On the Fly

by Catherine Gayle

  Talk about an imposing presence. And if I was going to work for an NHL team, I was going to be around guys his size all the time. At least Maddie wouldn’t be around them, though. It wouldn’t be so bad for me, and I needed a job.

  I might have been able to stop myself from thinking about him if he hadn’t been so good-looking. Not just everyday good-looking, but like a movie star—a bit like Pierce Brosnan, back in his younger days. I thought all hockey players were supposed to be missing half their teeth and have bent, broken noses and stitches and bruises everywhere. He’d had a long scar on one cheek that had faded to a pinkish hue, but that was pretty much the only flaw I could find on his chiseled cheekbones, perfectly straight nose, and piercing brown eyes.

  And that was more than just a little disarming.

  “I’m a little curious,” Mr. Sutter said, peering at me over the top of his glasses and jolting me back to the task at hand, “why the employment agency would send you to interview for an administrative position when your prior work experience is all in manufacturing.”

  I knew that look he was giving me. The doubt. I’d been to a dozen interviews in the last week, and every single one of them had dismissed even the tiniest little inkling of a thought of hiring me, straight out of hand, for no reason other than I’d never done any administrative work before.

  Well, not all of them. The woman at the doctor’s office on Friday hadn’t let that part bother her. Her problem had been the fact that I didn’t have a college education, that I only had a GED instead of a high school diploma.

  I just needed someone—anyone—to look past my lack of experience and education, to give me a chance. I could do anything I put my mind to, and I’d prove it, but I could only prove it if someone gave me the opportunity.

  I fought back my frustrations and took a breath to clear my head. “I’m looking for a change,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “I don’t have anyone to help me with my kids, so I need something with comparable hours to when they’ll be in school. When I worked in manufacturing, it was always second shift. I was at work when they were at home.”

  And that was when all hell had broken loose.

  I couldn’t go much longer without work. I had to have something, and I needed it now. There were only so many more nights I could afford the hotel room and to buy meals for my kids, Madison and Tucker. It wouldn’t be long before we’d go completely through the dregs of my cashed-out 401(k), and then what would I do? Sell the car? It wouldn’t be very easy to get to a job without a car. Besides, I doubted it would bring in much, as old as it was.

  Mrs. Alvarez leaned closer to me and narrowed her eyes. She intimidated me more than Mr. Sutter did. It was her eyes. It was like she could see through you, see all the bits of yourself that you’d rather keep private.

  I shifted in my seat and crossed my legs in the opposite direction.

  “But you did have someone to help when you were in Texas?” she asked.

  “I did. I don’t anymore.”

  He would damn sure never step foot near my kids again. Thinking about Jason now would only make my blood boil, though. Either that or make me cry. One of the two, neither of which would help me get this job.

  “Hmm,” Mr. Sutter said.

  That was usually what interviewers said right before they thanked me for my time and ushered me out the door. I had no intention of letting that happen again today. I couldn’t stop myself. I was getting to be a bit desperate, or maybe a lot desperate, and desperation made me do stupid things.

  “Look,” I said before I thought better of it, definitely more emphatically than I’d said anything since stepping foot in this building. “I’m a hard worker, as hard a worker as you will ever come across. I may not know how to do everything you need me to do yet, but I’ve never faced a challenge I couldn’t meet, and I learn fast. I was an honor student in high school until I got pregnant. I worked in manufacturing because that was the only job I could get without a high school diploma other than working a drive-through window, and manufacturing paid better and gave me benefits that a job in fast food couldn’t.” I finally took a breath and looked to see what sort of reaction my speech had garnered.

  Instead of glaring at me like he wanted to kick me out of his office for practically begging for a job, Jim Sutter looked…I don’t know, interested. That shocked me. It shocked me a lot, actually.

  “Do you know how to type?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with his hands forming a steeple in front of him. “How to use word processors and spreadsheets, that sort of thing?”

