male to see him looking like such a sissy.
“How did you get that big ouchie in your eyebrow?”
“This little thing?” He pointed to his old scar. “When I was about nineteen, a guy shot a puck at my head and I didn’t duck in time.”
“Did it hurt?”
It had hurt like a son of a bitch. “Nah.” John raised his chin toward the ceiling and shaved beneath his jaw. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Lexie watch him. “Maybe you should get dressed now. Your grandma and great-grandpa Ernie will be here in about a half hour.”
“Will you do my hair?” She held up one hand and showed him a hairbrush.
“I don’t know how to do little girls’ hair.”
“You could put it in a ponytail. That’s real easy. Or maybe a side pony. Just make sure it’s high, ‘cause I don’t like low ponies.”
“I’ll try,” he said, rinsed shave cream and stubble from the razor, then went to work on his other cheek. “But if you look like a wild child, don’t blame me.”
Lexie laughed and laid her head against his side. Her fine hair brushed his skin. “If my mommy marries Charles, will my name still be Kowalsky like yours?”
The razor came to an abrupt halt at the corner of John’s mouth. His gaze slid down the mirror to Lexie’s upturned face. Slowly he lowered the blade away from his face and held it under the hot water. “Is your mother planning on marrying Charles?”
Lexie shrugged. “Maybe. She’s thinking about it.”
John hadn’t really given serious thought to Georgeanne marrying. The thought of it now, of another man touching her, tied his stomach up in a twist knot. He quickly finished shaving and turned the faucet off. “Did she tell you that?”
“Yep, but since you’re my daddy, I told her to think about marrying you.”
He reached for a towel and dabbed at the white cream beneath his left ear. “What did she say?”
“She laughed and said it wouldn’t happen, but you could still ask her, couldn’t you?”
He could honestly say that he liked her. Maybe too much. Every time he went to pick up Lexie, he envisioned her without clothes, but lust wasn’t enough to support a lifetime commitment. He respected her, too, but respect wasn’t enough either. He loved Lexie and wanted to give her everything she needed to be happy, but he’d learned years ago not to marry a woman because of a child.
“Couldn’t you just ask? Then we could have a baby.”
She gazed up with the same pleading look she’d used to get her puppy, but this time he wasn’t about to give in. If, and when, he ever married again, it would be because living without the woman was hell. “I don’t think your mommy likes me,” he said, and tossed the towel on the counter next to the sink. “How are we going to do that ponytail?”
Lexie handed him the brush. “You comb out the tangles first.”
John got down on one knee and carefully ran the bristles through the back of Lexie’s hair. “Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head. “My mommy likes you.”
“Did she tell you she does?”
“She thinks you’re handsome and nice, too.”
John chuckled. “I know she didn’t tell you that.”
Lexie shrugged. “If you kiss her, she’ll think you’re handsome. Then you can have a baby.”
Although the idea of kissing Georgeanne had always been one hell of a temptation for him, he doubted one kiss would work like magic and solve their problems. He didn’t even want to think about making a baby.
He turned Lexie to the side and lightly brushed a tangle beneath her left ear. “It looks like you have food stuck in your hair,” he said, careful not to pull too hard.
“Probably pizza,” Lexie told him unconcerned, then they sat in silence while John combed the fine strands, fearing he was doing more harm than good. Lexie remained quiet, and John was relieved that the subject of Georgeanne and kissing and babies was over.
“If you kiss her, she’ll like you more than Charles,” Lexie whispered.
John pushed aside the drapes and gazed out at the Detroit night. From his room at the Omni Hotel, he could see the river looking like a long oil slick. He felt restless and edgy, but that was nothing new. It usually took him several hours to come back down after a game, especially after a match with the Red Wings. Last year the team from Motown had barely edged the Chinooks out of the play-offs with a one-goal backhanded fake by Sergei Fedorov. This year the Chinooks started the long season with a 4-2 victory over their rivals. The win had been a nice way to start the season.
Most of the team was in the bar downstairs, celebrating. Not John. He was restless and edgy and too stoked to sleep, but he didn’t want to be around people. He didn’t want to eat bar peanuts, talk shop, or fend off rink bunnies.
Something was wrong. Except for the blindside hit he’d given Fetisov, John had played textbook hockey. He was playing his game the way he liked to play it, with speed, strength, skill, and hard body checking. He was doing what he loved to do. What he’d always loved to do.
Something was wrong. He wasn’t satisfied.
John dropped the drape back into place and glanced at his watch. It was midnight in Detroit, nine in Seattle. He walked to the table next to the bed, picked up the telephone receiver, and dialed.
“Hello,” she answered after the third ring, stirring something deep within him.
“John?”
“Yep.”
“Where are… What are you…? Cryin‘ all night, I’m watching you right now on the television.”
He opened his eyes and looked across the room at the closed curtains. “It’s a delayed telecast on the West Coast.”
“Oh. Did you win?”
“Yes.”
“Lexie will be glad to hear it. She’s in the living room watching you.”
“What does she think?”
“Well, I believe she really liked it until that big red guy knocked you down. Then she got upset.”
The “big red guy” happened to be an enforcer for Detroit. “Is she okay now?”
“Yes. When she saw you skate around again, she was okay. I think she really likes watching you. It must be genetic.”
John glanced down at the notepad by the telephone.
“What about you?” he asked, and wondered why her answer felt so important to him.
“Well, I don’t normally like to watch sports. Don’t tell anyone, because as you know, I am from Texas,” she drawled, “but I like to watch hockey more than football.”
Her voice made him think of dark passion, reflections in windows, and hot sex.
“Friday? The night after the wedding?”
“Is that a problem? Do you have to work?”
She paused for a few long moments before she answered, “No, we can be there.”
He smiled into the phone. “The language gets a little salty sometimes.”
“I think we’re used to it by now,” she said, and he could hear the laughter in her voice. “Lexie is right here. I’ll
