by Anna Sugden
For the first time, Paddy followed a superstitious routine as he headed out for the second period. He rubbed the charm taped to his sock and tapped Shayla’s hand, before putting his glove on.
Barely twenty seconds in, he scored a beauty. As he skated to the bench, he searched out Shayla and Max, who were cheering, and saluted them. When he scored a second, ten minutes later, he saluted them again.
At the intermission, Paddy handed Max one of the goal pucks. Back in the locker room, he scrawled on the back of the other in silver Sharpie - Dinner?
As he went out for the third period, Paddy repeated his routine, then handed Shayla the puck. She blushed, looking pleased.
Though he didn’t score again, the Ice Cats won the game. Maybe there was something to this luck nonsense, after all.
Leaving the ice, he was surprised that Shayla didn’t mention his invitation. No message awaited him in the locker-room. Nothing arrived while he was doing his interviews, showering or dressing.
So much for luck.
He didn’t know why he was so bothered. It wasn’t like they’d said more than a few words to each other. He believed in love at first sight about as much as he believed in lucky charms, yet he’d felt a connection inside. He’d thought she had too. Obviously not.
He wrapped the shamrock in a tissue, then stuck it in the top of his locker. He’d give it to Max at the next game.
“Come on, man. I’m starving.” Kenny punched his shoulder.
Paddy grabbed his gear. He hated corned beef and the last place he wanted to go was an Irish pub, but he couldn’t duck out of the post-game dinner; he owed the guys for scoring the game-winning goal. “If they play ‘Danny Boy’, I’m out of there.”
♥ ♥ ♥
“Being Irish should guarantee good luck on St. Patrick’s Day,” Shayla Friel grumbled, as she stomped towards the main entrance of the Ice Cats arena.
Though she’d been born in America, Shayla’s parents had emigrated from Downpatrick, making her blood 100 percent Irish. That hadn’t helped today.
She’d thought it had, at first. Her brother rarely missed a game, but when an unexpected job came up, he’d asked her to take Max. Then she’d got to ‘meet’ her favourite player. Paddy’s interest in her was a dream come true -- though her dreams about him were much hotter than their actual encounter.
He was even better looking in person, with his dark hair, blue eyes and rugged jaw. Plus, there’d been that delicious fizz that had skated through her every time they’d touched.
But when Paddy hadn’t said anything at the end of the game, let alone asked for her number, she’d become embarrassed. She must have imagined the connection between them -- everyone said she had her head in a rose-tinted cloud. He’d probably only been nice because she was Max’s aunt.
Then, when she’d dropped Max home, they’d discovered one of the pucks was missing. He’d been so upset, she’d promised to return to the arena and get it. Unfortunately, finding an open door this long after the game had ended was a problem.
Which was why, having made a circuit of the building, she was now rattling the push bar of the locked east door, hoping to get the bored-looking security guard to open up.
He did grudgingly. “I’m sorry ma’am. You can’t come in.”
She explained the situation, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Is there a problem?” A deep voice asked, over her shoulder.
Shayla’s pulse jumped. Cursing silently, she forced a smile and turned. “Max lost the puck you gave him, Paddy. I was trying to get back in to see if I could find it. He won’t let me.”
“I’m not allowed,” the guard protested. “Health and safety.”
“I’ll escort the lady and take responsibility for her. I’ve got to get my keys from the locker room.” Paddy held the door open for Shayla.
Once inside, she thanked him.
“No problem.”
Their footsteps echoed as they walked through the empty concourse. The smell of fast food lingered, even though the concessions were shuttered.
“Hopefully the cleaning crew didn’t find the puck. Not that I’m accusing them of taking it, but it’ll be hard to prove it’s Max’s puck.” She winced inwardly at her wittering.
“They’ll put anything they find in ‘lost property’. The Cats are pretty strict about that.”
“That’s good.” Shayla bit her tongue. “So … great game. You must be pleased.”
“It’s a relief to be back on the score-sheet.”
