get him to confess what he was up to or where they were going. “It’s a surprise,” was all he’d say, but she noticed his gym bag was sitting quietly at his feet. She noticed, too, how handsome he looked, his strong jaw host to the faintest hint of a five o’clock shadow, his blonde hair just the tiniest bit mussed, the way she liked it. She thought he might have cologne on, but wasn’t sure. His natural scent was clean and vaguely citrusy, his skin tangy. Tangy skin, she said to herself derisively. Get a grip.
When the cab had pulled up in front of the arena, she didn’t know what to think. The first thing that flashed across her mind was that he was bringing her to some private party for the players, the thought of which left her completely unnerved. She spent five days a week surrounded by the Blades and their personnel. Why on earth would Ty think she’d want to spend her free time with them as well?
Her next thought was that perhaps he’d sustained a blow to the head at the game against Chicago the night before—a game that she had made a point of not watching—and had gone totally psycho, his gym bag hiding a machete with which he planned to slice and dice her in the locker room. But his mood didn’t seem particularly dark; in fact, he seemed to be happy, his big, bad secret making his handsome face glow with delight.
“Care to tell me what we’re doing here?” she questioned as he led her through the bowels of the building.
“You’ll see.” They passed the Blades’ locker room, the coaches’ office, and were halfway up the carpeted ramp the players used to get on and off the ice when Janna halted.
“I’m not taking another step until you tell me what’s going on.”
“You really want to know?”
“I really want to know.”
“I’m going to teach you how to skate.”
Janna just stared at him. “I don’t own skates.”
“Don’t worry. It’s been taken care of.” He bent over and unzipping his gym bag, pulled out a pair of size six skates which he dangled in front of her face, smiling devilishly. “Shall we?”
Janna hesitated. “Look, this is a wonderful surprise, but I can’t learn to skate. Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I just can’t,” she said peevishly. “I’m tired.”
Ty scratched philosophically at the stubble on his chin. “You’re just afraid of falling on your ass in front of me.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I am not,” Janna insisted indignantly.
“Then prove it. Come sit on the players’ bench with me and put your skates on.”
“Fine,” Janna muttered, following him up the rest of the ramp and out to the bench.
Eerie . . . that was the feeling within the empty arena. Row upon row of empty seats surrounding them, and the silent, smooth ice . . . Janna felt as if she were violating some sacred space. Not so Ty; he sat down on the bench and laced up his skates one, two, three. What clout, Janna marveled to herself, to be able to pick up the phone and say you wanted the rink at Met Gar for your own private use and presto! It was done. Talk about impressive.
Skates on, Ty stood before her. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “You’re not doing a very good job lacing up.”
“How did you know what shoe size I was?”
Ty shrugged. “I looked in your shoes once when you were in the bathroom at my apartment.” He knelt before her and slipping one skate on her foot, began lacing her up. Janna could feel her defenses melting.
“Why did you call me?” she asked softly.
Ty’s hands stopped moving, and he looked up into her face. “Because you’re the person I wanted to spend New Year’s Eve with.”
Janna nodded with understanding. That was it; no more needed to be said. She watched as he lowered his head and resumed fitting her skates to her feet. When he was through, he stood up again, and offering her his hand, helped her up off the bench.
“How do they feel. Too tight?”
“I don’t know. How are they supposed to feel?”
“Stiff. You want ankle support.”
Janna looked down at her feet, flexing them. “I guess they’re okay.” She hoped her face didn’t betray how vulnerable she was feeling, knowing humiliation was right around the corner.
“Ready?” he asked, smiling.
“No.”
“C’mon.” Still holding her hand, they took a few careful steps away from the bench and out onto the ice. Janna instinctively reached out for the boards.
“This wasn’t a very good idea.”
“Listen. Keep your legs locked, and let me take your hands so I can pull you around, give you a sense of what it feels like. Then, when you’re ready, I’ll show you how to skate.”
Janna clung to the boards. “If I let go, I’ll fall.”
“Not if you give me both your hands. Trust me.” He gently took her hands in his. “Legs locked?” Janna nodded, terrified. “Here we go.”
Skating backward, he slowly began to pull her around the ice.
“See?” he said. “It’s not so bad.”
“Not for you. I feel like an idiot.”
“Don’t. This is how everyone starts.”
“Even you?” she asked skeptically.
“Even me.” Gliding, he continued leading her. “Like it?” he asked hopefully.
“I guess,” Janna replied nervously. She was more focused on the ease with which he could skate backward than the actual sensation of moving across the ice. “You make it look so easy.”
“It is, eventually. Everything is.”
“Everything?”
His eyes caught hers. “Everything,” he repeated. “Things can be as hard, or as easy, as you make them.”
Janna blushed. “I see.”
“I know you do.”
They circled the ice two, three, four times. Janna began relaxing a little, allowing herself to enjoy the feeling of sliding smoothly across the rink’s glassy surface. “Having fun?” Ty asked. Janna nodded. He slowed to a stop. “Ready to try it out for yourself?”
Janna felt her stomach contract. “I guess.”
“Okay. Watch me.” He skated away from her slowly. “See how I push off with each foot? Push, glide. Push, glide.” He circled back to her. “Let’s try it. I’ll hold you so you don’t fall.”
“Push, glide,” Janna repeated to herself as Ty stood slightly behind her, his hands around her waist.
“Ready when you are.”
“Okay.”
&nbs
p; Slowly, tentatively, she pushed off with her right foot. The front of the skate dug into the ice, and she would have gone sprawling were Ty not holding on to her.
“You okay?” Ty asked.
“Yes,” Janna snapped, embarrassed.
“You pushed down. Just push forward.”
“Okay,” Janna huffed. Careful, she pushed off with her right foot . . . then her left. Her right foot . . . then her left.
“You’re doing great,” Ty told her.
Janna’s face lit up. “Really?”
“Yup. Keep it going.”
“This is fun,” she admitted giddily.
“Just wait until I let you go.”
Janna panicked. “Don’t,” she begged. “Not yet.”
“Don’t worry,” Ty assured her. “I’m right here.”
Gradually, almost imperceptibly, he let one hand slip from her waist while tightening his hold with the other. Eventually, they were skating side by side.
“You’re holding me up,” Janna accused.
“Bull. You’re skating.”
“When are you going to let go?”
“I don’t know.”
Maybe never, Janna found herself wishing.
“Just concentrate on keeping moving.”
And so she did. Around and around they went, Janna gaining in confidence. Though she knew she would never experience the exhilaration hockey players felt as they sped around the ice—fast, powerful, aggressive—even this small, stumbling taste was enough to help her appreciate why he loved it so. She glanced up at Ty; he looked content. Janna hoped it had something to do with being with her.
They were on their seventh lap when Ty finally slipped his remaining hand from around her waist. It took a split second for Janna to process she was skating without him. Once she did, she tumbled to the ice.
“Shoot.” Ty skated back to her, helping her to her feet. “At least you didn’t fall on your face,” he chuckled, looking at her damp behind.
Janna was too mortified to respond.
“This time, I’m going to hold you, but when I let you go, keep skating. Just do it—don’t think about yourself doing it. Got it?”
Body Check Page 17