See Jane Score

She remembered in horrid Technicolor detail the first time she walked into the Chinooks’ locker room, and her stomach twisted into a big knot as she passed through the doorway. The other reporters were already there questioning the team’s captain, Mark Bressler, who stood in front of his stall taking questions.

“We played well in our own end,” he said as he pulled his jersey over his head. “We took advantage of power plays and put the puck in the net. The ice was soft out there tonight, but we didn’t let it affect our play. We came out knowing what we had to do and we did it.”

Keeping her gaze on his face, Jane felt around in her purse for her tape recorder. She brought the notes she’d been taking throughout the game up to eye level. “Your defense allowed thirty-two shots on goal,” she managed between the other questions. “Are the Chinooks looking to acquire a veteran defenseman before the March nineteenth trade deadline?” She thought the question was quite brilliant, if she did say so herself. Informed and knowledgeable.

Mark looked through the other reporters at her and said, “That’s a question only Coach Nystrom can answer.”

So much for her brilliance.

“You scored your three hundred and ninety-eighth career goal tonight. How does it feel?” she asked. The only reason she knew about the goal was because she’d heard the television reporters talking about it in the press box. She figured a bit of flattery would get a quote out of the captain.

“Good.”

So much for a quote.

She turned and headed down the row of towering men, moving toward Nick Grizzell, the forward who’d scored the first goal. Long Johns fell and jocks snapped as if on cue when she walked passed. She kept her eyes up and her gaze forward as she clicked on her tape recorder and let it record questions asked by other reporters. Her editor at the Times wouldn’t know that she hadn’t asked the questions. But she knew, and the players knew it too.

Grizzell had just returned the week before from the injured list and she asked him, “How does it feel to be back in the game and scoring the first goal?”

He looked across his shoulder at her and dropped his jockstrap. “Fine.”

Jane had had about enough of this crap. “Great,” she said. “I’ll quote you on that.”

She glanced at the stall several feet away and saw Luc Martineau laughing at her. There was no way she would walk over there and ask him what he was laughing about.

She just didn’t want to know.

Chapter 5

Ringing the Berries: When the Puck Hits a Player’s Cup

Jane leaned back against her seat, pushed up her glasses, and studied the laptop resting on her tray table. She read what she’d written so far:

Seattle Checkmates Kings

The Seattle Chinooks crowned all six Los Angeles power-play chances and Goalie Luc Martineau blocked twenty-three shots on goal in a 3-1 victory over the Los Angeles Kings. The Kings put a goal on the board in the last few seconds of the game when a freak shot glanced off Seattle player Jack Lynch’s glove and flipped into the Chinooks’ net.

On the ice, the Chinooks play a fast, fearless game, aggravating the opposition with skill and brute strength.

Inside the locker room they seem to love to aggravate journalists by dropping their pants. I know of at least one reporter who would love to put “the big hurt” on them.

She reached forward and deleted the last paragraph. It had only been six days, she reminded herself. The players were leery and superstitious. They felt she had been forced on them, and they were right: She had been. Now it was time for them to get over it so she could do her job.

She glanced at the snoring players sacked out in the team jet. How could she earn their trust or their respect if they wouldn’t speak to her? How to resolve this issue so her job and her life were easier?

The answer came in the form of Darby Hogue. The night they arrived in San Jose, he phoned her room to tell her that some of the players were getting together at a bar somewhere downtown.

“Why don’t you come with?” he said.

“With you?”

“Yeah, and maybe wear something girly. That way the players might forget you’re a reporter.”

She hadn’t packed anything girly, and even if she had, she didn’t want the players to see her as a girly girl. While she needed them to know she respected them and their privacy, they needed to respect her as they would any professional journalist. “Give me about fifteen minutes and I’ll meet you in the lobby,” she said, figuring interaction with the players away from the game might help and couldn’t hurt.

Jane dressed in stretch wool pants that had two rows of buttons up the front like a sailor, a merino sweater set, and boots. All in black. She liked black.

She moved into the bathroom and gathered her hair at the back of her head. She didn’t like it hanging in her face, and she didn’t want Luc to think his opinion mattered. She looked in the mirror and dropped her hand to the counter. Her hair fell to her shoulders in dark shiny waves and curls.

He’d walked her to her hotel room. He’d thought she was sick or drunk, and he’d walked her back to make sure she got there safely. His one act of unexpected kindness affected her more than it should, especially since he’d only walked her to her door so he could thoroughly enjoy himself at a nudie bar. Or to yank her chain. That one simple gesture slid within her chest and warmed her heart, no matter if she wanted to be warmed or not. And she didn’t.

Even if she were stupid enough to fall for a man like Luc, with all of the emotional and professional ramifications, he would never fall for a woman like Jane. And it wasn’t because she thought herself unattractive or uninteresting. She didn’t. No, she was a realist. Ken hooked up with Barbie. Brad married Jennifer and Mick dated supermodels. That was life. Real life, and she’d never been one to purposefully set herself up for heartache. She never wanted to be the one left behind when the relationship was over. She always got out first. It hurt less that way. Maybe Caroline was right about her. She thought about it a moment and shook her head. Caroline watched too much Dr. Phil.

Jane reached for the brush once more and pulled her hair back. She smeared Chap Stick on her lips, grabbed her purse, and met Darby in the lobby. Upon seeing him, she almost ran the other way. Jane knew that she herself was not a fashion goddess, and she didn’t try. Darby, on the other hand, wasn’t a fashion god, but he did try. Only the results were unfortunate.

This evening he wore black leather pants and a silk shirt with red flames and purple skulls on it. Leather pants on any man but Lenny Kravitz was a huge mistake, but she doubted even Lenny could pull off the shirt. Looking at him, Jane understood why the Chinooks might question Darby’s sexual orientation.

They took a taxi from the hotel to Big Buddy’s, a little bar more on the outskirts of the downtown area. The sun was just setting on a cloudless night, and the wind carried a hint of rain and dust. A crisp breeze brushed Jane’s cheeks as she and Darby exited the taxi. A faded sign above the door read, “Voted Best Ribs.” She almost tripped on the uneven sidewalk and wondered why the Chinooks had chosen such a dive.

Inside the building, several television sets hung suspended in the corners, while behind the bar a red and blue Budweiser sign glowed. A string of lights left over from Christmas was still taped to the mirror. It smelled of smoke and booze, barbeque sauce and roasted meat. If Jane hadn’t already eaten, her stomach would have growled.

Jane knew that by being seen with Darby, she ran the risk of adding fuel to the rumor that they were lovers,