Body Check (17 page)

Ty watched as his best friend deliberately waited until Janna had departed the lounge before joining him on the couch.
Shoot,
Ty thought.
Busted.

Working hard to suppress a smile, Kevin said, “So, how's it going, pal?”

“It's going great. You?”

“Great, great.” Curiosity danced all over Kevin's face. “So what's up between you and Janna, huh?”

“Nothing.” Ty struggled to remain stone-faced. “Why?”

“Oh, man, don't bullshit me. I've known you too long, and the vibe in here was just too weird.” He picked up the paper and began casually perusing it. “You guys seeing each other?”

“In a way.”

Kevin slowly put the paper down. “What does that mean?” Before Ty could formulate an answer, Kevin came up with his own. “Oh, Christ. Don't tell me you're playing with her.”

Ty stared at him, offended. “I'm not ‘playing' with her.” He glanced around again, even though the place was empty, save for the two of them. “We're casually dating, okay? And that's between you, me, and the walls.”

“Casually dating?” Kevin looked distressed. “What does that mean? You're screwing her, no strings attached?”

Ty couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You really think I'm a jerk, don't you?”

“Not at all,” Kevin insisted. “I just know where your head is at right now as far as women are concerned.”

“Yeah, and that's where Janna's head is at as far as men are concerned. She wants to keep it casual, too.”

Kevin looked dubious. “She told you that?”

“No, I'm making it up.
Yes,
she told me that.” He reached down and finished his juice. “Why are you getting so bent out of shape over this?”

“Because this isn't some bimbo you bang a few times and send on her way. This is an intelligent, interesting, nice woman.”

“I
know
that,” was Ty's irritated response. Why the hell was Kevin lecturing him?

“Well, I just want you to know that if you hurt this intelligent, interesting, nice woman, your ass will be grass, my friend.”

“Whoa.” What was this? Now his best friend was threatening him? “What the hell is going on here, Kev? Care to fill me in?”

“I like Janna. Abby and I both do. That night at the bar, we could tell something was happening between you two, or was about to.”

“So?”

“If you weren't concentrating on winning the Cup again, you'd see that this is a woman who could make you—”

“Halt. Stop. Time out. We are not going down this road. I want it casual. Janna wants it casual. End of story. I don't want to hear this.”

Kevin rose. “Because it's true?”

“Because it's none of your concern.” He could feel his shoulders knotting with tension and stood up, grimacing. “C'mon, we better get to Tubs's office, he's probably throwing a fit by now.”

“I meant what I said,” Kevin reiterated as the two headed out of the players' lounge. “Hurt that woman and you die.”

“Got it,” Ty bit out. He didn't like being told what to do. Hated even more being told what
not
to do, especially by someone so close to him. But he'd gotten the message, loud and clear. Whether or not it was heeded, however, was strictly up to Janna.

 

 

“I can't. I promised Theresa I'd come home tonight so she can tell me all about her date with Lex.”

“You can hear about it tomorrow. Stay.”

Janna sighed, closing her eyes. The thought was tempting. Snuggled beneath a thick, downy comforter with Ty's body possessively wrapped around her, the last thing on earth she wanted to do was drag herself out of his king-size bed and trudge back out into the arctic night, cabbing it alone back to her place. It was a little after one A.M. Theresa might not even be home yet. She could always leave a message on their answering machine, swearing she'd be home first thing in the morning, couldn't she? Theresa would understand.

Her hand darted out from beneath the covers to reach for the phone, but just as quickly she retracted it. No, Theresa would not understand. Theresa was Sicilian, and claimed that when you made a promise to a Sicilian, you'd better keep it or else. If she wasn't home waiting for her, or if she stayed with Ty, Theresa would be very pissed. Home it was.

