Between a Jock and a Hard Place (3 page)

Forget it,
she told herself as he jogged past.
I’m not interested in him or any other man
.

So why had her heart started fluttering at the sight of him?

You’re pathetic
, she told herself and pushed away from the railing to continue her walk.

She didn’t see it coming...literally. One moment she was walking along, trying to focus on the blog and the next she was sprawled on the pavement.

The biker stopped, but remained on his bike. “Hey, you should watch where you’re going,” he said angrily.

“Me? Look who’s talking. You’re not supposed to be riding a bike along here.” She pulled herself up into a sitting position. “There are bike lanes for people like you.”

“Get a life, bitch.” He pushed off and rode away.

Claire shook her head in disbelief. “Stupid ass,” she muttered.

“May I offer you a hand, or would that make me a stupid ass too?”

She looked up to see the man in the black hoodie. He had his hand out but it was his face she was drawn to. How could someone be so appealing when their nose had obviously been broken? His smile was dazzling. “Come on” he said, wiggling his fingers. “At least let me help you up.”

She placed her hand in his and heat surged through her body, engulfing her like a tidal wave. The sensation was so overpowering, she didn’t even notice the pain in her ankle. That is, until she put her weight on it and almost collapsed. He caught her in his arms and looked down into her eyes, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.

“You’re hurt,” he said, still holding her.

Claire wanted to tell him that if he kissed her, she was pretty sure the pain would disappear. Instead, she pulled back and put her weight on her good foot. “I must have fallen on it” she said, somewhat breathlessly, “but it’s not all that bad.” She looked back toward her apartment building; she could see a slice of it between the other buildings. “I can put my weight on it if I try.”

“Let me take you home,” he said, supporting her easily. “My car is over there in the parking lot.”

She frowned. “Isn’t that a private lot?”

He grinned. “Yes. Lucky for us, huh?” He kept an arm around her waist and they made their way to his SUV, where he fussed over her, settling her in the passenger seat.

He’d pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt and when he walked in front of the vehicle, the sun caught his hair. So black it was almost blue, it covered his head in curls and her fingers tensed as she imagined herself touching it. He looked up as though he knew she’d been studying him and their gazes met though the windshield. Rough stubble covered his cheeks, and his eyes, which she’d originally thought were black, were a dark blue. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone with eyes that colour.

He got into the vehicle and turned to her. “Do you have to go right home?”

“No, I thought I’d go dancing.” The words were out before she could stop them. What was the matter with her?

He didn’t seem to mind. “Sorry,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m not much of a dancer. But if your ankle really isn’t too bad I thought maybe we could go for a coffee.” He looked into her eyes and her stomach did a little flip. “Or a tea, perhaps. We could drive up to Prospect Point and grab something then continue around the park.”

Was he crazy to think she’d go off with him? She couldn’t possibly.

“Okay,” she said. “I’d like that.”

He smiled and pulled out. Traffic through the park was busy as usual and they were swept along. A few minutes later he pulled into the parking lot at Prospect Point. “What can I get you?” he asked.

“A tea, I think. Two milk, no sugar. And something to nibble on if they have anything small. Chocolate chip cookie or something like that.” She dug in her purse. “I’d like to pay, if you don’t mind.”

He gave her an odd look. “No way.”

She gave in gracefully. “Shall I limp over to one of those tables?”

He glanced at the outdoor tables. “I’d rather stop farther along. There are a couple of picnic tables overlooking the water.” He lifted his shoulders. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I guess that’s okay.” She studied him as he made his way to the counter. The line-up moved quickly, and she noticed him chatting to several people as he waited. He came back bearing a cardboard tray with two cups and a couple of snacks.

“No cookies, I’m afraid. But I got you a Rice Krispie square and a package of Twinkies.” He handed her the tray.

“My favourites,” she said. “Do I have to share?”

“Not really” he said, “although I am rather partial to Twinkies and there are two in the package.”

Claire fell silent as they drove around the knob of land that was Stanley Park. His actions were vaguely reminiscent of Harrison’s. He’d never wanted to go where there were crowds of people. In retrospect, she’d realized that he hadn’t wanted to be seen by anyone who knew his wife.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Startled out of her reverie, she turned to face him. She couldn’t ask him point blank...could she?

“I was just wondering if you’re married.” Might as well get it over with.

“Me?” A horrified look came over him. “Definitely not!”

The reply was so emphatic it had to be the truth. She smiled to herself. “I apologize for asking such a personal question, but when you said you didn’t want to stay at Prospect Point it reminded me of someone.” She lowered her head. “Wow, I’ve really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

She could feel him looking at her but he remained silent.

“It’s just that I was going out with someone for quite a while before I realized he was married. He never wanted to go anywhere he might run into people.”

He nodded, absorbing this information. “I can see how that would make you cautious, but no, I can assure you I’m not married.” He pulled off into a small parking lot. “See that picnic table over there?” He pointed to a table sheltered by trees, but with a view of the ocean. “Do you think you can make it that far? I’ll carry the drinks over and come back for you.” He didn’t wait for her reply but took the tray from her and walked it over to the table.

“Okay now, we’ll take this part nice and easy.” He helped her from the vehicle and they made their way to the table. “Sit sideways and put your leg up on the bench,” he commanded. “I want to take a look at that ankle.”

Claire was mortified by the condition of her old shoes, but she raised her leg.

“Can’t see much,” he muttered. “Do you mind if I pull down your sock?”

His hands were gentle as he prodded around her ankle. “Sore?”

“A bit, but not as bad as it was.”

