Cold as Ice (14 page)

“He never passes when he has the chance,” Carla says, eyeing the game.

“Selfish play,” Kip mutters.

She watches Devin skate from the bench to take his position. He's in the play at center ice, and as the play moves toward the Warriors' net, Devin skates backward, stick out in front of him, ready to poke check his opponent. With a flick of his stick, Devin manages to knock the puck off the blade and out, letting his winger scoop it up and head down the ice for a rush to score.

Carla makes fists with both hands, grinding her teeth for the chance to score again in the last seconds of play. The player misses the net and Carla throws her head back. “So close,” she squeals and looks up at Kip, who is staring back at her.

He smiles. “Thanks for filling in tonight.”

“No problem. I'm glad I was able to. It was a first for me.” This is the longest conversation she's ever had with Kip.

“You're a pro. Nobody would ever think it was your first time reporting live on the ice.”

“With our schedules, it's a wonder we haven't worked together more often,” she says, glancing up at him. She likes his laid-back attitude. He would be good for her. Someone easy to talk to, ready to jump at the chance to socialize. She shoots her fluttery eyes and smiles.

“Or at least bump into each other. I heard the average person meets at least ten thousand people in a lifetime. So, yeah, it is amazing we haven't run into each other.”

“That many, really?”

“I didn't make it up.” He throws his hands outward. “I swear.”

“And to think there are people at work I've never met before. It's possible.” She looks up at the clock and gasps. “I gotta go.”

“See you at Buckley's?”

“Maybe!” She runs out into the hall. Panic sets in as she hurries to meet Keith. How is she going to pull this off? She runs into the elevator just before the door closes and spots Ryan chatting with the executive he was talking to earlier.

“I think you have a chance,” Executive Guy says. Ryan spots Carla and closes his mouth.

She stands in front of them. Her hands come together and then come to rest at her sides; she stares straight ahead, her feet wiggling around in her flats. She has to find Keith before the game is over or she'll have a tough time spotting him in the crowd. She gets off the elevator on the main floor and dashes to section D. As she passes an opening to a section of seats, she can see the game is close to ending. Five minutes left. Her heart's racing. She has to find Keith, get downstairs and through security before the players disperse into interviews or leave the rink.

“Carla!” Keith shouts, waving his hand above his head.

She sees him and rushes over. “If anyone asks, you're with Channel Five.”

“Okay.”

They start walking fast to the elevators. “And you're new to the station and forgot your media badge.”

“Will they buy it?”

“I don't know,” she says, ducking between people, trying to stay in pace with Keith. “I'll go first, and when security tells you that you can't enter without media credentials, tell them I can vouch for you.”

“Okay.”

“And stand tall, confident and believe that you're supposed to be here.”

“Got it!”

“Let's take the stairs; it's faster.” She leads him down a hallway to the door where security is standing. They still have to go downstairs and through another set of guards. She forgot how much security was there. She comes and goes as she pleases and never thinks about who is watching her. They walk past the first security guard with no problem and hurry down the stairwell to the next floor. She opens the metal door and another security guard is there, smiling.

“Hi, Carla.”

“Hi!” she says, not knowing who the person is, but she has been there enough times to be a recognizable face.

“Whoa! Buddy! Stop!” security yells after Keith.

Keith turns around.

“Badge?” security asks.

Keith pauses.

“He's with me!” Carla says.

“Okay,” the guard says, and Keith catches up to Carla before the guard calls him back.

“I'm going through those doors up ahead,” she says. “I'll go first,” she instructs, “and you follow me.”

Carla gets to the door where security is checking every person. Once through the doors, she looks back to see where Keith is.

“I didn't think you were doing an interview,” Ryan says, approaching her.

“I, uh, I'm—” She looks behind her. Keith is having a word with security. She wanders over. “He's with me,” she says nonchalantly.

“He needs a badge. Can't go through without one,” a male security guard with a bright blue jacket says. He takes up the doorway with his beefy arms and chest.

“I know,” Carla says with gritted teeth. “He had one, but I forgot it. Sorry.”

“Can't let you through,” the guard says, shaking his head. His double chin bobbles with every motion.

“Just this once?” she asks. “Please?” If only the guard knew the story, she was sure he'd let Keith in.

“Nope. Can't do,” he says, and waves the people behind Keith through.

“Not even if he's with me the whole time?” she asks.

“You know the rules,” he says gruffly.

Carla lets out an exhausted breath like a deflated balloon. She looks at Keith, telepaths a
sorry
as she walks back to the doors. She looks behind her, remembering Ryan is standing there, probably wondering what she's doing with this old guy.

“He's helping me do an interview.”

“Is that right?” the guard asks, rocking on his heels and with one hand on his hip.

“He's with Channel Five,” she says, regretting her words. She knows she's abusing her position, but what else can she do? “He's an editor, and I wanted him to come down and get a sense of what I'm doing.”

“Who are you interviewing?”

“Devin Miller,” she answers without giving it a second thought.

“You'll have to show your editor out and make other arrangements,” the security guard says. “And you'll have to move it along. The players are expected to come out any minute and there's going to be a rush in this doorway.”

