Page 41 of An Irresistible Force (Vancouver Vice)

“Well, this is a very civilized way to watch a game,” Cynthia declared as she stretched out on a leatherette loveseat. “Last time, we sat in the stands, and Zachary learned some very inappropriate language.”

“Where is Zachary?” And Josephine, I wanted to add. I would be really disappointed if she didn’t show up. After talking to Cynthia, I asked my mother what she knew about Josephine. She told me that Josephine was an absolute saint who had nursed her mother through the late stages of cancer. Apparently, my mother expected I would do the same thing for her. Luckily my mother had an iron constitution and great genes. My grandmother was still going strong, and my great-grandmother had died at ninety-three, so I felt safe for now. So, was the real Josephine MacMillan a naive innocent, a glamourous supermodel, or a saintly daughter?

Cynthia sniffed. “He insisted on going down to ice level and waving at ‘Uncle’ Eric before the game begins.” The word “uncle” could not have been said with more scorn if it was “disgusting pervert,” but clearly Zachary had won the naming battle. “So JoJo took him.”

James was already seated in the front with his beer and a big bowl of popcorn. “He’ll have to fight through that crowd of admirers then.”

I got up to take a look. Sure enough, there was a crowd of young girls pressed up against the glass. Whenever Eric Fairburn skated by, they erupted into a giggling, waving mass. Nancy, Brenda, and Zachary were right; the guy had star quality, and we needed to market him better.

Poor, short Zachary had no chance. But his aunt squatted down, and he climbed onto her shoulders. Thus elevated above the crowd, he waved enthusiastically until he caught Eric’s eye. The player skated over to the corner. With no helmet and blond hair streaming back from his smiling face, he looked like a gorgeous hockey warrior. He must have been looking at Josephine, because the look on his face was this completely hot mixture of tenderness and lust.

I immediately wanted someone to look at me exactly like that. If he were as good looking, that would only be a bonus. There was a very inappropriate stirring in my lower regions. The man was an employee of the Vancouver Vice, and I was management! I swallowed hard and tried to remember all the details of the sexual harassment policy.

“I thought you weren’t into jocks.” Chris was unexpectedly standing right beside me.

“Stop watching me like a spy.”

Eric’s smoking gaze had caused all the young girls to begin squealing. He bent down, picked up a puck, pointed at Zachary, and threw it over the glass. There was a bit of scramble, but the puck eventually reached the intended owner who waved it triumphantly in the air.

I still hadn’t gotten a good look at Josephine, but the warm-up ended and the crowd dispersed, so she’d be here soon.

“See what I mean,” Cynthia muttered to me. “All those girls throwing themselves at him. There’s no way that he’s being faithful.”

James overheard her and shook his head. “All those girls look like they’re fifteen years old. What guy would want that—other than a fifteen year old boy?”

She made an actual harrumph noise. “Well, you would know, Chris. Can professional athletes be faithful to their girlfriends?’

I waited with interest to hear this answer.

He smiled easily. “Absolutely. Once they meet the right woman, that’s it. I’ve lost many a drinking buddy that way.”

Even Cynthia seemed to accept this answer, but I wondered if it was more of his practiced shtick. It seemed that there was no question he hadn’t already answered before.

Then a noise was heard in the hallway.Whap, whap, whap.It got louder and louder. Zachary marched in, smacking together a pair of inflated thundersticks.

“Stop that horrible clapping,” Cynthia said. “I’m going to get a migraine.”

Then Josephine walked in. She was gorgeous all right. Tall and slim and dressed in a soft leather jacket that I was pretty sure was Italian designer. But the rest of her outfit was very downscale. Her long legs were showcased in tight jeans with threadbare knees and ended in beat-up ankle boots. She wore an old t-shirt emblazoned with graphics for a high school wrestling tournament. Her jewelry consisted of a gigantic gold chain straight out of a rap video, but hers had a huge horseshoe attached.

She was very sexy in an earthy way, but she didn’t look like a stereotypical hockey player’s girlfriend. Her hair was cropped shorter than Eric’s, her eyeliner looked punk rather than pretty, and she was more skinny than curvaceous. Her eyes flicked around the room, as Cynthia continued to complain about the thundersticks, especially when a second pair was produced for Delia.

Then I heard a deep exhale from Chris. He was busy checking Josephine out. Finally, it was my turn to needle him.

“You might want to close your mouth. And pull your tongue in first.”

He laughed. “It’s not a crime to look. Was your high school some kind of beauty academy?”

“I went to an all-girls school. So there was no need to focus on our appearances.”

Chris turned to look at me in shock. “Are you serious?”

I nodded. “What’s so strange about that?”

“The more I learn about you, the more I don’t understand,” he replied.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I’d hate to be the kind of person that could be typecast immediately.”

“Believe me, you’re not.”

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