Page 7 of Mister Hockey
“What? Where?” Daisy’s blond bob swung as she jerked back her head.
“I have a... uh... to make an urgent call.” Breezy scuttled backward, one hand clutching her exposed rump. The back exit led to the stairwell, one that would take her to the first floor. From there she could cut across the nonfiction section to the handicap bathroom and change. That toilet was rarely used so it was a safe place to release the tears building—hot and terrible—behind her twitching lids.
“You can’t leave, I don’t care if the pope is on the phone.” Daisy flashed an incredulous look. “What’s gotten into you? Jed West is here.YourJed West.”
In addition to the Westy mug, Breezy had a wall calendar of him hanging behind her desk, a gift from last year’s office secret Santa. The library volunteers kept her supplied with a steady stream of fangirl-related gifs, memes and interview clips.
“Listen to me.” Her self-control rapidly approached a breaking point. “I’m out of commission.Youhave to hold down the fort. Make sure these families don’t leave without signing up for the summer reading challenge. Oh, and please thank my sister. She is amazing. A goddess.”
Daisy stuck her hands on her hips, but before she could rattle off more questions Breezy barreled through the exit and into the stairwell. By the time she hit the main floor, she was panting.
“Breezy? Breezy, honey, what happened?” A concerned female voice piped from the reference desk. She didn’t turn to see which of the senior volunteers asked the question. A couple of men waved from the public access computers as she blew past like a human tornado. At the last moment, she veered out the main exit.
The sliding doors opened and she burst into the parking lot, slamming a hand shield over her eyes to peer through the downpour.
Screw the bathroom. Better to get the hell out of Dodge and fast.
The trouble was that her purse was locked in her bottom desk drawer. Ah, wait. She sighed in relief. A spare key was hidden behind the bumper. Squatting, she fished it out as the costume’s fabric ripped more. Her hamstrings were now exposed too, but whatever, the worst of damage was done. Opening the door to her yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she climbed into the driver’s seat.
Rain hammered the roof like a furious punctuation to the whole sorry affair. “Oh my God,” she muttered between ragged breaths. But that didn’t come close to releasing the hot emotion building inside her, squeezing each rib like a vise.
“Fuck!” She punched the steering wheel like a boxer’s speed ball. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity Fuck Fuckolahhhhhhhh...ouch!” Her knuckles exploded in pain as the horn gave way with a wheezily annoyed toot.
Shoving the key in the ignition, she eased out of the parking lot, heading toward home.
Home.Herhome. The ink hadn’t even dried on her mortgage, purchased last month as an act of independence, a sign that she could make it on her own without the support of a crappy fiancé.
Neighborhoods passed by in a blur, same with the pedestrians taking shelter under umbrellas. With her foot pressed to the accelerator, it was tempting to steer out of the city. Drive straight out of Denver, through the foothills and into the Rockies masked behind the roiling clouds. Surely a nice log cabin waited in the woods. An out-of-the-way place where she could whittle a staff from a thick branch and use it to scare away trespassers.
Except that plan would never work. She loved her bed. It was the one place that accepted her just the way she was, day or night, rain or shine. A safe refuge to binge onParks and Recreationwhile wallowing in self-pity and Pepperidge Farm cookie crumbs.
She turned onto her street.
God Saw You Do Thatread this week’s sign out in front of Trinity Church. The pastor changed the marquee every Wednesday.
“Big deal,” she snarled, gripping the wheel. “So did Jed West.” A conga line of horrific memories paraded through her head. Namely Westy getting an eyeful of her fox-printed thong and extra fifteen pounds.
It wasn’t until she slammed into the garage and flung open the driver’s side door that she registered what was still tied around her waist. She fingered the Gore-Tex with a groan.
Talk about taking a shitty situation and drizzling a dollop of sucks-to-be-you over the top. It wasn’t enough to flash Jed her wobbly bits, she had to go and steal his rain jacket too. And if on the million—no, scratch that, billion to one—chance that the sexy look he’d given her up on the podium wasn’t a figure of her imagination, well she’d blown it now.
Face meet palm.
Chapter Four
“Houston, we have a problem.” Neve poked Jed in the ribs with a remarkably pointy elbow. “My sister stole your jacket.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I loaned it to her.” Jed finished signing his last autograph and waved goodbye to the curly haired kid and his dad, buoyed by the relief that his vision hadn’t gone awry since leaving Zachary’s. No nagging headache. No dizziness. Maybe the blurriness was nothing but a blip. “I’ll swing by her desk and grab it on the way out.”
He wouldn’t mind getting one last peek at the voluptuous librarian with the classic pinup features. Those traffic-stopping curves had been replaying in the back of his mind for the past half hour. As an unabashed ass man, he couldn’t help but notice that Breezy Angel sported a damn near perfect apple butt. He’d almost gotten wood from the tear in her suit, except the peep show had been unintended and the shame in her eyes overrode his lust.
“Yeah, about that. No. You won’t.” Neve appeared irritated. “She drove home. I just got her text.”
“She’s gone?” He patted his sweats.Shit.No pockets. No wallet. His plan was to spend the afternoon lifting at the gym, not hanging at a library.When he’d parked, he’d pulled it out from his gym bag and stuck it inside his jacket pocket. Now it had gone off to a stranger’s house who lived who the hell knows where.
“You need to understand. My sister, she was...” Neve turned up her palms, dismay radiating from every feature. “Flustered.”
Not the word he’d have gone with butluscioussure as hell wouldn’t fly in the current situation. “I need her address.” At least he’d secured his Land Rover key into the clip in his waistband, an old habit from when he’d trail run in the redwoods north of San Francisco Bay.