She snuggled closer to Ty. Five more minutes in his embrace and then she'd get up. Just five more minutes. His breathing was relaxed, the feel of his arms around her the most natural thing in the world. And the sex that had preceded it—Mother of God. They said practice makes perfect. She didn't want to think about how many women before her Ty had “practiced” with, but she was certainly glad to be the current beneficiary of it. The man knew how to please a woman, knew the delights of long, slow, bring-you-right-to-the-edge foreplay followed by a dazzling display of building to climax that left her feeling she might lose consciousness. The irony was that she had feared he might be awful in bed: quick, selfish, and clueless as so many men, so many athletes, reputedly were, the deliciously frenzied incident in her kitchen an aberration. But he was anything but.

Drowsily, she lifted her head and peered across the room to his open bedroom door. She could see the trail of clothing they'd left snaking down the hallway to the edge of the bed in their eagerness to come together. Janna was glad she'd decided to go home with him after all. Initially, she wasn't going to; the Blades had been beaten badly on home ice, and Ty's impassioned post-game postmortem could be heard through the closed door of the locker room. It wasn't pretty. She wasn't so sure his black mood would lift once he left Met Gar.

Not only that, but the cloak-and-dagger logistics involved in getting to his place were slightly off-putting. First Ty had to come up with an excuse for why he wouldn't be going to the Chapter House with his teammates, which is what they always did after a losing game. Then there was the issue of transportation: so as not to invoke suspicion, they took separate cabs, Janna's arriving ten minutes earlier than Ty's. The watchdog doorman of his building wouldn't let her wait for him in the plush lobby, so she was forced to stand outside on the sidewalk, stamping her feet to keep the cold at bay. By the time his cab rolled up, she was sure she'd lost her nose to frostbite, and her own mood had soured considerably.

Thankfully, he had brandy in his apartment to warm her up, though not much else. The apartment made her think of a high-tech monk's cell. It was spare yet modern, a wide screen TV dominating one wall, a state-of-the-art entertainment system encased in black lacquer claiming another. There were no personal touches to be found: no pictures of friends and family, no display case full of trophies and Stanley Cup rings to admire. The entire feeling of the place was rather impersonal. It needed a human touch—a woman's touch, though as soon as Janna had that thought, she knew she'd never give it voice. When she questioned him about the austerity of the place and its lack of warmth, Ty just shrugged.

“I guess I don't really think of it so much as ‘home' as a place to sleep, or rest before games,” he admitted.

So where was home, she asked him.

“The ice.”

She should have known.

Her five minutes were up. Tenderly kissing his collarbone, she gently disentangled herself from him.

“I really do have to go.”

He went to kiss her but Janna sat up.

“I have to go, Ty,” she repeated, though it was the last thing she wanted to do.
“Really
.
”

Ty sighed, resigned. “Shall I call you a car?”

Janna smiled appreciatively. “That would be nice.”

Leaning over, he playfully nipped her hip where she was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Would you like a playmate in the shower?”

Just picturing it made Janna's blood begin to stir anew. “I would, but I'd better not, or I'll never get out of here.”

“That's the general idea.”

“You're a wicked man, Captain Gallagher.” She glanced back towards the ribbon of strewn clothing stretching out beyond the door. “Could you do me a favor? Could you gather up my clothes while I'm in the bathroom and put them on the bed?”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Mmm,” Janna purred. “I'll keep that in mind for next time.”

 

 

Next time. Bundled
up in the back of a Lincoln Town Car as it glided down the near silent streets, Janna felt a warm, confident glow as she thought about the next time she and Ty would be together. He had been the perfect gentleman, escorting her downstairs to meet the car, instructing the driver on where to go and charging the ride to his account, before his lips brushed tenderly against hers in farewell. None of which she had expected somehow, but all of which she enjoyed. Paranoia had gripped her when they stepped out of his building onto the sidewalk together; after all, you never knew who might be around, especially in midtown, where Ty had—insanely, in Janna's opinion—chosen to live. But the lateness of the hour worked in their favor; no one seemed to take any notice of them at all. Then again, this was New York. Nine times out of ten, no one noticed anyone else anyway.

