See Jane Score (23 page)

When I see you and Marie together, you make me wish I had a brother
.

Damn. Jane was a dangerous woman. Not only did he think about her too much, but if he wasn't careful, she'd become his conscience. He didn't want a conscience, and he didn't care what that said about him. He was fine just the way he was.

Luc removed his hands from his pockets and pulled out his car keys. He'd have to revert to his original plan and ignore Jane. Of course, that had never worked for him before.

This time he'd just have to try harder.

Chapter 15
Mucking It Up: Fighting

T
uesday morning, Jane walked into sports editor Kirk Thornton's office at the
Seattle Times
.
Since she'd taken over for Chris Evans, she'd only met with Kirk once. Today he sat behind a desk piled with newspapers and layouts and sports photos. He held the telephone receiver to his ear in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He glanced up, and, upon seeing her, a heavy scowl lined his forehead and bracketed his mouth. He raised one finger from the mug and pointed to an empty chair.

She wondered if he was always in a bad mood, or if it was just her effect on him. Suddenly she wondered if coming in was such a good idea. She was crampy and had PMS, and she didn't want to get ugly with him.

“Noonan covers the Sonics,” he said into the receiver. “I've got Jensen at the Huskies game tonight.”

Jane turned and looked out the door at the bullpen, at some of the other sports reporters sitting at their desks. She would never be one of them. They'd let her know that. But it was okay. She didn't want to be one of the guys. She wanted to be better. Her gaze fell on Chris Evans's empty desk. This job wouldn't last forever; Chris would return to work. But when it ended, she'd have a fabulous addition to her résumé and find something better. Maybe at the
Seattle Post-Intelligencer.

“How can I help you?” Kirk asked.

Jane turned and looked at the balding editor. “You didn't run my Pierre Dion interview?”

He took a drink of his coffee, then shook his head. “
Post-Intelligencer
printed an interview with him the day after he signed.”

“Mine was better.”

“Yours was old news by then.” He looked at the papers on his desk.

She didn't believe him. If one of the guys had done the interview, they would have run it as a feature instead of burying it in her regular column.

“Anything else?”

“I got an interview with Luc Martineau.”

That got his attention and he looked up. “No one gets an interview with Martineau.”

“I did.”

“How?”

“I asked him.”

“Everyone asks him.”

“He owed me a favor.”

He lowered his gaze to her feet, then raised it back up again. He was too smart to say what he was thinking, but she knew. “What favor would that be?”

She was half tempted to tell Kirk she'd blown Luc, but not until
after
the interview. So technically she hadn't exchanged sexual favors for her story. “When I was fired, I only agreed to come back to work if Luc gave me an exclusive interview.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yes.” She handed him a hard copy of the interview along with a disk. She could have sent it in an attached e-mail like she did all her columns, but she'd wanted to see his face when he read it. She was proud of the piece and knew every word by heart.

Martineau in His Zone

Controversy is no stranger to Chinook goaltender Luc Martineau. His private and professional lives have been dissected and discussed and written about until no one is quite sure of the truth. Martineau himself claims that most of what has been written about his personal life is fiction and has little to do with the actual facts. Fact or fiction, he will tell you that his past is his own business. These days he is totally focused on what takes place between the pipes.

When I sat down to interview this enigmatic goalie, I discovered that he is by turns forthright and aloof. Relaxed and intense. Contrasts that make this Conn Smythe winner one of the best all-time tenders in the NHL.

What is not in dispute is that two years ago, he was reported to be finished, his days in the NHL all but over. Oh, how wrong those reports were. Currently ranked second, Martineau leads the league in goals against average at 2.00. Fast hands and cool control are the trademarks of this premier goaltender. He has as much aptitude as attitude, and when he is in his zone, his nuclear stare intimidates. . . .

As Kirk read on, a begrudging smile lifted one corner of his thin lips. A modicum of respect, albeit reluctant, softened the lines on his face and her mood changed in an instant. Jane didn't want to feel anything or take any pleasure in Kirk Thornton's change in attitude toward her. But she did. She hadn't known how much until now. It burned like a little light in her chest and filled her with pride.

He looked at the schedule. “I'll make room for it in the Sunday edition after next.”

She'd be on the road next Sunday. “A feature article, right?” she asked just to make sure.

“Right.”

When Jane left the building, the sun was shining, the mountain was out, and life was pretty darn good. As she walked down John Street toward her Honda, she allowed herself to feel a few moments of triumph. Whether the guys working the sports beat wanted to or not, they had to take her seriously now. Or at least they couldn't easily dismiss her as the bimbo who wrote the silly
Single Girl
columns. An interview with Luc would get picked up by the Associated Press, and they would all know it. She didn't delude herself that this would make things easier for her in the newsroom. The opposite might happen, but she didn't really care. She'd gotten the interview that all of them would have killed to get.

Yep, life was pretty good today. Yesterday had been a different story. Yesterday she'd sat at home staring at the telephone like she was fifteen again, waiting for it to ring. After she'd left the Key Arena Sunday night, she'd been positive Luc would call her. After he'd pulled her into the janitor's closet and made her rethink her decision not to have sex with him anymore, she'd half expected him to call or show up on her doorstep. She'd thought they'd made a personal connection, that they'd talked about something important, something other than her underwear, and she'd been sure he'd contact her.

