Cold as Ice (8 page)

Devin laughs to himself as he walks off to find a cup of coffee; not that he needs one, but he doesn't know what to do with himself without staring at Carla interviewing a family across the room. He walks past her, his eyes fixated on her slender legs. He watches her bend down to the little girl, who is shy and cradling her teddy bear. She puts an arm around the girl and brings her in for a hug. Devin doesn't know why he freezes at that particular moment, but standing only ten feet from her, he can smell her ginger and fruity skin, or is that his imagination?

“Devin?” Carla asks, waving her hand, directing him over. “Come on over here!”

Devin does what he's told, cautiously stepping closer, aware of the big lights and the cameraman focusing on him.

“This is Shelby,” Carla introduces. “She's a Warriors fan.”

Naturally, Devin thinks. Or her parents are.

“Shelby is seven years old,” Carla says, patting the girl's shoulder. “She's had a heart transplant and is doing well today, thanks to the Warriors Heroes Campaign. Shelby was able to get treatment while her mom stayed with her.”

Devin stares at this little girl, who in his mind doesn't really seem like a seven-year-old; but then, what did he know? He was just thankful his organization could help.

“Shelby has something for you to sign,” Carla says.

The girl looks to her mom, who hands her a rolled-up Warriors T-shirt.

Devin takes the shirt as Carla signs off the air. “I'll have to find a pen,” he says, checking his pants pockets.

“Here you go,” the mom says, pulling a Sharpie out of her purse.

Devin bends his leg and uses it as a table as he signs.

“Thank you,” the girl says, taking it from him.

“My pleasure.” Devin looks at his watch and then at the tables full of volunteers answering phones. “I guess I should get to my seat,” he says with a grin. “Are you going to be here a while?”

“Maybe for just a little bit longer.”

“I might see you around then,” he says and walks to his seat. Damn! Why did he walk away? Why didn't he ask her to dinner or something? She was standing there, as if waiting for the question. Or maybe she wanted an interview. His phone is lighting up by the time he pulls in his chair. Why can't he ask a girl out? Why does Carla make him feel like he needs to beg?

“C
arla, I've got some news!” her brother exclaims on the phone.

 

“Is this for the six o'clock?” she jokes, holding the receiver on her shoulder as she types.

“I did it! I asked Mia to marry me.”

She stops typing. “You did what?” Carla squeezes her phone between her shoulder and her cheek, preventing it from slipping. “What made you decide? I mean, I hardly see the two of you together; didn't know things were that serious.”

“Of course we're serious. We've been together two years.”

Carla hovers over her desk. “Congratulations!” she says, swallowing. “I assume she said yes.”

“She did.”

“I can't wait to see the ring.”

“There's no ring yet,” Gavin says.

“You proposed without a ring? Why?”

“She's picking it out. She's the one who's going to wear it.”

“But still . . . it's a gift. You don't go picking out your own gift, do you?”

“Mia's happy.”

“I guess that's all that matters. So, when's the wedding?”

“Next year. We're thinking of doing it in her parents' backyard. They have an acreage.”

“Carla!”

Carla looks up at Ryan rushing toward her. “Gavin, I've got to go. Congrats again!” She hangs up and throws her phone into her purse. “What is it?”

“Alex Price won't be at practice.”

“Why?”

“Last practice he took a slap shot to his knee. Might need surgery.”

“You're kidding.”

Ryan shakes his head.

“How did I miss that? I didn't see anything. Why do these things happen a month before play-offs?”

“I called media relations to see if they're holding a press conference.”

“How did you find out about Price?”

“I, uh, swung by the rink at the start of practice.”

“I told you I was there.”

“I had an interview to do at the aquatic center down the street. I thought I'd stop in at the rink to—”

“See if I needed help with the interview?” she mocks.

“No, not at all.”

“What is it, then? Why were you there?”

He's slow to answer. “I wanted to see them practice. Steve Morrow is changing up the lines for Saturday's game; wanted to ask him a few questions.”