He pulled up her sock and his hand lingered for a moment. “Do you have to stand up when you work?”

“No, I’m a graphic designer. I work from home.”

His eyes lit up. “My kid sister’s a graphic designer. She works for a magazine in Toronto.” He sat down opposite her. “By the way, my name is John.” He popped the lid on his tea and took a sip, watching her over the rim.

“I’m Claire.”

He’d positioned her so that she looked out over the ocean. Container ships dotted the horizon. “I don’t know what it is about the ocean, but I love it.”

“Me, too.” He turned and looked out, then turned back to her. “I grew up in Saskatchewan, so living out here is a real treat.”

“The way you were talking with all those people at the coffee place I thought maybe you’d grown up around here.”

He retreated into himself for a moment and then shrugged. “Just chit chat. Passing the time of day.”

There was something about the way he spoke, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “Here,” she said, pushing the Twinkies across the table. “You have the Twinkies and I’ll have the Rice Krispie square. That is unless you’d like to share.”

His eyes danced. “Sharing’s good.”

She tore the sticky treat in half and accepted one of the Twinkies. “So, John. What made you move from Saskatchewan to Vancouver?”

“Work.” He popped the whole Twinkie into his mouth.

“What kind of work?”

He swallowed, and washed it down with a gulp of tea. “I sell sporting equipment.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, except for all the travel.”

“So you travel a lot?” She stopped abruptly. “You know, I’m beginning to sound like I’m at one of those speed dating things.”

“Is that what this is?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “A date?”

“No, not at all.” Now she was getting flustered. “Listen, I’m not usually this nosy, trust me. Do you think I could blame it on the ankle?”

There was that smile again. “You could try.” He raised his cup and took a smaller sip this time. “How about you? Are you from around here?”

“Oh yeah. I’m a Vancouver girl. Grew up in West Vancouver.”

“Family?”

“I have a twin brother.” Her thoughts turned to Cam, who had come home from hospital yesterday. He’d agreed to spend a week with their parents but she knew he wouldn’t last much longer than that. He’d been living on his own too long and was set in his bachelor ways.

“A twin. Wow. Is it true what they say? Do you like the same things?”

She thought for a moment before replying. “We have the same quirky sense of humour, and we’re both a little stubborn, but I don’t share his main passion.”

“And what’s that?”

“Hockey.”

He pulled back as though personally offended. “You don’t like hockey?”

“You see?” She edged forward on the bench. “That’s exactly what I’ve been up against my whole life. My brother was skating as soon as he could walk and my Dad was one of those hockey parents who supported him every inch of the way. He loves the sport. It’s the main topic of conversation in our house all year round.”

She was coming dangerously close to spilling the beans about Cam, and his injury. But she couldn’t risk anyone connecting her with the blog...not if she was to maintain her anonymity.

“So you hate the game? Do you ever watch?”

“I didn’t say I hate it. I’m just up to here with it.” She tapped herself under the chin. “Although I have been known to go to sports bars once in a while. With my girlfriend and her fiancé, not on my own.” She paused. “But even then, I don’t watch. Do you ever go to sports bars?”

He looked amused. “No.” It came out slowly.

She leaned forward again. “Did you know that even the women dress up in those ridiculous Canucks shirts? As a matter of fact I’ve heard that they sell as many to women as they do to the men.”

He seemed to be trying not to smile. “Yes, I’ve heard that too.”

They were both silent for a few moments. It felt comfortable, sitting here with him in the sunshine. She wished it could go on forever.

Claire was the first to break the silence. “Could I ask you something?”

He nodded. She liked the fact that he didn’t always need to speak.

“Do you think there’s too much violence in hockey?”

Something shifted behind his eyes. “That’s a hot topic right now.” He looked into his cup, tossed the remaining liquid out and crumpled it in one large hand. “Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s one clear-cut answer. To lump every situation together under the umbrella of violence doesn’t do justice to the individual cases.”

She snorted. “That sounds like some sort of a slick, prepared statement.”

Was that a flash of anger in his eyes? He placed both forearms on the table. “I will admit I’ve thought a lot about it. After all, I am closely connected with the industry.” His gaze held hers. “I’ll tell you what’s violent. A little over a week ago, a young player from the minor leagues suffered a late hit. The latest news is that he’ll be out for the rest of the year. Now I call that violent.”

Claire sucked in a breath of air but he didn’t seem to notice. He was on a roll.

“But hockey is a physical game, that’s all there is to it. There are body checks, and there is fighting. The players egg each other on with what they call ‘trash talk’ and fights are inevitable, sometimes even planned. If you’d watch a game you’d see that even the players seem to approve. During a fight you’ll see both teams standing up pounding their sticks against the boards.” He sat back, seemed to deflate a little. “That’s the reality of the game. I’m not saying I approve, but that’s the way it is.”

“But not all of the players fight. Tony was saying the other night that Daniel and Henrik hardly ever fight. Why is that?”

He looked exasperated. “Because the Sedins are too valuable. We... The Canucks, that is, can’t afford to have them out of the line-up. That’s why teams hire defencemen with muscle. There’s always at least one ‘enforcer’ on a hockey team. Hit our top scorers, we’ll hit you back harder. That sort of thing.”

Claire considered his words. “I suppose I knew that, but it’s never been explained to me quite that well. Not that you’ve changed my mind about the fighting. I still don’t like that part of the game.”

“Who’s Tony?” He was toying with the scrunched-up cup.

“Huh?” the abrupt change of topic startled her. “Oh, Tony. That’s Zoey’s fiancé.”