“Not me! I could care less,” she says. It’s only half true. She only cares about performance and not so much about personality.
“You’re the exception, I guess.”
Her uncle Gary warned her how the guys would feel about her if she got hired, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy, but it would be nice if they kept their opinions to themselves and let her do her job.
Eileen skates to the bench. “I know what you’re after and I’m not going to let you or your teammates bully me into leaving,” she says with precision. “I’m here to do a job and I plan to finish what I started.”
Her look is tense, but she keeps her head up and a calm composure. She can’t help but stare at him, studying a faint scar on his jawline and wondering why some men are blessed with long eyelashes.
When Ty doesn’t respond, she looks into his eyes. “What?” she asks, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“I’ve seen that look before,” he says.
She steps off the ice, stomping her skates on the rubber floor to shake off the excess ice. “What look?” she asks, puzzled.
Ty grins. “It’s the ‘you want to go out to dinner with me tonight, but are afraid to ask’ kind of look.”
Is he kidding? Is he always this full of himself? He acts like women should be falling for him all the time.
Eileen shakes her head in disbelief. “Really? That’s what you think?”
“Go ahead, ask,” he encourages with a slight nod of his chin. “I won’t make an embarrassing statement, I promise. You have my word.” He brings his hand to his chest.
“You’re serious! I don’t believe it!”
Eileen looks at him blankly, trying to comprehend his sudden desire. She can’t go out with him. They work together, and she’s already been down this road. Besides, she doesn’t want to date Ty—he’s too much of a player.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she responds, taking a seat on the bench and unlacing her skates. She keeps her head down so she doesn’t have to look at him staring at her from the ice. Who knows what he’ll say next.
Ty leans over the ledge. “Okay, so maybe tonight’s not a good night. How about tomorrow night?” he pushes. “Closer to the weekend. Friday night? Hold on, that won’t work.... Maybe Saturday night? What kind of food do you like? Italian? Greek? Chinese?”
Did he not hear me?
“So, what’d ya say?”
Can’t he take no for an answer?
“Well? What do ya say?” he asks again with a little more assertiveness.
“I can’t,” she says, drying off her blades with a hand towel and securing her skate guards before placing them into her duffel bag.
Ty scratches his head as though trying to solve a puzzle. “I know you want to go out with me. I don’t know why you don’t just ask me out instead of playing these games.”
Her eyebrows furrow and she looks at him in disbelief. “I’m not playing any games,” she retorts. “I can’t believe you would even think I would want to go out with you.”
He laughs. “I know you do. Come on, I know you want to, and that’s why you’re acting the way you are around me.”
She slips on her running shoes and looks up at his smirk, his pink lips curling as he waits for her reply. “And how am I acting?” she asks, tying her laces.
Hasn’t he ever been turned down before?
“I see how you’ve been giving me the ‘come on over here, baby’ look,” he says, keeping one hand on the bench as though it’s an anchor. “It’s pretty obvious.”
She laughs. “That’s hilarious!”
He’s crazy!
“I think you’re confused with the ‘pay attention to my class’ look and the ‘stop annoying me’ look, oh, and don’t forget about the ‘leave me alone’ look.” She gives him a sharp eye as she stands up and grabs her bag.
Two can play this game. That’ll keep him quiet!
“I’m trying to read you now,” he says, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds. “You’re hard to read.”
“Oh, yeah?” she asks. “Trying to be funny?”
“You’re trying to tell me that you want to go out on a date and have some alone time. You, me, and—”
Her mouth drops and anger flares from her frozen toes to her face. Her cheeks grow red as though they were just pinched, and all she can think about is leaving the arena and getting away from Ty Caldwell. Far away until the next practice.
She throws her bag over her shoulder. “There is no way I would go out with you,” she says, shaking her head and taking a step forward.
“And why not?” Ty asks, flashing puppy-dog eyes as he rests his chin on the end of his hockey stick.
“I don’t date men I work with,” she says firmly and begins to walk away. And I won’t date you!
There is no question of how attractive Ty Caldwell is, but Eileen won’t give in to his flirtatious ways if she wants to keep her job. What would management say if she went out with him? What would the public say? Not like she’s planning on it. She couldn’t. The media would be all over it. A woman gets hired by the Vancouver Warriors and goes out with the city’s most famous bachelor—surely her credentials would go down the drain and people would think she took the job just to get a date.
“Wait!” Ty calls as he steps off the ice.
She stops briefly, wondering what he wants now. Ty’s messy, wet blond hair, baby-soft skin, and flirty smile are a cocktail for a sleepover and she will have nothing to do with him.
“You don’t date guys you work with? How else do you meet your dates?” he asks, his face turning from cheery to concerned. “Don’t tell me you don’t date.”
She gives him a disapproving look, trying hard not to smile. “Of course I date. I choose not to get involved with guys I work with.”
“I’ve never heard that before.”
“No?” She laughs. “It’s a good rule to live by.” She throws her chin in the air like she’s outsmarting him with philosophy and continues to walk away.
