On the Surface (In the Zone) (4 page)

“That’s my girl,” Tammy said, handing her a twenty. “It’s on me today.”

“What’s on you?” a male voice said.

Erin knew that voice. She fantasized about it whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

“Lunch,” she replied, turning to Dr. O and smiling. “I’m going on a burger run.”

“Can I get in on that? I’m starving.” He pulled out his wallet. “Where are you going?”

“Q Burger. I have one of those punch cards. You know? Buy ten, get the eleventh free kind of thing.”

“I love that place. Can you get me a Wicked Good and fries?”

“No drink?” Erin said, writing it down on a scrap of paper.

“I’ll grab some coffee from the lounge.”

“Got it.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” Dr. O said, and Erin left the hospital with a spring in her step. If all went well, she and Dr. O would soon be lunching together, bonding over burgers.

Chapter Four

San Diego was home to a small but very popular hamburger chain called Q Burger. The canny owner, a rabid hockey fan, put a Barracuda Burger on the menu and once a year, the Barracudas fanned out to all ten locations to sign autographs and eat as many Q Burgers as they wanted, Barracuda or otherwise. Twenty percent of the profits went toward the Barracuda Foundation, which sponsored projects to benefit the underprivileged children of San Diego.

Tim’s email had said the signing was from twelve to two. After that, the players’ obligation ended. Tim always stayed at signings as long as he could. The fans helped make it possible for him to make a very good living by playing a game he loved. Today, however, he figured he might take off right at two. Even though it had been promoted, he didn’t expect many San Diego fans cared about meeting him. He was still a virtually unknown quantity to them.

There was already a line, attended to by the Barracuda staff, who were dressed in blue-and-silver track suits with the team logo emblazoned on the back of their jackets. Under a portable awning, they’d set up a table with a deep blue tablecloth and a banner with the team logo on it.

One of the staff members—Jasmine, according to her name tag—waved him over. They shook hands and she introduced him to the other player, who turned with a smile.

“Tim, have you met Calder Griffin?”

“Yeah. Hey, Calder.” They shook hands. “I roomed with his brother, Hart, back in the day. Where’s Hart playing now? Seattle?”

Calder scratched his chin. “Yeah. Last I heard.”

Okaaay.

Some hockey-playing brothers were close, supporting each other, training together in the off-season, sometimes even playing on the same team, like the Sedins and the Staals. Others, not so much. Hart and Calder fell into the latter category. Although Tim and Hart had been roommates on the road and Hart had talked about his little brother with fondness, Tim never witnessed them hanging out when their teams played each other.

Calder put his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “I was sorry to hear about your daughter. I registered with the bone marrow people but I wasn’t a match...”

That took Tim by surprise. They hadn’t even been on the same team at the time. “You did?”

Calder shrugged. “Yeah. Word got around. I thought it was worth a try.”

“I appreciate that, man. Means a lot. Thanks.”

They sat at the table.

“Looking forward to the new season,” Calder said. “Should be interesting with you and Sullivan coming in. It’s good to have some veterans in the room.”

Tim sat on the folding chair and gazed out at the people approaching. He saw several Sharpies on the table, a couple bottles of water and two stacks of action photos. Well, Calder’s was an action photo. Since Tim hadn’t played wearing a Barracuda jersey yet, his was a posed shot they’d taken at the press conference where they’d announced his signing with San Diego. In the photo, Tim had a dark blue home jersey on over his street clothes and it looked like a hockey mug shot.

Jasmine beckoned to the fans who had gathered a few feet from the table and said, “Okay, gentlemen, let’s do this.”

* * *

Q Burger was only a couple of blocks away from Good Sam. When Erin got there, she noticed something going on in the parking lot with an awning and people milling in the parking lot. She almost turned around and went to Carl’s Jr. instead, but Dr. O was craving a Wicked Good and she couldn’t disappoint him. As she walked toward the entrance, she noticed some guys signing autographs. Curious, she approached a man in one of the two lines.

“Who’s up there?”

“A couple of the Barracudas,” he answered.

Erin gasped. “The Barracudas who play hockey?”

He looked at her as if she had a low IQ. “Ah, yeah.”

“Oh my God. This is great.” Dr. O would love her if she got him a couple of autographs. She gauged the length of the shorter line—about six people. A girl wearing a Barracuda jersey and hat joined the longer line, probably twenty people. She had a boatload of makeup on which made it hard to estimate her age. She only stood about five feet tall and didn’t have boobs to speak of—at least ones that showed under the enormous hockey jersey she wore.

“Meet me inside when you’re done, Megan. I’m going to get the food.”

“Okay, Dad.”

At that moment, Erin realized she was the only one who wasn’t carrying something for the Barracuda to sign. She looked again at Megan.