“St. Patrick’s Day was lucky for you.”
“Yeah.”
Did his abrupt answers mean he wasn’t much of a talker or he didn’t like being with her?
When they got to the seats, she couldn’t see the puck. “Darn. It’s not here.”
At that moment, the shamrock from her other ear-ring dropped to the floor. Strange. She’d had the pair for years and they both broke on the same night?
Paddy leaned down to pick up the charm. “Wait -- there’s the puck.” He fished it out from between the seats.
“How did it get there?” Shayla frowned. “I know I put it in my bag.”
He shrugged, as he gave her the shamrock. “Weird. Like I know I put my keys in my pocket before I left.”
“Well, it’s lucky my ear-ring broke or we wouldn’t have found Max’s puck.”
A strange look crossed Paddy’s face as he handed her the puck. “That’s the one I gave you.”
She studied the hunk of rubber. “How can you tell? Does it have special markings?”
“Kind of. Flip it over.”
She did, and saw silver writing. “Oh. I didn’t see that before.” How had she missed it?
“I thought you weren’t interested,” he said uncertainly.
“Oh,” she said again. “No. I mean yes.” She bit her lip. “I mean I am. Interested. In dinner.” She laughed. “Feel free to change your mind if you don’t want to spend time with a babbling lunatic.”
“I’m brave enough to give it a shot.” He gave her a slow, sexy smile that heated her body, right down to her toes. “Let’s get my keys and I’ll buy you that dinner.”
As they walked down to the locker room, they debated favourite foods and restaurants. They both loved Mexican and hated Thai. Loved popcorn, hated pretzels. The only thing they disagreed about was barbecued ribs, which Shayla didn’t like.
Paddy’s keys were on the top shelf of his locker. He shook his head. “Definitely weird.” Then, he gave her a small, tissue-wrapped bundle. “But it gives me a chance to return this.”
The charm from her other ear-ring.
“You should keep it.” She smiled and passed it back. “The shamrocks brought us good luck. Your game, finding the puck and your keys.”
Paddy tilted his head, considering. “For sure, it’s been a strange day.” He tucked the bundle into his breast-pocket. “Perhaps it was the shamrock. Or perhaps it was you.”
“Me?” Her heart tripped.
“I think you could be my lucky charm.” He took her hand and linked their fingers. “You want to spend time with me and find out?”
Happiness filled her. “Definitely.”
As they left the locker-room, he grinned. “Maybe St. Patrick’s Day isn’t so bad, after all.
A Perfect Disguise
♥
A New Jersey Ice Cats short story
“TRICK OR TREAT?”
The repetitive, high-pitched chorus was like nails scraping down a chalkboard for Jamie ‘Blade’ Wilkinson.
He was glad the local underprivileged kids were excited to be at this Halloween party, hosted by the New Jersey Ice Cats, but he’d be relieved when they were all finally inside the ballroom and playing the fairground-style games manned by the hockey players. The costumed children had to yell the traditional greeting to be allowed into the party by the two storm troopers -- aka goaltenders Ike Jelinek and ‘Monty’ Montgomery.
Blade’s ‘Bobbing for Skulls’ stall was right b
y the doors, so for the past half-hour, he’d heard every damn “Trick or Treat?”.
He’d hated that phrase since childhood, when every night during hockey season had literally been ‘trick or treat’, as he’d try to figure out if his old man had drunk enough to pass out. If he was the fun dad who encouraged Jamie to play hockey or the monster who resented his son’s skills and took it out on Blade with his fists.
Chris ‘Wilkie’ Wilkinson had blown out his knee in his first game in the NHL, on Halloween, and never played again. The hockey world had been shocked; young Wilkie had been tipped to be the next Gretzky. Blade’s old man had battled depression ever since.
Normally, the Cats were playing on October 31st, so Jamie could avoid kids and their cheery chant. Not this year.
What was the Halloween equivalent of ‘bah humbug’?