It takes him a moment to respond, but he follows her anyway. “We don’t work together every day. Can you even consider this a working relationship?”
She stops and turns to face him. “Yes!”
“Okay, well, maybe a little . . .”
“I don’t get it. Is there a bet going on that I should know about?”
“No, no,” he says, one hand on his stick.
“Of course you would say that. You want to win a bet. You have a hard time losing a game and probably have never heard the word no from a woman.”
Ty’s forehead wrinkles; his eyes squint with wonder.
“I should have known,” Eileen says. “There’s bound to be another game being played here besides hockey.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. There is no bet going on,” he says, taking a step in front of her.
She grimaces and folds her arms, trying to believe him, but something in the look he’s giving her makes it hard.
“No, really, there isn’t,” he says. “I think you’re interested in a night out with me, but don’t know how to ask. And if you’re worried about the team finding out, it can be our secret. I can keep a secret.”
She can’t help the laughter. “Yeah, right. Okay, well, it doesn’t matter because it’s not going to happen. This is a job and I don’t let my personal life interfere with business,” Eileen says firmly, taking one step forward, unable to move another step without walking straight into his arms.
“It will only interfere if you let it,” he says. “Besides, your work is done for the day and I’m only asking you to join me for dinner. What’s the big deal? We both have to eat.”
“Yes, but I’ll be here next week and the week after that. I can’t sacrifice my job for anything,” she says, as she looks him eye to eye. “And I won’t! Not this job anyway. Besides, I’m not interested.” Why is it so hard for him to understand?
Ty looks away every few seconds and rolls the top of his ho
ckey stick around in his hand. “I don’t see how a dinner will affect a career.”
“I don’t want rumors to start and cause media attention when everyone’s attention should clearly be on the team practices.”
“Rumors are just rumors.”
“How can the team trust me if I’m going out with you?”
“It’s just one date. Who said it would be multiple dates?” he asks.
Her face flushes again. “Still, one date would mean talk in the locker room and besides, what would Steve, Rick, or Ted think? It’s unprofessional.”
“I think you’re overanalyzing.”
“I’m being realistic. I know how it works. It’s the same in any job.”
“It can be our secret,” he says without worry. “What time works for you?”
“No time is a good time,” she says, arching an eyebrow for a look she’s been told intimidates people. “I already told you I’m not interested.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do!” she says. “What makes you think that I want to go out with you, anyway?”
“I can tell by your eyes—you’re always looking at me.”
She looks away. Surely he is misreading her. What would he want with his skating coach, anyway? It’s not like going out with her would win him gold stars or get him a day off or give him extra media attention. He already has enough of all that.
Eileen takes a deep breath, feeling pressured. “Okay.” She sighs, regretting her words before they’re even fully out of her mouth. “I’ll meet you for coffee.” She watches his face change shape.
His head drops. “Coffee?”
“What’s wrong with that? Don’t you like coffee?” she asks, trying to be serious.
He shrugs. “Yes, I like coffee, but I was thinking of getting a cold beverage and dinner. Who likes to eat alone?”
She thinks about what he’s saying. “I see,” she says, gripping her bag. “So this is really about eating and not getting together—”
He cuts her off. “We both need to go somewhere to talk and relax. How about I pick you up at six,” he suggests, as though he already has a plan, “and we’ll go from there?”
She chooses her words carefully. “Sorry if I’ve disappointed you, but that’s not going to work out.” She ducks out of his way.
“You’ve dumped me already?” He laughs and takes a couple of quick steps ahead, still wearing his skates.
“Okay, well, if today doesn’t work, how about Saturday?”
What excuse does she have? Clearly he doesn’t take no for an answer.
She steps backward. “Ah, I can’t Saturday,” she replies quickly.
“What’s going on Saturday?” he challenges.
“I . . . uh . . . have to . . . help a friend move,” Eileen lies. “My friend, uh, doesn’t really have anyone to help her so I told her I would . . .” Her voice trails off.
“Where does she live?”
“Downtown.”
“House?”
“No, condo.”
“And she doesn’t have anyone to help her?”
“Well, no, not really,” Eileen says, trying to sound disappointed.
“Well, I’m free. I can help.”
“Why would you want to do that? You don’t even know her and you don’t even know me.”
“Look, I’m a nice guy,” he says. “Give me a chance. Let me help and you’ll see.”
“You probably say that to all the girls. I’m not buying it,” Eileen says. “But thanks anyway, we can handle it.”
“You know, Eileen,” he shouts. “You think you’re an independent woman and you don’t need a guy around, but I hate to break it to you, sometimes you need a man to do the physical stuff.”
She stops in her tracks, her blood boiling at how arrogant he is. She turns around and yells, “I can handle my own, thank you very much.”
“We’ll see about that,” he calls after her and watches a well-known sports reporter walk toward her.
The reporter nods at Ty and then stops in front of Eileen to get her attention.
“Excuse me, are you Eileen Francis? The new skating coach?” the reporter asks, holding a notepad and pen in one hand, ready to interview.