“I could have done that,” she says. “You knew I was there. Do you not trust me?”

Ryan sighs and shrugs. “It's not that.”

Carla places her hands on her thighs, looking up at the young reporter. “Then what is it?”

“I was asked to come.”

She hangs her head. “Who asked you?”

“Steve.”

“You know him on a first-name basis now?” she asks, referring to the Warriors' head coach, Steve Morrow.

Ryan cracks a grin. “I guess.”

“Did Steve call you to invite you personally? How did you manage to work that out?”

“Yeah, Steve knows me now. He called me to invite me. I couldn't turn it down.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” She glares at him, hurt that this was happening and she hadn't seen it.

“I don't want to lose my contacts.”

Carla understands where he's coming from. She'd wanted a name for herself too. There was a time when she was twenty-five and working hard to gain respect, but she never would have gone behind her superior.

“You won't lose them.”

“Steve trusts me,” he says, thrusting his hands into his pants pockets. “I figure if he wants to give me a story, why not?”

“Why not?” she mutters.

“It's not a competition.”

Maybe for Ryan it's not, but how will she get a new job if she's not showing all her talent and reporting too? She doesn't want to be just an anchor, she wants to prove she can handle a live report. Anything to add to her résumé that will get her to the next step.

“I know,” she says.

“It's just one of those things,” he says with a shrug. “You have better luck talking to the Giants and the Heat than I do.”

“Our junior teams?” She laughs. “That's all good, but I still should be able to talk to the Warriors anytime I want. I've been doing this for a long time. I'm no beginner.”

“Maybe that's the problem,” Ryan says. “Have you tried approaching them like you don't know who and what you're talking about?”

“Seriously?” She squints her eyes. “I've been sports reporting here for six years. People know what I do.”

“It's worth a try.”

“Is that what you did?”

“No,” he says and laughs. “Guys don't have that problem. At least I don't.” He smirks.

“Right.” She exhales and lowers her shoulders. “Why is that?”

“People need to know you're approachable.”

She gasps. “I am!”

“Sure, sometimes,” he falters. “We all have those days. Don't worry about it.”

“I'm not!” A twinge of nerves fire up her body like a flag going up in flames. Could that be the reason she gets forgotten by the Warriors?

What if Kyle is right and she gets fired? Her nerves are making her stomach flutter. If they want to get rid of her, it's best to leave the job first, before the termination letter is issued.

“Do you know if Steve drinks coffee?”

“I think so. I saw him once with a Starbucks cup,” Ryan says.

“Perfect! I'll surprise him tomorrow.”

 

“Hey, sorry I'm late,” Devin says, taking an open bottle of beer from Mark Buckley's hand.

“No sweat. You can play the next game of pool. I think they're just about done,” Mark says. “Were you at Children's today?”

Devin nods. “My weekly visit.”

“I was there yesterday,” Mark says. “A little girl had heart surgery and a five-year-old boy was having a brain tumor removed. I couldn't stay long.” He brings his beer to his chest. “Makes me thankful for what I have.”

“For sure!” Devin says. “I was visiting Jason again; he's excited to see me every week, asks me if I brought Price or Carter and tells me who should be traded, but today he didn't say much. . . .”

“It could be the medication he's on, or maybe he was tired,” Mark says. “You know those kids are always tested, poked at and talked to by doctors, I'm sure he was just having a rough day.”

Devin thinks for a second. “Maybe. You know, that kid is battling leukemia and still tells me he's going to play hockey next season.”

“Kid's got hope; that's what will help him get through his treatment.”

“Can't help thinking that when I was eight years old I was trading hockey cards and building a tree fort.”

“You're up,” Alex says, handing Devin a pool stick.

He throws back his beer and sets the half-filled bottle down on a nearby table.

“Were you with Carla?” Alex asks, digging the balls out to reset the table. “Did she give you a private interview?”

“Nah,” Devin says, playing it cool. The conversation should blow over and then they can talk about sports or cars, anything but women, where opinions are important.

