offensive coach somewhere. It was what he knew. Seeing plays in his head before they happened was what he’d been good at. Finding lanes through traffic and scoring goals had been a talent that had made him one of the top ten goal scorers for the past six years and was something he’d helped teach the guys on his team. But to coach offense, or defense for that matter, the coach had to skate. There was no way around it, but Mark could hardly walk a hundred feet without pain.
He ate a few pieces of licorice and tossed the bag on the table next to the chaise. As a Burger King commercial came on the air, Mark closed his eyes, and before Dr. Phil returned, he drifted off into a peaceful, drug-induced nap, the remote still in one hand. As with most of his dreams, he was back at the Key Arena, fighting it out in the corners. As always, he heard the roar of the crowd, the slap of graphite sticks on ice, and the shh of razor-sharp blades. He could smell sweat and leather and the unique scent of the ice. The cold breeze brushed his cheeks and neck as thousands of pairs of eyes watched from the seats. The anticipation and excitement in their faces were a blur as he skated past. Adrenaline bit the back of his throat as his heart and legs pounded down ice. He glanced at the puck in the curve of his stick, and when he looked back up, he saw her. A clear face in a blurry sea. Her big blue eyes simply looked back at him. The light bounced off her two-toned hair. He turned his skates to the side and stopped. Everything around him fell away as he continued to stare at her though the Plexiglas.
“Why are you here?” he asked, beyond annoyed that she’d shown up and disrupted the game.
She smiled—the full-lipped tilt of her mouth that he recognized after one day of being around her—but she didn’t answer. He skated closer to the wall and his stick dropped from his hands. “What do you want?”
“To give you what you need.”
There were so many things he needed. So many. Starting with the need to feel something other than constant nagging pain and the void in his life.
“Lucky you,” she whispered.
Mark’s eyes flew open and he gasped for breath. He sat up too fast, and the remote fell to the floor. His head spun as he glanced at the clock on the bottom left of his television screen. He’d been asleep for an hour. Jesus, she’d intruded in his life. Now she’d infiltrated his dreams. Of all the faceless people in his dreams, why was her face clear?
He reached down and grabbed his cane resting on the floor. Thank God the dream hadn’t been sexual. He didn’t even want to think about getting it up for his assistant. Not even in a dream.
The splint on his hand itched, and he tore it off. Tossing the Velcro and aluminum aside, he slowly stood and made his way from the room. Why her? It wasn’t that the little assistant wasn’t cute. She was plenty cute, and God knew she had a body that could stop traffic, but she was just so damn annoying. The rubber tip of his cane thumped across the stone floor and his flip-flops slapped the heels of his feet. Rested and his pain somewhat dulled, he walked with relative ease.
In the kitchen, the Bartell sack with the condoms, KY, and vibrating ring lay atop the granite island. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do with that stuff. It wasn’t like he was going to use it anytime soon. He opened a drawer and shoved it inside.
He didn’t know what he was going to do with his assistant either. Too bad he couldn’t shove her in a drawer and lock her inside. He thought of her driving his new Mercedes like she owned the road. He thought of her face when she’d first slid into the leather driver’s seat. She’d looked like she’d been about to orgasm. Under different circumstances, he might have pulled her into his lap. Under different circumstances, he might have thought the way she’d caressed his leather was about the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Under current circumstances, it had been just one more thing to irritate him.
More than likely, the woman would be back tomorrow. His optimism of a while ago faded. For reasons that he couldn’t begin to understand, she seemed to actually want to be his assistant. Maybe she was a little off in the head. No, she was definitely off in the head because why else would she buy condoms and KY when she clearly didn’t want to?
Chelsea would put up with a lot for ten thousand dollars. “He made me buy him condoms,” she told the back of her sister’s dark head. “And warming KY.”
Bo looked over her shoulder and reached for a half gallon of milk. “Well, he’s a hockey player,” she said, as if that explained and excused it. “And he always did have a lot of different girlfriends. At least he’s using protection.”
“And a vibrating ring.”
“What’s that?”
“A cock ring that vibrates.”
Bo glanced about the dairy aisle at Safeway to make sure no one could overhear them before she set the milk in the cart. “They make those?”
“Apparently, and in case you ever need one, there are three different kinds available at Bartell drugstore. The duo, the magnum, and the intense pleasure. The duo has two pleasure buttons, one onm ottons, each side. The magnum is self-explanatory, and the intense pleasure vibrates faster for—you know, intense pleasure.”
“You read each package?”
“It’s my job.” Although, really, she’d read out of curiosity more than anything else. It wasn’t like she was a vibrating ring expert.
“Have you ever… ” Bo lowered her voice and glanced around one more time. “… used one?”
“No.” But if she ever got a boyfriend she might. Buying those condoms today reminded her that it had been seven months since her last relationship.
And because Bo was as nosy as her twin, she asked, “Which did you buy Mark?”
“He made me buy the magnum because he was concerned about cutting off his circulation.”
Bo’s brows rose up her forehead. “Magnum? That’s scary.”
Chelsea pushed the cart farther down the produce case. “You’ve seen one?”
“Not in person.” Bo shook her head. “Just in the porn movies David used to watch,” she said, referring to a past boyfriend. “Do you think he’s really a magnum or he just wanted to shock you?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it. It’s too disturbing.”
“That’s true,” her sister agreed. “You have to work for him tomorrow, and that’s the last thing you want to be thinking about when you walk into his house.” They moved a few more feet down the dairy aisle, and Bo glanced at her list. “I know Mark isn’t really mobile, but making you buy him condoms and stuff was really uncalled for.”
“I thought so, but I’ve had to do worse.”
Bo put her hand on the cart and stopped it next to the butter. Concern etched her brow. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what?”
“Well, taking back designer dresses to places like Saks with big armpit stains was always embarrassing. Picking up prescriptions for various sexually transmitted diseases was mortifying, and breaking up with someone else’s girlfriend or boyfriend was sad.”
“Oh.” Bo sighed and reached for some cottage cheese.
Her sister looked so relived, Chelsea had to ask, “What did you think I was going to say was worse? That I was working for a madam in the Hollywood Hills?”
“No.” They continued beneath the fluorescent lights of the Safeway. “I just hoped that you never had to do anything illegal.”
There was illegal. Then there was illegal. She’d mostly just committed your ordinary illegal stuff. Run a red light. Drove too fast. Hopped aboard the ganja train at a few parties in the past. “Do we need some butter?” she asked, purposely changing the subject before her sister could ask any specific questions.
Bo shook her head and checked milk and cottage cheese off her list. “Jules never came back after lunch.”
“Hmm.” Chelsea picked up several containers of fat-free cherry yogurt.
“Did he go to the Spitfire with you?”
“No.” She dumped the yogurt into the cart. “Do you want string cheese? We used to love string cheese.”
“I don’t want any.” Bo moved to the eggs. “What do you think of Jules?”
“I think he works hard to look good.” She grabbed some key lime yogurt too. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Except he’s full of himself.”
Chelsea hadn’t gotten that impression. “If you work hard on your body, you kind of have the right to brag about it. If I worked out, I’d brag. But I don’t, because I hate pain.”
“He’s rude too.” Bo opened the egg carton and checked for breakage. “And obnoxious.”
