tickets.” It was something she’d learned from the Gloria Thornwell Society and something she just happened to agree with. A person or charity should give for the right reasons and not for the glory. There were those who would argue that it didn’t matter as long as the result was the same. Faith could understand that argument, but she’d known too many socialites who chaired events or donated money to get their photos on the society pages.
Miranda looked shocked. “I agree, but I’ve been the lone voice around here. There’s a little girl in that department who is very aggressive about promotion.”
The following night, she met Bo and Jules at a sports pub to watch the Chinooks play in Detroit. The first period started off fairly even, with ten shots on goal for the Chinooks, twelve for the Red Wings. With two minutes left on the clock, the Red Wings scored on a 5-on-4 goal.
During the first intermission, Faith told Bo and Jules about her meeting with Miranda and her intention to become more involved with the organization charities.
“You getting more involved will be good PR,”
Bo said as she raised a bottle of Beck’s to her lips. “I’ll get on it.”
“I don’t want to be part of the PR for the charities.” Faith smiled. “I’m sure we’ll need some promotion and advertising for each event, but I think we want really targeted campaigns. I’ll get together with you and Jim when we’ve got something more tangible.”
Bo shrugged. “The celebrity golf tournament is in July, so let me know how much you’re going to be involved in that.”
Jules tore his gaze from the big screen above the bar as the second period began. “Do you play golf?”
She thought of the putting green in Ty’s house. Of the night she’d worn his shirt. The cotton against her bare skin and scent of his cologne on the collar beneath her chin. Of him standing behind her while she’d swung at the ball. “No, but I can drive one of those golf cars,” she answered and took a drink of her merlot. On the screen above the bar, she watched Ty skate across ice with the puck in the curve of his stick. He passed off to Sam, then he skated behind the net to the other side and Sam passed the puck back to him as a Detroit defenseman collided with him just inside the blue line. The two fought for possession, shoving and throwing elbows. Ty’s head snapped back and the whistle blew. The ref pointed at the defenseman as Ty raised one gloved hand and covered his face.
“He was hit with the butt end of a stick,” Jules said, leaning across the table toward the bar.
Ty lowered his glove and blood ran down his cheek from the outside corner of his left brow.
“Not his face!” Faith yelled before she even realized she’d spoken out loud. “Don’t hurt his face.” She felt as if someone had hit her in the stomach. The Red Wing fans simultaneously cheered and booed as Ty skated from the ice and the Detroit defender skated to the penalty box. One of the Chinooks trainers handed Ty a white towel and he held it to his eye as he turned and watched the replay on the big screens suspended high above mid-ice.
“Shouldn’t he go to the hospital?” Faith asked.
Bo and Jules both looked at her like she was nuts. “It’s just a cut,” Jules pointed out.
Ty pulled the bloody towel away as the trainer looked at the corner of his eye and Faith’s stomach tilted a little more.
“Gee.” Bo shook her head and took a drink of beer. “It’s bleeding like he hit an aorta.”
“Your aorta is in your heart. Not your head,” Jules pointed out.
“Yeah. I know that, numb nuts.” Bo set her beer back on the table. “It’s called overstating something to make a point.”
“It’s called stupid.”
“Stop it! How old are you two, for God’s sake?” Faith put her hands flat on the table. “Ty has just sustained a gash to his head. This could be serious.”
Bo shook her head again. “It’s not that bad.”
“They’ll have him fixed up and on the ice by the third frame,” Jules added as Ty and the trainer stepped from the ice and headed into the tunnel.
“I don’t think so.” If she’d been hit like that, she’d need a full night’s stay in a hospital and lots of painkillers. Ty wasn’t as big a baby as she was, but there was no way he could come back after receiving such a gash.
But Jules was right. When the front-line offense took the ice in the third period, Ty was with them. The corner of his eye was only slightly swollen and was taped with white strips. Blood stained the front of his white jersey, but he skated his shifts.
In the closing minutes of the game, the score was 4–3 in favor of Detroit. Coach Nystrom pulled the goalie and loaded the ice with his first-line players, but despite a hard effort, it was Detroit’s night, and they won 5–3, scoring on an empty net in the last ten seconds of the game.
“We’ll beat ’em in our building Monday night,” Jules predicted as they all three left the bar.
The drive from the bar to the penthouse took about fifteen minutes. Pebbles wasn’t around, which meant her mother was already in bed. Faith brushed her teeth, washed her face, threw on a Looney Tunes T-shirt, and went to bed herself. The wine and excitement of the game had taken its toll and she went out minutes after her head hit the pillow. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep when the telephone beside her bed rang and woke her up. She reached for the receiver in the dark and hit herself in the forehead. “Ouch. Crap. Hello?”
“Did I wake you?”
She blinked. “Ty?”
“Yeah. Are you alone or is that dog in your bed?”
“What?” She felt around and her fingers touched fur. “Pebbles is here.”
His soft laughter filled her ear. So rare it poured through her and woke her up inside. “That must mean my dad’s there.”
“He must have snuck in after I went to sleep. Did you want to talk to Pavel?”
“God no.”
She licked her lips. “Then why are you calling?”
“I’m not quite sure.”
She turned her head and looked at the glowing numbers on her bedside clock. “Do you know what time it is?”
There was a pause and then, “Three fifteen.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in my car. Sitting in front of your building.”
She sat up and pushed the cover aside. “You’re kidding.”
“No. We just landed a half hour ago. Did you watch the game?”
“Yeah.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “How’s your eyebrow?”
“I got five stitches.”
“It looked like it hurt.”
“Like a son of a bitch. You should come down and kiss it better.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“At all?”
Through the darkness, she glanced down at her Looney Tunes T-shirt. “Completely naked.”
He cleared his throat. “Throw on a coat. I promise I won’t look.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Looking isn’t what gets us into trouble.”
His voice lowered and he said, “You like trouble. Apparently, so do I.”
She did. She liked it a lot. “What kind of trouble were you thinking we should get into?”
“The kind that has you naked and in my bed. Since you’re already naked, maybe you should just come on down and go the rest of the way.”
She shouldn’t. Really shouldn’t. “That would be inappropriate.”
“Very.”
“And you don’t regret what happened the other night?”
“Not yet, but I’ve got a few twisted positions with your name on ’em. I figure that after tonight, we’ll be filled with enough shame and regret to last a while.”