“Hey, I like your hat.”

“Thanks.”

Erin smiled. “Is it new?”

“Yes. We got it just before we came here.”

“It’s really nice,” Erin said. “I was wondering if you’d take ten bucks for it.”

Megan cocked her head. “No.” Then she thought about it. “I’ll give it to you for fifty, though.”

Erin gasped. “Fifty bucks! Are you kidding?”

“No.” Megan checked her line.

Erin thought about how much cash she had in her wallet. “Will you take twenty-five?” she asked.

“How about forty-five?”

“That’s highway robbery.”

The girl shrugged. “Well, we got this hat at Sports Central. They had plenty left.”

Erin fumed. The little brat knew she wasn’t about to drive to a store to buy a hat.

Gritting her teeth, she said, “Thirty.”

Dr. O had better appreciate this.

“Deal.” Megan smiled.

“Let me see the hat first.”

Erin examined it and saw Megan had been telling the truth. It was new. As she got out the money, she told herself it was worth it. Dr. O would be touched and thrilled to get a hat autographed by one of those Barracuda guys, right?
Erin you are the bomb!
You know how much I love hockey!
he’d say. Then his expression would turn thoughtful and he’d smile as an idea occurred to him.
Hey
,
how about you and me grab some dinner together tonight?
I’ll pick up some salmon and we’ll grill it at my house.
I
have a wonderful Chardonnay in my wine cellar we can have with it.

“Are we doing this or not?” Megan asked, startling Erin out of her daydream.

“Yes. Here.” She gave her the cash. “Thanks.”

Erin turned her attention to the lines. Megan’s line was by far the longer of the two. Obviously Megan’s guy was popular, but Erin was running out of time. She’d already spent ten minutes bargaining with Little Miss Wheeler Dealer and the lines inside to buy food didn’t look promising. She decided to take a chance on the less-popular player because if someone brought her, say, Kim Cattrall’s autograph, even though Sarah Jessica Parker was her favorite
Sex and the City
girl, she’d still be excited and grateful at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. Hopefully, Dr. O would feel the same way.

With that in mind, she marched forward to stand in the underdog’s line where four people stood in front of her. The closest she had ever gotten to a celebrity was when she’d been at Disneyland and heard that Channing Tatum had been spotted on the Matterhorn. She’d kept her eyes peeled the entire day, alert for a crowd of giddy women, but never spotted him. The most she could claim was that maybe her butt and his butt had shared the same bobsled. Now look at her, about to meet a bona fide pro athlete.

The other player, the one Megan was excited about, was young but seemed to be more readily recognized. His table tag identified him as Calder Griffin. She couldn’t see the tag of the player whose line she was in. Only one person—a guy in cargo shorts, a T-shirt and flip-flops—now stood between her and the mystery player. He had a plastic bag full of what looked like Barracuda merchandise.

“I know you’re only supposed to sign one thing per person, but I was hoping you could bend the rules a little. I got a bunch of Little Brothers. You know, the underprivileged kind. They really love the Barracudas.”

Erin leaned to the right and saw the hockey player had light brown hair, cut close, and gray eyes. He hadn’t shaved, so she could see he could easily grow a pretty impressive beard if he ever wanted to. And he had a small, shallow cleft in his chin that gave his face a boyish quality. Oddly, she felt an urge to rub it with her thumb. She thought hockey players were supposed to be violent, tough bad asses. This guy looked like a big teddy bear. Still, she could tell he worked out a lot. His T-shirt clung to his very developed shoulders, arms and chest. She knew without looking that the man had abs hard enough to crack nuts on.

It occurred to her that Dr. O probably wasn’t a hard body.

Then again, she had heard he liked to play tennis. Tennis players had awesome butts.

The player glanced at a staff member standing nearby. “Jasmine?”

The woman said, “Up to you, Tim.”

So the player’s name was Tim. Progress. She pulled out her phone to see if she could find out his last name.

Tim and Jasmine exchanged glances. Tim sighed and turned the Sharpie over in his hands. Erin noticed he had big hands. Strong hands.

The fan started pulling junk out of the bag—some rolled up posters, three XXL jerseys, a dozen pucks and a hat exactly like Erin’s. She wanted to ask him how much he’d paid for it.

“How many Little Brothers do you have?” Tim asked. His voice was deep and sexy. Erin perked up her ears, curious to see what the guy would say. She didn’t believe his story for one minute. Size XXL for little boys?

The guy just shrugged.

After a moment, Tim said, “You know what? I’m feeling generous today, so let’s do this like an assembly line. You hand me the item, tell me the name of the kid and I’ll sign it just for him.”