“Get over it.” The youngsters deserved his best effort. He adjusted his Zorro mask, then swirled the apples, printed with skulls, in the water-filled tin tub “Who’s brave enough to take a bite?”
“I’ll have a nibble.” The husky words definitely did not belong to a kid.
Blade turned to see who owned the sexy voice.
Catwoman had never looked so good.
From the tip of the furry ears perched on her dark hair, through the black leotard which dipped tantalisingly low across her cleavage and hugged luscious curves, to the fishnet stockings and spiked heel, over-knee boots, which emphasised every inch of her long, shapely legs, she was a comic-book reader’s wet dream. Her almond-shaped green eyes, emphasised by her cat mask, and her full, scarlet lips tempted a man to see how loudly he could make her purr.
Unfortunately, asking her to nibble him was not a suitable response with kids present.
Jamie cleared his dry throat. “Knock yourself out.”
As she bent low over the tub, Blade couldn’t tear his gaze from her delectable ass. He grabbed a cold bottle of water and rolled it across his heated forehead. He was tempted to give his groin the same treatment, to ease the raging erection tightening his jeans, but instead visualised a sheet of fresh ice.
Catwoman surprised him by snagging an apple stalk between her teeth and lifting the fruit out of the tub.
“Neat trick,” he managed to say.
“Works every time.” Her teasing smile undid the relief from the cold bottle.
“Are you here with your kids?” He hoped fervently she wasn’t. He only dated women who were unattached. It was easier all round.
She shook her head. “My friend, who works in the Cats’ front office, asked if I’d help out with crowd control.” Catwoman leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “In my normal life, I’m an elementary teacher.”
For some reason, her words brought to mind his pretty, but off-limits neighbour. Weird. Whilst Daisy also taught elementary, her floaty dresses, sunny smile and sweet personality made her the complete opposite of the sexy woman before him.
A shame, because if Daisy were more like Catwoman, he’d have asked her out --instead of keeping things between them strictly casual. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the bubbly brunette. He did. A Lot. But she was too nice for a man with his demons.
Jamie pushed aside the depressing thought. He couldn’t change what he was. “You must have the patience of a saint, handling all those kids every day.”
“Not really. But I’ve mastered ‘the look’.” She narrowed her green gaze. “That makes them behave.”
“I’m impressed. I’m quaking in my boots.”
“Speaking of which, I’d better do the rounds and make sure your young guests don’t get up to too much mischief.”
He didn’t want her to go. Which was crazy. Blade didn’t usually pay attention to the women at these team-sponsored events, but there was something intriguing about Catwoman. “Are you sticking around afterwards? The team’s having a cocktail party for the volunteers.”
She tilted her head, regarding him with those feline eyes. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“If there’s anything … or anyone … worth sticking around for.” She took a neat bite out of the apple, before sauntering away.
Blade couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sway of her hips. He hoped she didn’t leave. He wanted to ask her out. Maybe explore that whole nibbling thing in private.
“Holy sex kitten, Zorro.” Jean Baptiste Larocque, currently dressed as Batman, came to stand beside him. “That’s one smoking hot pussycat.”
“She’s not in your league,” Jamie growled.
JB gave him a knowing look. “But you want her to be in yours.”
“She’s a teacher,” he hedged.
“Interesting. Like Daisy.” His team-mate thought Blade’s hands-off policy was nuts.
“Does that look like Daisy?” Jamie laughed. “She’d be more to be Snow White.”
“Ouch. Major typecasting, bro.” JB studied Catwoman, too closely for Blade’s liking. “There’s something familiar about her. She’s the same height and build as Daisy. Same dark hair and green eyes.” He sniffed the air. “Wears the same perfume.”
All that was true, Jamie realised. Still, much as he might wish otherwise, the resemblance was only superficial. There was no way sweet Daisy and sultry Catwoman were the same person. “Not possible.”
“I call ‘em as I see ‘em.” His friend shrugged. “Either way, you should ask her out, before you lose your chance.”
