True Love and Other Disasters

Which probably meant he hadn’t asked her out. With Bo’s help, she pulled the dress over her head and her mother zipped it up in back. It showed a little more cleavage than she was used to, and the hem rested an inch above her knee.

“I

love these.” Bo handed her a pair of Versace mirror leather sandals with four-inch stiletto heels.

Faith sighed. “Come to Mama.” She slid her feet inside and buckled the straps around her ankles. A full-length mirror stood a few feet away and she posed in front of it, adjusted her breasts within the tight bodice, then buckled the belt around her waist.

“It’s perfect,” Bo told her.

“I look like an ad from the fifties. Like I should have a martini in one hand, waiting for my husband as he walks through the door.”

“A little Leave It to Beaver,” Bo agreed. “June with more cleavage. I think you look sophisticated and fun.”

“How about these?” Valerie held up a pair of onyx chandelier earrings.

“I like the ones I’m wearing,” she said as someone retouched her hair and makeup. For her twenty-ninth birthday, Virgil had given her three-carat-diamond stud earrings that she loved for their clarity and class. She looked at herself one last time in the mirror. It was a bit shocking to see herself in such a bright color again. She wasn’t sure when she’d given up wearing colors. If it had been her idea or Virgil’s. Not that it mattered, she decided, as she left the trainers’ room and moved through the now empty players’ lounge.

Ty was sitting on a bench in front of an open locker filled with hockey sticks while the photographer and his assistant checked the lighting around him. His helmet and street clothes hung on hooks inside the locker, and his name was on a blue-and-red plaque above his head. Except for the helmet, he was dressed in full gear.

Faith had never been in the locker room before, and it smelled a little funky. Like leather and sweat and chemical cleaners. Each open locker was filled with hockey gear and had a plaque with each player’s name above it.

Ty looked up as she approached. “I’ve been ready for fifteen minutes.”

Lord, what a grouch. “It doesn’t take as long when you refuse to let anyone brush your hair,” she told him.

“I can brush it myself.” To prove his point, he ran his fingers through his hair, but one dark lock sprang forward and fell across his brow.

Before she gave it a thought, Faith raised her hand and pushed it back into place. The fine strands curled over her fingers and the heel of her palm brushed his warm temple. His gaze locked with hers and something flashed behind his eyes. Something hot and needy that turned the lighter color in his eyes a dark sensual blue. It had been a while, but she recognized the heat in his eyes. Her lips parted in alarm and confusion. She dropped her hand to the flutter in her stomach.

“You two ready?” the photographer asked.

Ty pulled his gaze away and looked beyond her. “Let’s get this over with. I have an early-morning practice and a game to win against San Jose tomorrow night.” He glanced back up at Faith and his gaze was clear. “That’s what you pay me for.”

“Yes,” she uttered, and wondered if she’d imagined the hot interest in his eyes.

“How’s it going?” Jules asked as he walked into the locker room.

Faith licked her lips and smiled at her assistant. “I’m doing great,” she assured him and pushed her confusion about what had just happened to the back of her mind. “I was a little rusty at first,

but it’s coming back to me. Kind of like riding a bike.”

Jules looked her up and down with a critical eye. “Well, you look great.”

“Thanks. So do you.” Or at least she tried to push it to the back of her mind. With Ty sitting a foot away, it was impossible. “I like your sweater,” she added, reaching out to touch the arm of the gray cable-knit cardigan. “Nice color.” Subtle. “Cashmere?”

“Cashmere-silk blend.”

“Jesus,” Ty swore. “Are you two girls finished? I’d like to get out of here sometime tonight.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Jules gestured to Ty with his thumb. “Still pissed off about screwing the pooch in Game Five against Vancouver?”

Ty looked at the assistant as if he was going to kill him with his big hands.

Faith’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Don’t poke the bear, Jules.”

Jules laughed. “Listen, the reason I’m here is because I just got off the phone with an editor from Sports Illustrated. They want to interview you.”

The last time she’d appeared in a magazine, she’d been naked and the questions had been easy. The thought of appearing in Sports Illustrated and being asked hard questions that she couldn’t answer made her want to run and hide. Making uninformed blunders to a room of staff and man agement was embarrassing enough. The last thing she wanted was to appear ignorant to the world.

“The PR department wants you to do it, but I think you should hold off until you’re more comfortable speaking publicly about the team,” Jules suggested, and she could have kissed him.

“Thanks, and you’re right. I’m not ready.”

“We’re about set,” the photographer announced as he handed Valerie the light reflector. “Faith, I need you to stand right in front of Ty. Maybe put your foot on the bench.”

She glanced at Ty’s big legs covered in his blue-and-green hockey shorts. Long white socks covered his thick shin and knee pads. The tops were taped around his thighs. “Where on the bench?”

“Between Ty’s thighs.”

She looked down into his narrowed gaze and expected him to raise a loud objection and swear until everyone’s ears bled. Instead he said, “Mind your foot, eh? I’m not wearing a cup.”

Carefully, she planted the sole of her Versace sandal on the bench between his widely spread thighs. She purposely stared into his face to keep from lowering her gaze to his crotch. She didn’t even want to think about the close proximity of his package to her toes. Of course, trying not to think about it only made her think about it all the more. “Don’t make me jumpy, and I won’t hurt you,” she said through a nervous laugh.

“Don’t get jumpy and I won’t hurt you. I’m going to need that equipment later.”

She turned her face toward the photographer and curved her lips into a smile. She might be a little rusty, but she knew how to pose for a photo without showing her true emotion. “So that’s why you’re in a hurry to leave. Not because you have an early flight.”

The photographer snapped a few pictures. “Faith, turn your right shoulder slightly toward me. That’s it.”

As she smiled for the camera, she asked, “Got a hot date?” and gave the photographer a slightly different angle of her face.

“Something like that.”

“Wife?”

“Not married.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not exactly.”

Friend with benefits? It had been a long time since she’d had a friend with benefits or a boyfriend or even a one-night stand. Being here with Ty, surrounded by his toxic testosterone, reminded her exactly how long it had been. Just the deeper timbre of his voice brushed across her skin and reminded her how much she missed being held and touched by a strong, healthy man.

“Lean forward just a tiny bit, Faith. More aggressive, like you’re the boss.”

“Do you want my hands on my hips?” Faith leaned and the skirt of the dress slid up her thigh.

“Yep, that’s great. And Ty, just continue to look pissed off.”

Ty turned his gaze of doom on the photographer. “I’m not pissed off.” The intense glare usually reserved to