  I nodded. “I learned in middle school.”

  Mrs. Alvarez stared at me and then scanned the résumé I’d given them. She brought her eyes back up to meet mine. “You don’t have a phone number on here and the address is a hotel. What are you running away from?”

  “I…” Okay, so maybe I only thought I was shocked before. I wasn’t prepared to answer questions like this. It seemed too personal. But I needed a job, and this was starting to feel like it might be my only real chance to get one. “Someone hurt my kid. He can’t hurt her anymore. He’s in prison. I wanted to give her a fresh start, a chance to reset and make her life what she wants it to be.” I wanted that for all of us, not just Maddie…but especially for her.

  “That’s why you left Texas,” Mrs. Alvarez said while Mr. Sutter just sat back and let her take over the interview. “But why did you come to Portland? Of all the places you could have gone, why here? You said you don’t have anyone to help with the kids, so what brought you?”

  My reason sounded stupid, even to me. I let out a half-laugh, but I told them anyway. “When I was a kid, my parents brought us here on a family vacation once. We saw all the sights, did the whole tourist thing. But on our last day, they brought us to Powell’s City of Books, and I thought it was the best thing ever, books upon books upon books. I could get lost in there and never want to be found. I thought maybe something like that would be good for my daughter, a place where she could live in someone else’s world for a while.” A fictional world was a heck of a lot better than her reality, lately.

  With that pathetic explanation, I was pretty sure they’d be ending the interview any minute. Who picks up and moves their family halfway across the country because of a freaking bookstore? No one sane.

  I probably wasn’t sane anymore. Good grief, how did this interview get so twisted around? Why had I let it? I probably should just end it myself, thank them and then get up and walk out, see what other employers the agency could send me to.

  “Have you taken her to Powell’s yet?” Mr. Sutter asked before I could do that.

  I nodded. “Over the weekend.”

  “And did it help?”

  Maddie, Tuck, and I had spent the whole afternoon there on Saturday, visiting each of the many floors, following the map to find where all our favorite types of books would be. When they called it a “city of books,” they weren’t kidding. It was just as magical a place as I remembered it being. Sure enough, Maddie and Tuck had both found a stack of books to explore, and we had holed up in a corner and read for hours.

  I’d felt bad that we were spending so much time there and reading so many books, treating it like it was a library and not a store. So when we left, I’d given in and bought each of them a book. That just meant I’d be eating ramen noodles for my lunches instead of something more filling, at least for a while. It was worth it to be able to buy books for my kids, though. Maddie had already finished her book and had started reading it again, and today was only Monday.

  “Yeah,” I finally said. “It’s helping.”

  He nodded, but then he stared at me for so long that it made me squirm.

  Mrs. Alvarez straightened the stack of papers in front of her and then said to him, “She’s the one.”

  The one what?

  “She is,” Mr. Sutter said without explaining. He got up from behind his desk and came around it, then sat down in an empty chair between me and Mrs. Alvarez. H
e took off his glasses and stared at me. “If you’re going to be my new assistant and learn how to replace Martha, I can’t have you living in a hotel with your kids. Why are you?”

  If it hadn’t already been too personal, now it really was, but I felt oddly comfortable talking to him. To both of them. “I can’t sign a lease until I have a job, a source of income. Until I have enough money for a deposit and rent.”

  “We’re more of a family than a company here,” he said, “the Portland Storm organization. It’s not just a team. We take care of our own.”

  I didn’t have the first clue what he meant by that.

  The team had almost finished practice by the time I’d gone to see Drywall Tierney, the team’s head equipment manager. He helped me to sort out what gear I needed to take with me and what would be provided in Seattle. They were winding things down on the ice, so I hung around for a bit. I needed to talk to Jamie Babcock.