“Yeah? Going to try your luck?” Jamie hoped not. Most women found JB irresistible.
“Much as I’d enjoy her claws on me, I don’t poach. Can’t say the other guys are as considerate,” JB said, before strolling away.
Before Blade could respond, some kids in zombie costumes came up to try for apples.
As the afternoon wore on, his stall got busier. He watched Catwoman out of the corner of his eye every chance he got. Blade kept looking for signs that he was mistaken about her. But whatever physical similarities she shared with Daisy, the confident way she handled the boys -- especially the adult ones -- said it was a pipe dream. Brushing aside his disappointment, he focused on the excited children.
Once the kids had gone home, the volunteers headed to the cocktail party. As Jamie and his team-mates joined them, he was pleased to see Catwoman standing by the bar with her friend. Time to make his move.
He strode towards Catwoman, determined not to let the opportunity slip away. Halfway there, he was surprised to feel a strange tug of guilt in his chest -- he felt disloyal to Daisy.
What was that about?
♥ ♥ ♥
“I really thought your plan had worked.” Daisy Carturo took the champagne her friend, Lilia, offered. “That Jamie had seen me in a new light.”
“Trust me -- he did. You look so hot in that costume, I’ve seen you in a new light.” Lilia clinked her flute against Daisy’s. “If I didn’t love you, I’d hate you. I couldn’t squeeze one thigh into that outfit.” She indicated her flowing black dress, covered in sequinned cobwebs. “I’m definitely more Addams Family, than Catwoman.”
“You make a fabulous Morticia.”
“Well, I have had a couple of offers to ‘be my Gomez’.” Lilia waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I’m going to let my inner bad girl out to play.”
“You and me both.” Daisy shot a subtle look at the group of laughing, costumed players. “Or I would, if Jamie would do his part.”
He hadn’t made an effort to speak to her again. Admittedly, he’d been busy at his stall and had helped clear up once the kids had left. Still, he could have tried.
“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all afternoon,” Lilia said. “He’s hot for you.”
“He’s hot for Catwoman, but what about the woman behind the costume? I got the feeling he didn’t recognise me, even though I gave him plenty of clues.”
Lilia rolled her eyes. “It’s not that clever a disguise.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to recognise me. Catwoman’s a whole different ba
llgame to Daisy Carturo.”
“That’s the point of the plan -- to show him there’s plenty of spice in with all that sugar.”
Jamie Wilkinson had moved into the other half of her duplex over the summer and they’d quickly become friendly. Even once school had started back and he’d begun preseason training, they’d continued to hang out together regularly.
The problem was it had never progressed beyond friendship. She knew he was attracted to her, but he refused to act on it.
Jamie had admitted, after an evening spent on her deck, sharing a bottle of wine, that she was too good for him. She deserved a better man. He didn’t explain, other than to say he came from bad blood. Despite arguing that no-one was perfect and she could make up her own mind about who to date, he’d refused to budge.
Daisy had no idea if she came from good or bad blood, because she didn’t know her father. Her mother had grown up in a ‘free love’ commune and hadn’t worried about such details. While Daisy didn’t follow the same philosophy, she wasn’t the ‘good girl’ Jamie believed her to be. She was a normal, healthy woman.
Which was why she’d asked Lilia to help her change his mind.
“Heads up,” Lilia muttered. “He’s coming over. I’ll be by the buffet when you’re done.”
Daisy fought the urge to fan herself as Jamie sauntered towards her. The silly costume, which should have looked effeminate, actually suited him. The black, silk, open-necked shirt moulded to his broad chest perfectly. And, oh boy, what he did for a pair of black jeans. He even carried off the cape.
Behind the mask, his blue eyes zeroed in on her. The hot message in his gaze sent a tingle of delight through her.
“I guess you found someone, or something, worth staying for.” His deep voice brushed over her skin like a caress, making her yearn for his touch.
“We’ll see.” She hoped she sounded more composed than she felt