She hangs her head and does what she's told, exiting the area without further action. She doesn't want the guard to remember her as a difficult one but rather as easy to get along with, so he remembers her in the future.

Once she gets back through the hallway, she spots Keith waiting. “I'm really sorry, Keith. I thought I could get you in.”

“Don't worry. Thanks for trying. You've already gone out of your way for me. I appreciate it. If you can get that letter to Devin, that's all I really care about. Seeing him tonight might be too much for me. I just wrote the letter,” he says and grins.

She purses her lips. “I wish I could have done more tonight.” And she does. If that guard only knew the story, he would have been willing to help; she was sure of it. Now she has the letter that she must give to Devin. It's in her hands now. She has to pull through for both men.

Carla drives the short distance to Buckley's.

“Got a seat for you here,” Kip yells out with a wave of his hand as she wanders around the pub, looking for a seat.

Kip pulls out a chair for her, using his foot. She takes a seat with the guys and orders a light beer.

“You're a talented woman,” Kip says. “Filling in like you did. I knew you could do it.”

The waitress sets down her beer and Carla is quick to grab it and take a drink.

“And look who just walked in,” Kip says to the table, pointing his bottle toward the door.

Carla scans the entrance. Her heart picks up its pace and her fingers slide around the bottle, flicking the label with a nail.

Devin saunters in wearing a dark suit, no tie, just like the other two guys he's with. They're laughing, talking, as they find their place at a reserved table hidden away from everyone else.

His jacket hugs his broad shoulders, fitting him in all the right places. She watches him pucker his lips with his fingers and drops them when talking to his teammates.

“I guess the guys changed their minds,” Kip says. “Or some of them.”

She can't help staring at him. Breathtaking. He is good to look at, but that's as far as she'll take it. Not like she has a chance. He's probably happy with puck bunnies.

She catches his eye.

“Hey!” Devin says with a raised chin.

“Hi,” Carla answers. Like an awkward teenager, she looks down at the table and then back at him and smiles. What does she say to him? She tries to collect her thoughts and, for what feels like forever, it's like everyone is staring at the two of them, waiting for the next step. “Good game,” she says, still smiling. What more can she say without people speculating and talking?

Devin smiles, his brown eyes bright and carefree. He pauses, gives her a half grin and keeps walking with his friends.
What just happened?
He didn't even say anything. Why not say hello? Is he scared to be among the media? Is he too good to stop for a minute and talk? Does he not want his friends to know he knows her?

Kip puts down his beer bottle. His chin and the skin beneath his cheek is razor burned. He has light brown reddish hair and untamed eyebrows. “You know Miller?” he asks, rocking his bottle back and forth on the table.

“Kind of,” she says. “I've interviewed him a few times.”

“So it's not like an old boyfriend.”

She bursts out laughing. “No.” She laughs a little more. “He just moved here.”

“Anything is possible,” he says coolly. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Carla puts down her half-empty beer. “No.”

“That surprises me.”

“Why?”

“Someone like you . . .”

“Like what?” Her eyebrows come together and she stares at Kip, guessing his age. He can't be much older than her.

“Well, you know . . .” He shifts in his seat. “You're known as the woman of sports.”

“Am I now?” This amuses her.

He nods. “You are.”

“Good to know people think of me as a professional and not some woman reading off a teleprompter.”

“Definitely not.”

“I like what I do.”

“It shows.” He takes in a breath. “You may not remember this, but the first time we met I was working at Q-News Radio, collecting stories for the evening shift, and you were working as the weather girl.”

She laughs. “Some weather girl. I was reporting what was given to me. How many times can you say it's raining and the weather is going to suck all weekend?”

“It's a talent.”

“I didn't know we worked together. I wasn't there for long.”

“I used to leave
Fashion
magazine on your desk.”

“That was you?” Her eyes open inquisitively. “I always wondered who did that.”

“You had a thing for shoes,” he says, lowering his head.

“I still do. I'm the proud owner of fifty pairs.”

Gary the cameraman sits down at their table and the waitress comes by to offer him a drink.

“I left you a daisy once,” Kips says, “but you were dating Andy and you thought it was from him.”

“Oh, yeah, Andy.” She grabs her bottle. “He didn't deny it.” She sipped the last of her beer. “I asked him, and he didn't say it wasn't from him.”

“Andy was a joker, wasn't he? I didn't know when he was telling the truth.”

“I couldn't.” She pushes her bottle away. “Thankfully, it didn't last. He got a promotion and moved across the country.”

“Last I heard, he was doing the morning show at some local radio station.”

“Funny where we end up,” she says, looking past Kip. She can barely see Devin at the other side of the pub. He's probably waiting for the rest of his teammates, maybe even some strays looking for a good time. There's no doubt the team has their fair share of women, although so far, Carla hasn't noticed anybody else joining their table.

“Hard to believe we used to work together,” she says. “You look different.”

“I had longer hair back then,” he says, picking up the bottle and then placing it back down. He stares at the table.

“Maybe that was it.”

“I had a crush on you.” Kip fidgets with the empty bottle, tapping it on the table as though trying to think of something else to say.

“You did?”