Between a Jock and a Hard Place: A Romance Novella (2 page)

Claire should have known things weren’t
going to get any better when the cream curdled in her coffee. Biting back a
curse word, she poured it out and settled for a cup of herbal tea. She slumped
down at her drafting board and eyed the new project. She hated to waste
precious time, but the image that lay before her wasn’t anything like the
vision she had in her head. It almost looked as though someone had sneaked into
her apartment during the night and re-drawn everything. Before she could change
her mind, she ripped the paper off the board and taped up a new sheet.

Unfortunately, that didn’t help. Any
inspiration she’d had for the project had vanished overnight. She rose and
wandered around the apartment, examining the items displayed on her shelves as
though they belonged to someone else. Did they hold any clues as to who she
was? She looked at them critically. If so, then she didn’t have much to show
for her life so far. Tears burned behind her eyes, and she gave herself a
mental slap. Feeling sorry for herself was not an option. Not when Vancouver
was experiencing such a beautiful day. Perfect for a walk on the seawall.

It was sunny but cool. She pulled on a
turtle neck sweater, a pair of sweats and a fleece jacket. Her oldest, most
comfortable walkers completed her outfit.

It seemed as though half the population
of the West End had decided on a walk, but that didn’t surprise her.
Vancouverites knew enough to take advantage of days like this.  Who knew when
the next one would come around? The constant hum of traffic faded into the
background as she made her way along the seawall, and past the yacht basin.
Seagulls swirled overhead, their cries blending with the clink of rigging
against metal masts. She smiled and walked closer to the railing. If Zoey were
here, she’d be on her case for checking out the boats instead of the men who
used the seawall as a jogging path. She glanced out of the corner of her eye.
Especially that one. She couldn’t see his face very well, hidden as it was by a
hoodie, but he was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved like an athlete.

Forget it, she told herself as he moved
past her, long legs eating up the asphalt. I’m not interested in him or any
other man.

So why had her heart ratcheted up at the
sight of him?

You’re pathetic she told herself and
pushed away from the railing to continue her walk.

She didn’t see it coming...literally.
One moment she was walking along, trying to focus on the blog and the next she
was sprawled on the pavement.

The biker stopped, but remained on his
bike. “Hey, you should watch where you’re going,” he said angrily.

“Me? Look who’s talking. You’re not
supposed to be riding a bike along here.” She pulled herself up into a sitting
position. “There are bike lanes for a reason, you know.”

“Get a life, bitch.” He pushed off and
rode away.

Claire shook her head in disbelief.
“Stupid ass,” she muttered.

“May I offer you a hand, or would that
make me a stupid ass too?”

She looked up to see the man in the
black hoodie. He had his hand out but it was his face she was drawn to. How
could someone be so appealing when their nose had obviously been broken? His
smile was dazzling. “Come on” he said, wiggling his fingers. “At least let me
help you up.”

She placed her hand in his and a jolt of
electricity zinged through her body. The sensation was so unexpected she didn’t
even notice the pain in her ankle. That is, until she put her weight on it and
almost collapsed. He caught her in his arms and looked down into her eyes, his
expression a mixture of surprise and concern.

“You’re hurt,” he said, still holding
her.

Claire wanted to tell him that if he
kissed her, she was pretty sure the pain would disappear. Instead, she pulled
back and put her weight on her good foot. “I must have fallen on it,” she said,
somewhat breathlessly, “but it’s not all that bad.” She looked back toward her
apartment building; she could see a slice of it between the other buildings. “I
can put my weight on it if I try.”

“Let me take you home,” he said,
supporting her easily. “My car is over there in the parking lot.”

She frowned. “Isn’t that a private lot?”

He grinned. “Yes. Lucky for us, huh?” He
kept an arm around her waist and they made their way to his SUV, where he
fussed over her, settling her in the passenger seat.

He’d pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt
and when he walked in front of the vehicle, the sun caught his hair. So black
it was almost blue, it covered his head in curls and her fingers tensed as she
imagined herself touching it. He looked up as though he knew she’d been
studying him and their gazes met though the windshield. Rough stubble covered
his cheeks and she discovered that his eyes, which she’d originally thought
were black, were a dark blue. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone with eyes
that colour.

He got into the vehicle and turned to
her. “Do you have to go right home?”

“No, I thought I’d go dancing.” The
words were out before she could stop them. What was the matter with her?
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t know what made me say that.”

He didn’t seem to mind. “I’m just relieved
that we don’t have to go dancing,” he said with a wry smile. “But if your ankle
really isn’t too bad I thought maybe we could go for a coffee.” He looked into
her eyes and her stomach did a little flip. “Or a tea, perhaps. We could drive
up to Prospect Point and grab some takeout then continue around the park.”

Was he crazy to think she’d go off with
him? She couldn’t possibly.

“Okay,” she said. “I’d like that.”

He smiled and pulled out. Traffic
through the park was busy as usual and they were swept along. A few minutes
later he pulled into the parking lot at Prospect Point. “What can I get you?”
he asked.

“A tea, I think. Two milk, no sugar. And
something to nibble on if they have anything small. Chocolate chip cookie or
something like that.” She dug in her purse. “I’d like to pay, if you don’t
mind.”

He gave her an odd look. “No way.”

She gave in gracefully. “Shall I limp
over to one of those tables?”

He glanced at the outdoor tables. “I’d
rather stop farther along. There are a couple of picnic tables overlooking the
water.” He lifted his shoulders. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I guess that’s okay.” She studied him
as he made his way to the counter. The line-up moved quickly, and she noticed
him chatting to several people as he waited. One woman seemed to be taking his
picture with her husband, and then he took their picture. And then another
couple got in on the act. Pictures were being taken all around. He came back
bearing a cardboard tray with two cups and a couple of snacks.

