Page 1 of Pucker Up
ONE
GOLDIE
I would rather eatglass than hang out with a bunch of hockey players. Yet, I found myself on a ferry teeming with wide-shouldered jocks, most sporting gray sweatpants, their hockey hair flowing in the brisk January wind.
Shivering, I gripped the top of my down coat, wishing that I’d worn a scarf and swearing that I would never again trust the weather app on my phone.
My best friend Mel sidled up beside me, leaning her back against the cold railings, her elbows propped on the top rung. Even behind her dark sunglasses I could see her studying the crowd. “That one is cute.” She leaned against me, the puff of steam from her not so quiet whisper lingering in the subarctic air between us.
The only one who wasn’t cold was Morton, my malamute. seemingly smiling into the sun, luxuriating in the weather he was built for.
“Which one?” I whispered and blocked my mouth with my mitten, hoping to keep our conversation away from anyone who might be listening. My other hand absentmindedly scratched the thick scruff on Morton’s neck.
“Mr. Orange Hat.” Mel slid her glasses down, as though double-checking her colors.
We were on our way to Toronto Island for the annual charity polar bear dip, where all of the city’s top undies-only-wearing sports players jumped into a hole chopped in Lake Ontario. This year, they were raising money to provide sports gear to disadvantaged communities. It was a good cause, but like a fireman’s calendar, the Polar Plunge was more about the eye candy than the charity.
I scanned the crowd for an orange hat, which was a pointless exercise, as the Toronto Tigers team colors were orange and black and at least twenty guys were wearing an orange wool hat. They had the same orange on their gear that hunters wore in the bush, so there was no missing a Toronto Tigers player on that ferry.
“He’s a hockey player.” I didn’t bother trying to locate the object of Mel’s observation.
“Are you sure?” Mel slid the glasses back in place and pulled a tube of lip gloss from her bag.
I didn’t have to say anything. Raising my eyebrows, I gave Mel an exaggerated eye roll. She smacked my arm. “Fine. So he’s a hockey player. Maybe there’s a good one out there.”
My puff of steamy breath was huge as I hacked out a laugh. “And maybe we will see some dolphins today.” I gestured to the white and gray expanse of Lake Ontario, chunks of ice bobbing as our ferry made its way across the open channel to the island.
Mel’s gaze was trained on one of the biggest guys on the ferry. “I’m going to go talk to him.”
“Mel.” I reached to touch the sleeve of her black puffy jacket. “Stay away from them. Trust me.”
“I know, I know. You’ve been telling me for years, but they can’t all be cheaters.”
Sighing, I didn’t want to get into it. Mel knew my history and why I felt so strongly about professional athletes—hockey players in particular. I grew up with one as a father, who was now the head coach of the damn team.
Mel screwed the lid on her gloss and dropped it into her purse, but before she could set off on her ill-fated mission through the crowd, she was cut off. A beautiful woman with long blonde hair and a hockey jersey over her coat skipped up to the dark-haired player and wrapped her arms around his neck. She had all the hallmarks of a bunny: bleached hair, a mask of makeup, and a shrill baby voice at least an octave too high that rose above the din of the crowd and the diesel engine of the boat.
The player kissed her, but seemed disinterested. The name on the back of the bunny’s jersey read Bailey. Mel let out a disappointed sigh and returned to stand next to Morton.
“That’s one of the Bailey brothers.” It was unlikely that the bunny was wearing a jersey that belonged to another player. I shoved my hands into the armpits of my coat and stomped my feet, hoping to get some of the feeling back before we reached the island.
“I thought that you didn’t know any of the players?” Mel pulled the hood of her jacket over her sleek black hair.
“I don’t. But back in the fall, my dad wouldn’t shut up about the Bailey brothers. I don’t know which one is which, but one is named Ace and the other is Gideon. They cost the team a fucking fortune, according to my dad.” I didn’t add that he wasn’t sure that they were worth the money. The Toronto Tigers had been flirting with last place in the division for the entire season.
“That guy looks like a Gideon.”
The man appeared to be closer to seven feet tall than six, had dark black hair that curled out from beneath his hat, and his eyes looked like they belonged on a mafia hitman, dark lashes over even darker eyes. “Yeah, he does look like a Gideon. I’m prettysure that it means ‘destroyer’ in Latin. That guy looks like he breaks everything he touches.” A shiver ran up my spine the next time I looked at Gideon. His arm was draped over his girlfriend’s shoulder, but his eyes were raking up and down Mel’s tall dancer-like legs.
“Sure does.” Mel’s eyebrows rose above her glasses and she bit her bottom lip. “I’d let him break me in half.”
The ferry deck shuddered as we reached the landing and Mel had to grab the railing to stop from falling. Before we were best friends, Mel and I had been undergrad roommates, sharing a dorm room at the University of Toronto. I was still in school studying to get my master’s degree, while she had gone out into the world and was working as an assistant to one of the top real estate agents in the city. “The guy is bad news. Stay away from him.”
Mel took her glasses off and looked me in the eyes. “Really? You’re getting one of your feelings about him?”
She was one of the few people who knew that my intuition was never wrong. “I’m not sure.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Mel linked her arm in mine. “Come on, let’s go watch some jocks get naked.”
