The Penalty Box (17 page)

So are you
, Katie thought as she looked down at her hands. But staying in Didsbury was the last thing on earth she wanted.

 

 

 

The only other
time Katie had visited the Penalty Box, it was the middle of the day in the middle of the week. Entering now on a weeknight, she wasn't sure what to expect.
I should have phoned ahead to find out if Paul was going to be here.
Then she realized:
Of course he is. He lives for the attention.
He certainly wasn't spending his free time settling into his house.

She found the bar packed, mostly with men. Their eyes were glued to a large-screen TV adjacent to the bar. Hockey was on. Katie looked at the score posted on the bottom left-hand corner of the screen: ATL, 2, NYB, 1. NYB . . . New York Blades. Paul had his old team on the box. Talk about masochism.

Slipping off her coat, Katie scanned the room. No sign of Paul, though that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't here. He could be in the men's room. She decided to get herself a drink.

She studied Bitsy's husband as she approached the bar. Seeing him again, Katie remembered him from high school after all. The only difference was the beginnings of a belly.

“Evening,” Frank said pleasantly as Katie sidled up to the bar. “Help you?”

“Um, a Perrier, please.”

“That it?”

“Is Paul around?”

Frank's expression turned guarded. “Depends who's asking.”

Katie playfully cocked her head. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“No, ma'am, I don't.” He studied her. Katie loved it when the light finally broke in his eyes. “Katie?”

Katie laughed.

“Holy shit!” Frank exclaimed, pounding his hand on the bar. “You look amazing!”

“Thank you,” Katie said, appreciative of the compliment.

“Paul told me you were a knockout now, but I never expected this.”

Pride turned to mild displeasure as Katie thought: Yes, Paul tells you lots of things, doesn't he? Well, that's about to change.

“Is he around?” Katie asked again.

“Yeah, he's in the back office right now. I'll have one of the girls go get him. Yo, Izzy!” he called out to a curvaceous brunette putting a basket of nachos down at a nearby table for two. “Go get the boss, will ya?”

Izzy frowned. “He said he didn't want to be disturbed.”

“Tell him his girlfriend is here.” Frank winked at Katie. “That'll light a fire under his ass.”

“Thanks,” Katie managed, trying to ignore Izzy as she icily sized Katie up before heading toward the back of the Penalty Box. “Really, I'm not his girlfriend,” she longed to call after the jealous girl.

“Here you go.” Frank plunked down a Perrier bottle and a glass full of ice in front of Katie. “On the house.”

Katie fumbled in her book bag. “No, I insist on paying.”

“Don't even think it. Paul would kill me if I let you pay.” Frank nodded his head knowingly. “You two are getting along real good, huh?”

“Actually, I've come here to kill him.”

Frank laughed uneasily. “He'll just be a minute.”

Self-conscious, Katie slid onto a bar stool. She'd never sat
at
a bar before. She wasn't there three seconds before she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she found herself gazing down into the face of a very short, bearded man wearing a Blades jersey and a lascivious smile. The jersey, she noticed, had been autographed by Paul.

“Buy you a drink, gorgeous?”

In your dreams, Rumpelstiltskin.
This was why she disliked bars. They were filled with men who were filled with booze who liked to hit on women. “No, thank you,” Katie said politely, slipping off the bar stool and heading in the general direction she'd seen the sour-faced Izzy go. Katie didn't care if she wound up in a broom closet; anything would be better than hanging at the bar being hit on by unofficial members of the van Dorn fan club.

“Hey.”

She'd nearly reached the back of the room when a door opened and Paul came out of what she assumed was his office, Izzy glowering at her in his wake.

“I'm glad you came down,” Paul said happily, putting an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek.

Katie stiffened. “Don't,” she whispered.

“Right.” Paul frowned, letting his arm drop. “What's up?”

“I need to talk to you. I—”

“Paul van Dorn! You rock, buddy!”