Erin grinned. Tim wasn’t as dumb a jock as she’d assumed. She put her phone away, more interested in the drama here than finding out Tim’s last name. She could do that later.

The man stuffed the grocery bag in his pocket. “It’ll be even more efficient if you just straight out sign the stuff.”

“But I’m sure the lovely lady behind you doesn’t mind waiting.”

“Oh, no,” Erin said immediately. “I’m fine with it. Take as long as you want. The Big Brother program is so worthwhile.”

She was going to be so late getting back, but she’d already given in to a flat-chested extortionist and didn’t want to let this scam artist get away with his loot.

“Look,” Scammer said, his posture stiff. “I don’t see what the big deal is. Just sign the stuff and I’m outta here.”

“I
will
sign.” Tim gave him a pleasant smile. “As soon as you tell me what names to inscribe.”

A brief staring contest ensued. Other people had started following the conversation by now. The other player had stopped signing to watch.

“Okay, shit. I’m not really a Big Brother. Is that what you wanted to hear? I made it up. I just need you to sign all this stuff for me so I can sell it. My job pays shit and I need the money.”

Erin noticed the price tag on one of the jerseys. One hundred and thirty-eight bucks. Outrageous. The guy couldn’t be too down on his luck if he could afford to shell out that kind of money. She wondered how much Tim’s autograph added to the selling price. Probably a good amount, considering the trouble this guy was going to.

Tim smiled like a disappointed father. “There. Don’t you feel better now that you told the truth?”

Erin could almost see the steam coming out of the guy’s ears.

“Are you going to fucking sign or not?” he asked.

Erin flinched at the language and the attitude. Already in a surly mood from having to deal with Alana and that little girl, she opened her mouth. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Several heads turned toward her. Scammer spun around. His face had turned a deep red with thin white lines around his mouth and across his forehead.

Uh-oh.

Chapter Five

As Erin faced the autograph scammer, she realized with not a little trepidation he had about seven inches and eighty pounds on her.

“Who the hell asked you?” he said. “Shut the fuck up and mind your own business.”

He raised his hands, fingers pointed toward her and she thought,
You’re not actually going to touch me
,
are you?
And then he did. He gave her a shove, not a hard one, but hard enough to make her stumble backward.

She didn’t think twice. She had two brothers and had learned a long time ago to stick up for herself.

She pushed him back.

He looked shocked at first, then gave her another much-harder shove. This time, she fell backward to land on her rump. Her wrists didn’t like that, but she didn’t pay much attention to the pain because Tim immediately grabbed Scammer by the shoulders and hauled him backward onto the table where he flailed briefly, like a turtle on its back. The next moment, the little instigator was on his feet, but on Tim’s side of the table.

As Erin got up she noticed the Barracuda staff trying to hold Tim back. They weren’t very successful. He got in a couple of good punches, grunting something she couldn’t make out, except for a few F-bombs. Several male fans, including the other hockey player, egged Tim on with colorful language, while many had their phones out to take video.

Suddenly, Tim seemed to regain control. He blew out a breath as staffers surged forward to help the “victim.” The jerk was cursing and crying and Erin would have bet he’d never been in a real fight before. She got a little satisfaction from the fact that he was stupid enough to have pissed off a professional athlete from a sport known for brutality.

“You are so fucking dead!” Scammer shouted. “I’m gonna sue your asses. All your asses. Especially motherfucking Tim Hollander. When I’m through with you, your bank account is going to be nonexistent. In fact, is there a lawyer around here? I’ma hire you on the spot!” He looked around wildly, blood dripping from his nose and down his chin.

No one replied.

Except Erin.

“You’re not going to sue anyone,” she said. “He was only trying to protect me.”

“Give me a fucking break. Do you see this blood? Guy broke my fucking nose!” He stood there, trying to look pathetic and irate at the same time while he wiped his face with his T-shirt making a bigger mess than he started with. “You’re all witnesses. He broke my nose.”

Erin had never seen a fistfight in person before. She didn’t date violent types, but she had seen the aftermath of plenty of fights in the ER before she moved to pediatrics. The presence of all that blood didn’t reveal anything about the seriousness of the injury, and yet, he could be right. Maybe his nose was broken. Her conscience gave her a strong poke and little lecture.
When people get hurt
,
even assholes
,
you need to help them.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Let me see that. I’m a nurse.” She flashed the ID she had on the lanyard around her neck.

Surprisingly, he let her examine him. She wished she had a pair of gloves on her, but she didn’t. She’d have to be extra careful because of the blood. It didn’t take long to determine that no serious damage had been done.

“He didn’t break anything. Your nose is not broken. Go home and put some ice on your face. You’ll be fine.