“Were those people taking your picture?”
she asked.

He coloured. “You saw that, did you? I
offered to take one of them together and then everybody was taking everyone
else. They were Swedes, I think. They’re polite people.” He handed her the
tray. “No cookies, I’m afraid. But I got you a Rice Krispie square and a
two-pack of butter tarts.”

“My favourites,” she said. “Do I have to
share?”

“Not really” he said with a grin that
made her breath catch, “although I am rather partial to butter tarts.”

Claire fell silent as they drove around
the knob of land that was Stanley Park. His actions were vaguely reminiscent of
Harrison’s. He’d never wanted to go where there were crowds of people. It
wasn’t until later that she’d realized that he didn’t want to be seen by anyone
who knew his wife.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Startled out of her reverie, she turned
to face him. She couldn’t ask him point blank...could she?

“I was just wondering if you’re
married.” Might as well get it over with.

“Me?” A horrified look spread over his
face. “Definitely not!”

The reply was so emphatic it had to be
the truth. She smiled to herself. “I apologize for asking such a personal
question, but when you said you didn’t want to stay at Prospect Point it
reminded me of someone.” She lowered her head. “Wow, I’ve really dug myself a
hole, haven’t I?”

She could feel him looking at her but he
remained silent.

“I had a bad experience with a married
man. He never wanted to go anywhere if he thought he might run into people.”
She looked out the window. “I can’t believe I just told you that.”

He nodded. “I can see how something like
that would make you cautious, but no, I can assure you I’m not married.” He
pulled off into a small parking lot. “See that picnic table over there?” He
pointed to a table sheltered by a thick hedge, but with a view of the ocean.
“Do you think you can make it that far if you lean on me? I’ll carry the drinks
over and come back for you.” He didn’t wait for her reply but took the tray
from her and walked it over to the table.

“Okay now, we’ll take this part nice and
easy.” He helped her from the vehicle and they made their way to the table.
“Sit sideways and put your leg up on the bench,” he commanded. “I want to take
a look at that ankle.”

Claire was mortified by the condition of
her old shoes, but she raised her leg.

“Can’t see much,” he muttered. “Do you
mind if I take off your shoe?”

She went to pull back, but he had a firm
hold on her calf. “I really should have a look.”

She watched his hands as he rotated her
foot gently back and forth. They were large, as befitted a man of his size. And
yet they were gentle as he prodded around her ankle. “Sore?”

“A bit, but not as bad as it was.”

He slipped her shoe back on, pulled up
her sock and tied her shoe laces. His hair shone in the sunshine and she wanted
to reach out and touch it.

His hand lingered for a moment. “Do you
have to stand up when you work?”

“No, I’m a graphic designer. I work from
home.”

His eyes lit up. “My kid sister’s a
graphic designer. She works for a magazine in Toronto.” He got up from the
bench and moved around to the other side of the table. “My name’s John, by the
way.” He popped the lid on his tea and took a sip, watching her over the rim.

“I’m Claire.”

He’d positioned her so that she looked
out over the ocean. Container ships dotted the horizon. “I don’t know what it
is about the ocean, but I love it.”

“Me, too.” He turned and looked out,
then turned back to her. “I grew up in Saskatchewan, so living here in
Vancouver is a real treat.”

“The way you were talking with all those
people at the coffee place I thought maybe you’d grown up around here.”

He retreated into himself for a moment
and then shrugged. “Just friendly chit chat.”

There was something about the way he
spoke, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “Here,” she said, pushing
the package of butter tarts across the table. “You have these and I’ll have the
Rice Krispie square. That is unless you’d like to share.”

His eyes danced. “Sharing’s good.”

She tore the sticky treat in half and
accepted one of the tarts. “So, John. What made you move from Saskatchewan to
Vancouver?”

“Work.” He took a large bite of the
butter tart.

“What kind of work?”

He swallowed, and washed it down with a
gulp of tea. “I sell sporting equipment.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do, except for all the travel.”

“So you travel a lot?” She stopped
abruptly. “Sorry. I’m beginning to sound like I’m at one of those speed dating
things.”

“Is that what this is?” He raised an
eyebrow in challenge. “A date?”

“No, not at all.” Now she was getting
flustered. “Listen, I’m not usually this nosy, trust me. Do you think I could
blame it on the ankle?”

There was that smile again. “You could
try.” He raised his cup and took a smaller sip this time. “How about you? Are
you from around here?”

“Oh yeah. I’m a Vancouver girl. Grew up
in West Vancouver.”

“Family?”

“I have a twin brother.”

“A twin. Wow. Is it true what they say?
Do you like the same things?”

She thought for a moment before
replying. “We have the same quirky sense of humour, and we’re both a little
stubborn, but I don’t share his main passion.”

“And what’s that?”

“Hockey.”

He pulled back as though personally
offended. “You don’t like hockey?”

“You see?” She edged forward on the
bench. “That’s exactly what I’ve been up against my whole life. My brother was
skating as soon as he could walk and fortunately for him, my Dad was one of
those hockey parents who supported him every inch of the way. He loves the
sport. It’s the main topic of conversation in our house all year round.”

“So you hate the game? Do you ever
watch?”

“I didn’t say I hate it. I’m just up to
here with it.” She tapped herself under the chin. “Although I have been known
to go to sports bars once in a while. With my girlfriend and her fiancé, not on
my own.” She paused. “But even then, I don’t watch. Do you ever go to sports
bars?”