Page 6 of Mister Hockey
“Oh! Right!” Breezy jolted from the wall, adrenaline flushing through her system. Time to host a short Q & Awith the object of her most depraved lust while her butt cheeks chomped the skintight Lycra. “Let’s take a few questions.”
Every hand in the room shot toward the ceiling. Some kids waved both. Jed answered queries ranging from “What’s your favorite number?” “Five,” (same as his jersey), to “What’s your favorite movie?” “The Big Lebowski,” to his pregame rituals “Dressing left-to-right,” and “Never shaving during playoffs.”
When he absently combed his fingers through his hair, the faintest scent of freshly tilled earth crossed the podium. No wait, make that a cedar grove in snow. She sniffed deeply, catching base notes of Earl Grey, her favorite tea, before mentally shaking her head.
Stop!The head of the children’s section wasn’t allowed to get hot and bothered while promoting literacy. Or to sniff the special guests.
Neve made a subtle “wrap it up” gesture.
Breezy stepped close, tall enough she didn’t have to whisper in his ear. A perk of being a five-foot-eleven giantess. “Ready to make a break for it? My sister will hustle you out.”
He glanced over, covering the microphone and frowning slightly. “What about signing autographs?”
“Oh. I don’t want to impose on your time.” Impossible to tear her gaze from the way his lucky hand scrubbed his chin scruff, bristly brown hairs that looked as if they’d feel delicious dragged across bare skin.
“Wouldn’t be right,” he muttered to himself. “These are kids.”
That’s it. She was dead—an official ghost, one who’d roam the library as a happy phantom because she’d kicked the bucket in the best of ways, discovering her celebrity crush was an actual good guy, not just playing one on television.
The only improvement on the present moment would be if he happened to punch a fist to his sternum as if struck by a mortal blow. After a rueful head shake, he’d chuckle, a sound like a bag of gravel dragged through honey. “Breezy Angel,” he’d murmur, as if her name was a Shakespearean sonnet. “Why... you’re the one. The one that I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”
“How do you want me?” he asked, speaking slow as if repeating himself.
A hectic heat fired up her neck. “Excuse me?”
He arched a brow. “Up against the wall?”
Her mouth opened but words formed a traffic jam in her one-lane throat.
“Jed! Take position by the exit!” Neve clapped her hands and strode toward the conference room double doors, in her element bossing people left and right. “Hey, listen up! Westy has graciously agreed to sign a few autographs on your way out. Form a line and keep it to one per person. Also, remember to stay dry and drive home safe. Thanks so much for coming out.”
Her sister’s brash voice served as a defibrillator, zapping Breezy back to life and the fact she was on the clock, not the steamy Playboy Grotto. “And...” She licked her too-dry lips before continuing, “Don’t forget to sign up for the summer reading challenge by the checkout desk. Lots of great prizes to win, including tickets to the Hellions home opener next season. Unmask the Super Reader in you.” Impulsively, she flexed her biceps in a double muscle pose.
The gesture tested the limits of the old costume.
Air-conditioned air kissed her suddenly bare skin as the threadbare material gave way in an audible rip. Make that her bare-ass skin.
Worse, she’d fallen behind on laundry and this morning the only clean underwear remaining in her dresser was her “Fox-trotting Foxes” thong.
Before the full impact of the fashion disaster could register, a crunch of Gore-Tex encircled her hips. A silent scream detonated deep inside her skull. Jed West had his actual hands on her actual body, albeit through his rain jacket that he pressed to her naked butt cheeks with enough force to staunch blood flow, or more aptly, her wounded pride.
The universe had a seriously sinister way of granting wishes. The pensive expression in his eyes couldn’t be further from passionate ardor. This wasn’t that sultry “Wanna play plant the parsnip?” look she’d imagined earlier. It was pity. She was an expert in being on the receiving end of those sorts of faces.
Tonight Jed would take some svelteSports Illustratedmodel out for cocktails, tell her about his crazy day, and they’d laugh and laugh.
She’d be relegated to the punch line of a funny story, a walking, talking joke. Salt burned the insides of her eyelids, a warning that tears weren’t lagging far behind.
“Why don’t you borrow this and get changed?” Jed didn’t sound as if he was fighting off a chuckle. No, he sounded grave, kind even.
Of course he did.
Everyone knew Westy was a good guy. The captain who always had complimentary words for the opposing team, never failed to yield the spotlight to teammates. He’d offered to stick around and sign autographs for children, and now had been blinded by a jilted librarian’s full moon. He wasn’t going to mock her. But he wasn’t going to really see her either, at least not as a woman. Just an awkward calamity.
“T-thank you.” She stumbled, but he was already turning to walk toward Neve. As he reached for the first notepad pressed into his hand, a dozen camera phones flashed like paparazzi.
“Jed West?” Daisy, her librarian tech, sidled up with an incredulous laugh. “Wow! Way to throw a wrench into Tater Tots’s plans. You might have bought us a reprieve today. No way can they shut us down after that stunt.” Tater Tots was the secret code name for their dour boss, Janet Tater. The lady disliked anyone under the age of sixteen, and barely tolerated the boisterous noise that often floated from the children’s department.
“Cover me,” Breezy blurted, hoisting the jacket at her waist. “I have to go.”
