Rachel Gibson - See Jane Score

“Yeah, I just remembered I have to talk to Marie before she goes to bed.”

“Do you think the tunnel is clear?” she asked as she picked up her briefcase and jacket and rose.

“I don’t know.” He unlocked the door and opened it a crack. Hammer walked past talking to the equipment manager. Luc held up one finger until the two men walked out the exit doors, then he stuck out his head and discovered the tunnel was blessedly empty. He and Jane stepped from the closet, and she shoved her arms into her jacket. Normally he would have helped her.

“I have to talk to Nystrom,” he lied and began to walk backward. With each step, he seemed to breathe a little easier.

“I thought you had to talk to Marie.”

Had he said that? “Later. I have to talk to the coach first.”

“Oh.” She looked at him a moment longer. “Good-bye.” She held up her hand and turned to go. Luc stared at the back of Jane’s retreating head and brushed the edges of his jacket aside. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his trousers and stopped to watch her disappear.

What in the hell just happened? he asked himself as the exit door shut. He wondered if he was coming down with something or maybe inhaled too much ammonia in that closet. One minute he’d been thinking about kissing the backs of her knees, and in the next he couldn’t breathe. She thought he was a good brother. So? He didn’t think he was, but even if he was the best brother ever, why should Jane’s opinion of him matter diddly squat? For some unfathomable reason it obviously did, but he didn’t want to think about what that meant. He had too much going on in his life to fall for a short woman reporter with a cute butt and tight pink nipples.

Last night, Jane had blown-among other things-every assumption he’d had of her. She wasn’t uptight, and she certainly wasn’t a prude. The longer he’d been with her, the longer he’d wanted to be with her. Even when he’d been deep inside her tight body, feeling every ripple of pleasure, he’d wanted her again. When he’d awoken that morning, he’d been seriously bummed that she wasn’t there.

But Jane was one complication he didn’t need. When she’d told him that last night was a mistake and it couldn’t happen again, he should have listened to her instead of pulling her into the closet just to prove her wrong.

“Lucky.” Jack Lynch slapped him on the back as he came to stand beside him. “Some of us are grabbing a bite and a beer. Come along.”

Luc looked across his shoulder at the defender. “Where?”

“Hooters.”

Maybe that was what he needed. To go someplace where women wore tiny shorts and tight little tank tops. Where they had big breasts and leaned into him when they served him dinner. Where they flirted and slipped him their phone number. Where the women didn’t expect anything from him. Where if he chose to be with them, it didn’t mean anything. When it was over, he didn’t dwell on it, replay it over and over in his head, like he did with Jane.

He looked at his watch. He had a little time yet. “Save me a chair.”

“I will,” Jack said, then continued on his way.

Yeah, he should go to Hooters. Be a guy. Do guys things. He didn’t have a girlfriend who’d get all bent out of shape if he went.

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.

Mucking It Up: Fighting

Tuesday 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 Sorties,” 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 resume 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.