She watched the world rush by outside her window, the late night bar and club patrons spilling out onto the wide sidewalks, laughing and talking. And it hit her: the blush of heat beginning to flicker deep within her was happiness. She mouthed the word to herself:
happiness
. At first the sensation surprised her. Yet the more she thought about it, the more it frightened her. It implied a depth of feeling not consonant with the concept of “casual.” Casual meant fun, it meant fluff, it meant easygoing. Relaxed. Well, her body was certainly relaxed, but her mind wasn't, and neither was her heart. This thing, this small seed of happiness taking root, felt untamed, like it had a life of its own. It was one thing to be happy over the quality of the sex, quite another to be happy because of who she was having it with.
Attraction, not emotion. That's the key. Attraction not emotion, attraction not emotion, attraction not emotion . . .

The car came to a halt outside her building and Janna made her way inside, stopping to chat with the overnight doorman who pretended to be watching the building's video monitors, but was really absorbed in an infomercial on a tiny TV.

Riding the elevator up to her apartment, Janna's sense of curiosity began to peak. She wondered how Theresa's night out with Lex the Wonder Boy had gone. They seemed to hit it off in the locker room when she'd reintroduced them, and by the time the Blades had skated out onto the ice, they'd already made plans to go for dinner at a tiny Ukrainian restaurant Lex frequented. Janna hoped it had gone well for Theresa's sake, as well as her own, especially after all the nagging she'd had to endure.

She opened the door to their apartment and stepped inside. The living room was pitch black. Had Theresa already gone to bed? She paused; it was then she heard the sound of sniffling coming from the direction of the sofa.

“Theresa?”

The sniffling stopped, but the room remained dark. Alarmed, Janna felt for the light switch and turned it on. Light flooded the room, and there on the couch sat Theresa in her bathrobe, arms locked tightly around her waist as if trying to hold her guts in. Her eyes were swollen and blotchy from crying, her left cheek bruised.

“Oh my God.” Janna rushed to her side. “What happened?”

Theresa mumbled incoherently and shook her head.

“Theresa, talk to me.
Theresa
.”

Still she said nothing. Unsure of what to do, Janna put an arm around her and began stroking her friend's hair. Theresa stiffened beneath her touch. Panic mounting, Janna took her hands away but remained beside her. “Terry, please, tell me what happened. Whatever it is, I can help. Please.”

As if in a fog, Theresa slowly turned to face her. The anguish in her friend's eyes brought Janna's heart to her throat, the pain reflected there was so intense. She waited. Theresa just kept staring. Then, without a word, she curled up and put her head in Janna's lap. Neither moved. Neither spoke. The minutes passed, Janna literally sitting on her hands after Theresa's previous rebuff, feeling useless. When Theresa finally did speak, it was just one sentence, uttered in a voice so dead it gave Janna the chills.

“Lubov tried to rape me.”

 

 

 

 

The story came
out in fits and starts, punctuated by choking sobs. A not-so-simple story of a casual dinner gone awry, of an invitation to come up for a nightcap that was a pretense for violence.

Hearing Theresa stutter it out, Janna could picture the scene perfectly: Her friend and Lubov mellow after a few drinks each, Theresa agreeing to go back to his place for one more. Lubov moving in for a kiss. Theresa succumbing. Then panic setting in as he refused to heed the word
No
as his hands groped and roamed and squeezed, as he pinned her down with his body and stuck his hand up her skirt, yanking, tugging, not letting go. Theresa struggling, Theresa yelling, Theresa getting backhanded across the face, Theresa biting. The shock of her bite stunning Lubov long enough for her to jerk her knee up to his groin. Then him crumpling off her yowling “You bitch, you bitch, you whore.” Theresa running. Theresa alone in a cab weeping. Theresa at home frantically brushing her teeth, desperate to erase the bitter taste of wine and forced kisses from her mouth. Theresa in the shower scrubbing the invisible filth of him off her, no penetration but violation, feeling soiled, frightened, like she couldn't breathe, like maybe this was her fault.