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“Seriously? I thought Canadians were supposed to be so nice.” For some crazy reason, I find myself concerned about Clint. “Did anyone get hurt?”
“One guy from the Canadian team has a busted jaw!” Brooke says, slapping her thigh with one hand as she snort laughs.
“A broken jaw? That’s awful,” Tasha says. “I hope it isn’t Jared. I was really hoping to give that part of his body a good workout.”
She wanders off in the direction of the rink and I hurry to follow her. When I step inside the arena, I find Tasha standing on the steps about half way down the stands. Brooke stays with me, in spite of the ‘go away’ vibe I’m trying to give off.
The space smells of fresh paint and a hint of sweaty male. The white surface of the ice gleams under the new lights. I freeze and watch as the players take turns whipping slap shots at the goalie, my eyes scanning for Clint the entire time. Then I see him, standing with a small woman in a blue dress. She’s holding a microphone and talking into a camera while Clint leans on his stick and grins down at her.
“He is hot with a capital H,” Brooke sighs.
“Who?” I ask, pretending that I wasn’t just drooling over him.
Brooke gives me a skeptical look, then says, “Clint Sullivan. Did you not see the spread of him in People’s Hottest Athletes Going to the Games last month?”
“Must have missed it.”
“Oh, that’s a shame, Danika, because…” She finishes the thought by biting the side of her finger. “Too bad he’s engaged.”
“He’s what?”
“Yeah. To some Victoria’s Closet model. My mom is good friends with Victoria so she told her at a garden party in the Hamptons on Labor Day weekend.” Brooke holds a hand up to me. “But you can’t say anything to anyone because, like, nobody knows about it and she’s still in the middle of divorcing some Greek shipping mogul so it would really mess up her life if anyone found out.”
My heart sinks to my feet. That makes sense. Of course he’s with an underwear model. “Whatever, I met him on the plane. He’s pretty full of himself.”
“When you look like him and play like him, you can afford to be full of yourself.” Brooke shakes her head and stares at him some more.
Tasha and I make our way down to the dressing room, managing to ditch Brooke when a few more of the girls came into the arena and she needed to rush over to tell them the big news. I manage to put Clint Sullivan out of my head and get back to remembering why I’m here. Tasha and I sit in silence on the long wooden bench and grin at each other.
I whisper to her, “We made it.”
“We sure as shit did, hun.”
I lean back against the smooth wall behind me and close my eyes. As soon as I do, Clint’s face pops into my mind, just as it’s done every time I’ve closed my eyes since the flight two days ago. I sit up straight and open my eyes, willing myself to just forget him and his dream girl in her tiny panties and D cups.
“You okay?” Tas
ha asks.
“Yup. Great. Never better.”
“You sure? Because you’ve been pretty distracted since we got here.”
“Of course I’m distracted. We’re at the freaking Winter Games.”
“I’m thinking it might have more to do with a certain hockey player who couldn’t stop walking past your seat while you slept the entire flight.”
My cheeks burn hot. “He did not. And even if he did, I would never go for a guy like him. He’s a big meathead.”
She shrugs. “Haven’t you ever heard that opposites attract?”
“Not in this case…” I trail off when the door swings open and in walks Clint looking absolutely enormous with the extra height from his skates.
He smiles when he sees me and lets the door shut behind him. “Feisty kitty.”
“Aren’t you in the wrong dressing room?”
“Since you’re in here, it looks pretty right to me.” His helmet is off and his dark hair is soaked with sweat, and for some stupid reason, my girl parts are finding that attractive instead of a turnoff.