He hadn't, and as she'd sat on her couch watching birds mate on the Discovery Channel, she'd discovered that falling in love with Luc was the dumbest thing she'd ever done. Of course, she'd known the stupidity of it weeks before it had actually happened, but she'd been powerless against it.

Jane drove to the Laundromat and shoved her dirty clothes into four washing machines. Beneath her suit, she wore a pair of days-of-the-week panties. It was Tuesday, and she had on Saturday's. Not that it really mattered, she supposed. But it did illustrate her life at the moment.

While she watched her clothes tumble dry, Darby called her cell phone and asked her advice. It seemed that he too had fallen for someone unattainable.

“Do you think Caroline would go out with me?” he wanted to know.

“I don't know. How did the drink with her go?” she asked, even though Caroline had called her the next morning with the gory details. The evening had started out okay but had taken a nosedive.

“I don't think I impressed her much.”

“You told her about being a member of Mensa.”

“So?”

“I told you not to do that. Those of us with average intelligence don't want to hear about your big brain.”

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to hear Brad Pitt brag about how good-looking he is?”

“It's not the same.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No. Brad doesn't have to brag about his looks. Everyone can see that he's good-looking.”

Hmm. He was right about Brad. “Okay. How about a porn star? Do you want to hear a porn star brag about his huge package?”

“No.”

She switched the phone to her other ear. “Look, if you want to impress women, especially Caroline, don't tell her how smart you are. Let it come out subtly.”

“I'm not very good at being subtle.”

He wasn't kidding. “Caroline will be impressed with a guy who knows what wine to order.”

“Isn't that kind of gay?”

And the flaming skull shirt wasn't? “No. Take her somewhere nice.”

“And she'll go?”

“Make it someplace really nice. Caroline loves to dress up. Always has.” She thought a moment and asked, “Are you a member of the Columbia Tower Club?”

“Yes.”

She'd thought so. “Take her there. It will give her a reason to wear her latest Jimmy Choos. And if she starts talking about shoes and fashion, pretend you're interested.”

“I'm into designer fashions,” he said.

Jane smiled. “Good luck.” After she hung up, she called Caroline at Nordy's and warned her that Darby would be calling. She was surprised that her friend didn't have stronger objections to a date with him.

“I thought he annoyed you with his talk of Mensa,” Jane reminded her friend.

“He did, but he's sort of cute in a
Revenge of the Nerds
kind of way,” Caroline explained, and Jane decided it was best if she stayed out of it. As she kept reminding herself, she had her own problems.

That night at the Chinooks/Lightning game, Luc hardly paid her any attention when she called him a dodo. He didn't tease her or remind her of the night they'd spent together. In goal, he was his near-perfect self, stopping pucks with his fast hands and big body. The game ended in a tie, and afterward he wasn't waiting to pull her into a closet and kiss her senseless.

Nor was he two nights later, when he recorded his sixth shutout of the season against the Oilers. On the flight to Detroit the next morning, he hardly glanced at her as he passed her seat, and it was excruciatingly obvious to her that he was avoiding her as much as possible. She didn't know what she'd done, and she relived their conversation in the janitor's closet over and over in her mind. The only thing she could think of that might make him avoid her so blatantly was that somehow he'd discerned her feelings for him, and he was running fast in the opposite direction. She'd worn red lipstick and bought a red blouse just for him. She was so pathetic. He'd told her he fantasized about making love to her on a dessert tray, and she'd believed him. She was the worst kind of fool.

Now he was avoiding her almost completely, and she was startled by how much it hurt. They'd made love and she'd thought they'd had a really good time. She hadn't made demands, and if anything, by pulling her into that closet he'd led her to think he wanted more than a one-night stand.

He'd told her he didn't think of her as a groupie, and now he treated her as if she were the worst kind. A groupie that he must avoid at all costs. Not only did that hurt, it made her angry. Beyond angry to the point of doing him bodily harm. She'd even given a few moments' thought to quitting her job just so she wouldn't have to face his disinterest. But the few moments passed quickly when she reminded herself that she would not shoot herself in the foot over a man. Not even a man she loved with her whole aching heart. Not even when seeing that man made her miserable.

Once in her room later that day, she tried to write a rough draft for her
Single Girl
article, but she stared out the window looking over Lake Michigan more than she wrote. Her relationship with Luc would have ended eventually anyway, she told herself. Better sooner than later. At least this way she didn't have to feel as guilty about the
Honey Pie
article. Too bad she couldn't make her conscience listen.

A few hours later, when the telephone didn't ring, she tried to tell herself that Luc was too busy with the team to call. That he wasn't meeting one of his Barbie Dolls. She didn't want to think about him with another woman, but she couldn't help it. And the thought of him kissing and touching one of his women drove her crazy.

At six that evening, she met Darby at one of the hotel restaurants. Over the course of the meal, she drank two martinis while she listened to him rattle on about Caroline.

After dinner, they went to the sports bar inside the hotel. Five of the Chinooks sat at a table drinking beer, eating bar food, and watching Denver give the Kings a royal trouncing. Luc was with them too. At the sight of him, apprehension and relief lifted her stomach. He wasn't with a Barbie Doll.