Before Katie could get any more words out, a group of three young men in their early thirties, all wearing Blades jerseys, surrounded them.

“Thanks,” said Paul.

“Man, we drove up all the way from Long Island to come here.”

“That's great,” said Paul. “You guys all set for drinks? Munchies?”

“Screw munchies, dude, I want to know how you managed that deke in game three against Toronto in '04!” said one of the guys.

Paul's face lit up with pleasure. “Well, it went down like this . . .”

Fifteen minutes later, Paul was done telling his story, the three guys from Long Island had had him sign everything from their jerseys to photos to napkins, and Katie was doing a slow burn.

“Sorry about that,” Paul apologized.

“No, you're not,” Katie said quietly, without any accusation. “You love it.”

Paul shrugged easily. “Yeah, I do. That a problem?”

“Only when I need to talk to you.”

“Let's go in my office.”

Katie had to admit, she did like the feel of his hand on the small of her back as he gently guided her through the door. But when he switched on the light, she gasped, and it wasn't from pleasure. The place was a sty.

“Hang on.” Paul cleared the couch of the giant, inflated bottle of tequila and cardboard cutout of some buxom blonde holding a bottle of rum aloft, and offered her a seat. “We get a lot of promo stuff from liquor companies, as you can see.”

“Paul, this place looks like a bomb hit it. How do you keep track of anything?”

“Don't worry. I know where everything is.”

“Does all this really make you happy?” Katie blurted.

Paul looked baffled as he pushed a box filled with Bacardi key chains out of the way. “What?”

“The bar, youth hockey, Didsbury. Are you happy?”

“Is that what you came to talk about?” Paul asked, scratching absently behind his left ear. “Whether I'm happy?”

“No. But I'm curious.”

“It is what it is.”

“But is it what you
want
?”

“I can't have what I want, Katie.” His voice was brusque.

“I know, but—this—I mean—”

“This is fine.” He slid the length of the couch so he was sitting right beside her, and planted a tender kiss on her mouth. “More than fine now that I have you.”

Katie's hands knotted in her lap. “That's what I came to talk to you about.”

“Not sure I like the sound of that,” Paul replied guardedly.

“Paul, why did you tell Frank about us when we specifically agreed we were going to keep things quiet?”

“Frank won't tell anyone.”

“Except Bitsy. Who told Denise Coogan.”

“Denise.” Paul shook his head in wonder. “Man, can you imagine what her shoe size must be?”

“Don't change the subject.”

“What was the subject again?”

Katie stared at him.

“It was going to come out eventually, Katie. You know that. I don't see what the big deal is.”

“It's—”

“Tuck,” he finished for her wryly. “It's all because of Tuck.”

“Right.”

“You do know that doesn't hold much water, right?” His ice-blue eyes were uncomfortably direct.

Katie glanced away.

“Care to tell me what's really going on here?”

“That
is
what's really going on.”

“Fine, whatever you say. But I'm not hiding this relationship forever. It's ridiculous. And insulting. If you don't want me, I know plenty of women who do.”

“Like Liz Flaherty?” Katie snapped.

Paul chuckled. “Jealous?”

“Of the she wolf of the SS? Hardly. No, I just happen to know from Bitsy, who heard from
Frank
”—she glared at Paul—“that Liz was here angling for a ride on your joystick.”

Paul looked amused. “And that bothers you.”

“Of course it bothers me! You—you're—” she was painting herself into a corner.

“I'm what, Katie?” Paul raised a questioning eyebrow. “I'm yours?”

“Yes,” Katie muttered.

“Ah. So let me make sure I'm getting this straight: I'm yours, but no one can know I'm yours. Or, no one can know I'm yours until
you
want them to know I'm yours.”

“It sounds awful when you put it that way!”

“That's because it is awful, Professor.” He put his arm back around her, kissing her hair. “It's awful and mean and cruel.”

Katie closed her eyes, trying to fight the greed for him she felt rising in her bones.