“I bet she's hard to handle,” Alex taunts him, leaning against the pool table to support his balance because of his bandaged knee.

“It's not like that. What are you talking about?”

“Come on! She wants your attention. She wants you!” Alex says, laughing. “Never seen a reporter so determined to speak with a player. Can't tell me there's nothing there; you'd be stupid not to hit that.”

“There's nothing between . . . between Carla and me,” he says, wishing he could tell him different, but the way things were going, the chances of persuading her for a night out were looking slim. Why was she so difficult?

“Okay,” Alex says and takes the first shot to break. “Have you checked out her ass?” He whistles. “It's as hard as a rock. Wow! A hot woman with an attitude; you need some of that. You haven't been getting it from groupies. I expect you're trying too hard to score with Carla.”

Devin takes a shot and then says, “You should know by now that it's not my thing.”

“Right; you're not looking for a hookup, you want a real relationship.” Alex begins to laugh, watching his teammate line up a shot. “I've heard that one before. So you're not going for her? Not asking her out?”

“I don't think so,” Devin says, leaning on his pool stick, waiting for Alex's friend to finish his shot.

“No?”

“No.” Devin surprised himself, not expecting to answer so quickly, but if the guys knew he was even interested, they'd be all over him with embarrassing comments, razzing him about what he and Carla did. The thought was entertaining, though: thinking about her and what she'd be like in bed.

“She seems like a Goody Two-shoes.” Alex's shaved head reflects the track lighting and his eyes squint as he watches the ball roll into a pocket.

Devin chuckles and finishes his beer. It was refreshing and light, exactly what he needed to unwind.

“How are you settling in?” Mark asks.

“Fine. The city is great and the people . . . I was warned you had a lot of fans.”

“It's good here. It can be crazy at times.”

“And I'm slowly learning my way around,” Devin says, taking a shot.

“Wow, that was close!” Alex says with a click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Have you had a chance to check out the city?” Mark asks.

“Here and there.”

“How's it working out with Brittany?” Mark asks, walking to the beer fridge and taking out a bottle. “Another beer?” Mark asks as he hands Devin a cold one.

“Sure, one more.”

“She's always asking about you.”

“Is that right?” Devin asks, chugging his beer. For the first time he doesn't care about getting to know any other woman. He wants Carla, and he isn't about to give up on scoring with her. He was intrigued. She was different, wasn't after him for the obvious reasons. She was her own person, with a career, and her edginess turned him on.

“Interested?”

“Not really.”

Alex looks up. “Something's wrong with you, man. I've never known a player to say no to a freebie.”

“It's not about a one-nighter,” Devin says, placing his beer bottle on a nearby table.

“Okay, a fling,” Alex says.

Devin shakes his head. The guys all look at him as though he has a secret.

“Are you gay?” Alex asks with apprehension. “It's fine if you are.”

“No! I just haven't found someone I'm interested in. I want a relationship where I know what she's about and what she does for a living. You should know, Buckley. It's where you're at.”

“It keeps me honest,” Mark says.

“We'll see how long you last,” Alex chirps and then takes a shot. The cue hits the ball hard, making a loud popping sound over the music playing. The room is larger than most people's houses and has all the necessities for a man cave: bar, flat-screen TV, stereo system and a row of recliners. The walls are decorated with framed jerseys and shelves of trophies.

“I'm sure I'll last longer than you,” Devin says.

“Probably,” Alex agrees. “I like variety. Hey, Henrik!” he calls across the room. “Do ya wanna pass me another beer?”

Devin ignores the big talk. No wonder he was hard-pressed for friends; Alex's attitude will only get him one-night stands. What woman would want to stay with him?

Devin turns his head. He doesn't want to live an unfulfilling life, without someone to care about and have a family with. He's more ready now than ever. He's more than a hockey player and a brand name; he's setting an example that will take time to see results, but he knows it's worth the journey, and Carla might be the perfect person to start it with, even though she doesn't know it yet.