  Babs was an almost-twenty-year-old hockey phenom and, at least for this season, my roommate. Last season, he’d lived with Zee so he could adjust to life as a pro hockey player and to being away from his mom and dad. When I got called up to finish last season in Portland, I’d lived with them, too. This year, Babs and I both thought it would be better to give Zee and Dana some space, some privacy. We got a condo together near downtown, a nice place not too far from either the arena or the practice facility.

  I liked Babs. He didn’t need me to babysit him or anything, but he had still jumped at the idea of us living together. I was pretty sure it was that he wouldn’t have to figure out how to cook for himself, more than anything, that convinced him it was a good idea.

  Babs wasn’t that great in the kitchen. Actually, he was a holy terror in the kitchen. I’d banned him from ever touching the stove within a week of us moving into the new place. Not much later, I’d added the oven, the toaster, and the coffee maker to the list of off-limit appliances. It was best for all involved if Babs didn’t attempt to make anything more complicated than a peanut butter sandwich.

  When the boys came off the ice, I told him the news about me heading to Seattle for a week.

  He was busy changing out of his gear. “Damn, Soupy,” he said once I finished talking. “That sucks. I mean, it’ll be good to get back on the ice, but…”

  He didn’t have to finish that thought.

  “Anyway, you’ll have to find a way to feed yourself for a week,” I said, making a joke instead of focusing on the fact that, once more, I was on my way down to the minors. It was easier to laugh off my frustration than to face my fears.

  Zee hung his pads neatly in his stall, proving himself to be just about the perfect human once again. His perfection would probably annoy me more if he wasn’t my best friend, but I’d spent more than half my life witnessing it. “You can come hang out with me and Dana some,” he said. “She misses you, and then you won’t have to starve.”

  Babs blushed, which only made him more adorable than he already was. Adorable wasn’t a word I’d usually use about another guy, but this kid slayed me.

  “Yeah, all right,” he said.

  I was glad they were going to look after him. He may not need a babysitter, but he could definitely make good use of a personal chef.

  Before things got even more awkward, I figured it was better for me to just head out. “Yeah. Anyway, I have to be there in the morning. Better go pack so I can get on the road.” It was about a two-and-a-half-hour drive so there was no point in flying.

  I headed toward the garage, but halfway there I saw that redhead, Rachel Shaw, coming down the stairs. She had her head down and was talking to herself, having this whole long, drawn-out conversation back and forth. Well, conversation probably wasn’t quite the right word. It was more like an argument. Out loud. Every step of the way down the stairs.

  I’d never seen anything more adorable, and that included Babs and his fucking blushes and dimples. I moved into position at the foot of the stairs and waited for her.

  Once she was close enough for me to hear what she was saying, I realized she had the most fascinating southern accent I’d ever heard. I must not have heard her say enough when I’d run into her earlier, or I surely would have noticed it. “…But it isn’t for me,” she muttered. “It’s for Maddie and Tuck. I can accept it for them. I have to.”

  She almost walked straight into me, which would have made us even. Plus, it would have given me a great excuse to touch her again, to put my arms out and help steady her. Right before she would have barreled into me she realized I was there, nearly jumping back in shock.

  “Who’s winning?” I asked, giving her a smile that had never failed to make girls melt in the past.

  “Winning what?”

  Yeah, so Rachel Shaw didn’t melt. Instead, she narrowed those green eyes on me, and she had to crane her neck back to see my face. She couldn’t be taller than five feet or so. Definitely not my usual type. Besides, she was eyeing me like I was the most suspicious man on the planet. This chick wanted nothing to do with me.

  I couldn’t seem to help myself, though. I wanted to talk to her, to keep hearing that southern accent. “The argument. Are you going to take it—whatever it is—or not?”

  She pulled the strap of her purse over her head to rest on the opposite shoulder. I let my eyes follow the line it made, angling down her chest, between her boobs. I shouldn’t have done that. But I’m just a man like any other, and as such there are few things in the world that will draw my eye like a good pair of boobs. Rachel Shaw definitely had a pair worth looking at to go along with her cute ass.