“It's for Tuck,” she heard herself saying. “I don't want this to aversely affect Tuck. And I don't want to deal with Liz Flaherty.”

“Fine,” Paul murmured, scraping his teeth against the soft skin of her throat. “We'll keep this quiet for now. For Tuck.”

“And . . . you'll tell Frank . . . to keep his trap shut.” Katie moaned.

“Yes.”

“And”—her mind began fogging as his teeth nipped at her—“you'll tell Liz to take a hike next time she comes sniffing around for tookie?”

“Yes,” Paul swore, eager fingers struggling with the buttons of her blouse. “Now be quiet and let me show my favorite teacher a thing or two.”

 

 

“
You had sex
with him in his office with a bar full of people on the other side of the door!? That is
so
not you!”

Katie smiled indulgently at Mina's remark, letting it pass. Despite Katie's transformation from duckling to swan, in Mina's mind Katie was forever the reclusive, overweight sister hiding in her room surrounded by books. God forbid Mina face the fact that Katie was, like her, an extremely attractive, sexually active woman.

“Is it serious?” Mina asked, blowing a line of smoke out the side of her mouth.

Katie sighed. She and Tuck had come to Windy Gables on their weekly visit. This time Katie had had to bribe Tuck into coming by promising she'd take him for ice cream after the visit—not that he was making much of an effort to interact with his mother. Thankfully, Mina wasn't forcing it. “Why is that the first thing people want to know?”

“Human curiosity, I guess.” Mina's eyes followed Tuck as he ambled far ahead of them, kicking angrily at every pile of leaves he passed. “So, is it?”

“Serious? No,” Kate replied emphatically. “I enjoy his company and the sex is great, but I can't really see it going anywhere.”

“Love 'em and leave 'em. That's the Katie Fisher way.”

The sarcasm in Mina's voice irritated Katie. “Hardly.”

Mina slowed down, carefully perusing Katie's face. “You really like this guy, don't you?”

“Why do you say that?”

“I can tell,” Mina replied jauntily. “It's a sister thing. Same way you always knew when I snuck out of the house at night. Speaking of which”—she took a drag on her cigarette, jerking her head in Tuck's direction—“is he behaving himself?”

“Always,” Katie said as she glanced fondly at her nephew. “He's a good kid, Mina. You know that.”

Mina's mouth twitched. “Not too pleased to see Mommy today, I see.”

“Cut him some slack. He's actually been helping Mom turn her sewing room back into a bedroom for you.”

Mina jerked to a halt. “What?”

“For when you get out in January. Mom figured—”

“What?” Mina hissed. “That we'd be one, big, happy family?”

“
No
, she figured—and I agree with her by the way—that it might be best for Tuck if you transition by coming home for a few weeks before just uprooting him and moving him somewhere else.”

“Oh, this is great. Classic.” Mina hurled the butt end of her cigarette to the ground, stamping on it. “How come no one thinks to ask me how I feel about all this? It's just my
life
, that's all.”

“I thought you had discussed it with Mom.”

“Yeah, right. She comes here to visit and all she does is talk about church.” Mina shook her head. “No way can I be under the same roof as Mom.
No way
.”

Katie was dumbfounded. “I don't see what the problem is.”

“No, of course, you, don't, Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”

“Go to hell, Mina! Who do you think chauffeurs your son to school and hockey practice and everywhere in between? Who do you think bought him his hockey gear?”

“No one asked you to!”

“Right. No one asked me to.” Katie suddenly felt exhausted. “Can we not do this, please?” Mina had turned her back to Katie and was kicking at the ground, shoulders hunched. “Mina?”

Mina whirled back around to face Katie. “Sorry,” she muttered.

Katie gave her a quick hug. “Me, too.”

“Can I just say one thing?”

Katie stiffened. “What?”

“There is no way I can go back home, Katie. I swear to God, I'll kill myself.”