Eileen flinches. She’s tried hard to avoid the media since she got hired, afraid of how she’ll be received by the public, but this reporter shuffles closer and it’s not so easy to step away from him. She looks at him suspiciously and doesn’t answer him right away.
Ty does his best to sprint toward them in his untied skates and answers, “Yes, she is!”
Eileen shoots Ty a disapproving look and then looks down at his loose laces and wonders how he didn’t just fall in them. It just goes to show how strong his ankles are.
“He’s okay, Eileen,” Ty soothes. “This is Bill Braxton, the sports reporter for the Vancouver Daily. Bill, this is Eileen Francis, or she goes by Elle.” He passes her a sly look and her eyes are disapproving.
“Hi,” Eileen says as though too shy to respond. “Actually, my friends call me Elle. You can call me Eileen.”
“Okay, then. How do you spell it?” he asks, folding over a piece of paper from his notepad and gripping his pen.
“E-I-L-E-E-N.”
“Great, thanks. And your last name?”
“F-R-A-N-C-I-S. What would you like to know?” she asks with skepticism. That there’s a reporter around doesn’t surprise her; however, she is surprised that she doesn’t know what to tell him.
“So how did practice go today?” he asks innocently.
She tries to select her words carefully, but she still can’t think of anything to tell him, probably because Ty is practically breathing down her neck. It’s hard to concentrate when a popular, outspoken guy is watching her every move and hasn’t taken his eyes off her since practice. “It went okay,” she finally says.
“That’s not what Bill wants to hear,” Ty intervenes, giving the reporter a confident nod. “Practice went very well. There are a few things we need to work on, but it’s good for us. We’re getting the job done, focusing on what we need to do . . . and how we’re going to do it. . . .”
Eileen shoots him a look. What is he, my agent? She grits her teeth.
“And what do you think your team needs to work on?” Bill asks genuinely, his oval-shaped brown eyes shifting from Ty to Eileen, waiting for one of them to answer the question.
“You know,” Ty says, “when you’re reminded of the little things, you begin to rethink your game strategy.”
“Are you saying your team will start off the new season strong because of your new skating coach?”
“Well . . .” Ty says with a chuckle, again revealing his dimple on his left cheek. He shifts his body weight to one side and puts a hand on his hip. “I think there are a lot of factors involved here.... Practice makes perfect, and if we can keep focused, I think we’ll have a stronger game.”
“Kind of hard to stay focused when you have a female teaching you, don’t you agree?”
Eileen looks at Ty and then at Bill and makes a quick response. “Being female has nothing to do with it; it’s all about playing the game well. I’m helping them reach their full potential.”
“So is there anything between the two of you?” the reporter asks with a straight face.
“Excuse me?” Eileen asks, taken aback by his question. “Between us? You’re kidding, right?” she asks and laughs, looking at Ty again and then at Bill. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean—”
“You’re single, then?” Bill asks, forcing the question.
“What does that have to do with hockey?” she asks, incredulous.
“Nothing,” Bill admits. “Just curious.”
“That’s why you’re a reporter, right,” Ty says with a nod. “Just getting the goods?”
“Thanks, Ty,” Bill says. “Nice to meet you, Eileen.” He lifts his head in a quick nod. “We’ll see you again, soon.” And with that, the reporter walks into the bu
ilding.
“See?” Ty says. “You just have to tell them what they want to hear and they go away happy.”
Eileen shakes her head. “Why do you care if he’s happy or not? You’re not selling him anything.” She pivots on her toes. “I’ve got to go.”
“If you change your mind, you know where to find me,” he yells after her.
Eileen walks to her car and glances back to see if he’s gone. He is already heading back into the building. What will it take for him to understand that she is strictly business? She opens her door and notices a piece of paper on her windshield held by a window wiper.
“What’s this?” she asks herself and snatches the paper from her car.
You are playing with fire. Look out. You are taking chances.
Her stomach tightens. She swallows hard, holding the note in her hand, and looks around her. Who is leaving these threats? She tells herself she can handle this. It’s probably just a threat, nothing more, she thinks, getting into her car and locking it before turning the ignition. Nothing is going to stop her from pursuing her dreams, not even a threat.
Chapter 5
Eileen throws herself down at the table, late to dinner with her girlfriends. She lets out a big sigh.
“Tough day?” Brooke asks as she takes a sip of her martini.
“Not really,” she answers and looks up at the waitress. “I’ll get a rum and Diet Coke.”
“You look tired,” Kelly says, batting her blue eyes.
“I am. This morning I spent an hour and a half with twenty grown men who can’t handle having a woman instruct them. I think my six-year-olds are better behaved.” She takes a breath. “It’s been challenging and exhausting.” Eileen rubs her forehead. “If my jobs were easy, I probably wouldn’t feel so tired, but there is a lot on my plate right now. I’m already talking with the rink coordinator about planning hockey schools for winter.”
“You need a holiday,” Brooke says. “We should plan a girls’ trip! Forget about responsibilities—we could lie on a beach somewhere and drink mimosas.”
“Yeah, like next year,” Eileen says.
His Game, Her Rules Page 4