  Hell, I had to stop thinking like that. I didn’t know the first thing about her.

  She didn’t answer my question. She glared at me, which she absolutely should have done since I was staring shamelessly at her rack. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, pushing past me and heading toward the parking garage. “I have somewhere to be.”

  Since I was already on my way out to the garage, I figured I’d walk with her. She was much faster than me, faster than she should’ve been, considering how short her legs were and how long mine were. I’m six foot four, but I couldn’t walk at anything resembling a leisurely pace if I wanted to keep up with her.

  Which I did—I wanted to keep up with her, keep talking to her, keep hearing that drawl.

  I didn’t really understand it. Not at all. I mean, she was adorable with her freckles and all, but there ought to be a lot more involved in gaining my interest than appearances, shouldn’t there? “Where do you have to be?” I asked despite myself.

  She slowed down enough to give me an exasperated look, but she didn’t stop. “I have to pick my kids up at school.”

  Kids? Shit. I took a quick look down at her hand, but there was no wedding ring. But kids just meant complications—time spent with them, dealing with exes—and I had enough complications of my own. Not that it should matter to me. I wasn’t interested. I mean, not really. She wasn’t my type. Other than her breasts. They were nice and perky still, even though she had kids. Not too big, but more than enough to play with.

  I had to remind myself that I had no business thinking about playing with her boobs. This business with getting sent to Seattle was obviously fucking with my head. That didn’t stop me from saying, “School doesn’t get out for a few hours. Can I buy you lunch?” Okay, so maybe I was interested.

  She didn’t slow down. “No.”

  “Coffee, then? That won’t take too long. There’s a place right down—”

  “Not gonna happen.” This time, she stopped suddenly and spun around to face me. “I don’t even know who you are. I’d appreciate it if you’d back off.” Then she started her sprint-walking again.

  We’d made it into the garage, and the heels of her flats were clacking along on the concrete. She pulled her keys out of her pocket, holding the long car key in front of her like a weapon.

  Every time she shot me down, my interest only grew. How the hell did that work? I wasn’t used to being
rejected, not by women. Just by hockey teams lately. “Brenden Campbell,” I said, holding out my hand, but she ignored it and kept going. “What is it? You have a boyfriend or something? A husband?”

  Yeah, there was no ring, but it had to be something like that.

  She stopped in front of a gray Ford Taurus that might have seen better days at one point but it was too beat-up-looking at present for me to be sure. The backseat was littered with toys and a couple of kids’ booster seats. She put the key in the lock and turned it, then opened the door and got in.

  I put my hand on the door, stopping her from shutting it. “Just let me take you out. One date.” One date would be more than enough for me to work my charm on her.

  I had no clue what the look she was giving me meant.

  “I don’t date,” she said emphatically. Then she jerked the door out of my hand and closed it, started the engine, backed out of her spot, and drove off. I stood there watching her Texas license plate fade away into the distance.

  She didn’t date?

  I could have handled something along the lines of I don’t date athletes, or maybe I don’t date cocky bastards who don’t know how to take a hint. I could have figured out a way to work around those excuses, to break down her defenses and get her to see reason. But ‘I don’t date?’ No dating—period? That one statement, complex in its simplicity, had me standing in the parking garage scratching my head for a few minutes after she left.

  I finally started making my way up to my car on the next level, but then I remembered I hadn’t gotten my hotel information from Martha. I would rather get that now than come back to the practice facility before heading out of town, so I made my way back into the building.

  When I got to the second floor and arrived at her desk, Martha didn’t even look up from her computer. Again. She just reached over to a letter tray, picked up an envelope, and handed it to me. “Your hotel reservation and other pertinent information is inside, Campbell. Any questions, just call me.”

  “Thanks, Martha.” I started to walk off, but then my curiosity got the better of me. I came back to her desk. “Actually, I do have one question for you. Who’s Rachel Shaw?”