“But don’t even think about getting a lawyer because I will testify that you laid hands on me first. I’ll also swear that you tried to commit fraud here—impersonating a Big Brother.” Erin decided she watched far too much
Law
&
Order
, but she was on a roll. “Fraud is a felony. Did you know that? You want to be labeled a felon all on account of a couple hockey pucks and a jersey?”

Scammer got this stubborn look on his face, like a child who had cookie crumbs around his mouth but refused to admit to his crime. He snatched up all his stuff and clutched it to his chest, seemingly having forgotten about his grocery bag. He stalked off in a huff while someone said in a scathingly derisive voice, “Pussy.”

A Barracuda staffer hustled over. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

Erin exhaled hard. Now that it was over, she felt a little shaky. “I’m fine. I just...I just need to wash my hands.” She wanted to wash off Scammer’s sticky blood and the grime and grit from the asphalt.

“Oh, of course. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

On the way into the building, the staffer kept apologizing. The restaurant manager went out of his way to reassure her that nothing like this usually happened at Q Burger and that if there was anything he could do to help her, to let him know.

“You can make this food for me,” she said, pulling out the paper with Dr. O’s order on it. “And throw in a number eight combo and a number five, both with onion rings while you’re at it.”

“Sure, sure. Right away. It’ll be on the house.”

After she scrubbed her hands thoroughly, she went back outside. A good number of onlookers lingered. The table had been taken away, and so, apparently, had her hat.

“Damn it,” she said.

* * *

As people slapped him on the back and shook his hand, Tim watched Jasmine and the feisty nurse head toward the restaurant. Her ponytail swung back and forth as she walked. She was small. He could probably toss her over his shoulder like he would a sack of whiffle balls.

He intended to hang around until she came back out. She looked unhurt, but he wanted to make sure.

In the meantime, the staffers were hastily packing shit up. Everyone knew video of this would be on the internet very soon, if it wasn’t already. Some onlooker had probably snapped several pictures of Tim, his fist poised, about to make hard contact with that asshole’s face. Of course, Tim’s own face would be contorted into a mask of anger. He sighed, knowing he didn’t have much time before the shit hit the fan with management.

“Holly.”

Hearing his nickname, Tim turned to see Calder approach, holding out a fist. Tim bumped it and winced. His knuckles hurt like a son of a bitch. The autograph seeker might have been a whiner, but he had a hard fucking face.

“Nice work,” Calder said. “Asshole had it coming.”

“Thanks.”

“But they
will
nail you for this, you know.” Calder meant the media, of course.

Tim nodded in resignation. “Yep. I’m totally fucked.”

“I’ll get on Twitter and do whatever damage control I can.”

“I appreciate it.”

Calder left, tapping away on his phone, and Tim caught a glimpse of the nurse. She’d come out and seemed to be looking for something.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you all right?”

She met his gaze, a small frown wrinkling her forehead. She was petite and cute. She had dark brown hair and big, round, blue eyes that could spit fire. He’d witnessed that already. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell shit about her body because she was wearing one of those shapeless nurse outfits.

“I can’t find my hat,” she said. “Someone stole my hat. I paid thirty stupid dollars for that hat.”

“I meant physically. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, I’m fine. I just want that hat.”

Tim smiled. “You brought a hat for the signing?”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Something like that.”

“Let me see what I can scare up. Maybe someone has one in their car.” He stopped. “Unless you want
my
hat.”

A subset of fans collected pre-worn memorabilia. Most preferred the jerseys worn in a game, complete with board burns, sweat stains, even dried blood. Once, motivated by an admittedly self-serving curiosity, Tim had gone online to check out what stuff went for, and if anything he’d worn was up for sale. He’d found a jersey of his from ‘09 going for seven hundred. Not too shabby. But he wasn’t sure if this woman was into that kind of thing.

He took his hat off and ran his hand over his hair. The cap was practically brand new. He’d only worn it twice.

“You want to give me the hat off your head?” She wrinkled her nose. He took that as a sign she was not into owning a stray hair or two of his, like that weird woman who’d caused a minor ruckus in Chicago by sneaking into the dressing room and making off with, of all things, a bunch of the players’ hairbrushes.

“Or I could get you a brand-new one. That’s the least I can do after you stuck up for me before.” He felt responsible for putting her in harm’s way. Sure, she had started it by mouthing off to that asshole, but if Tim had just signed the shit in the first place and not challenged him, nothing would have happened. “Or if you want a jersey, I could probably swing that instead, get some of the guys to sign it for you.”

Her pretty brown eyes went wide. “Oh my God, that would be awesome.”

Man, she had a great smile. He grinned. “What’s your name?”

“Erin. Erin Collier.”

“I’m Tim Hollander.” He put out his hand, but when she took it, she winced and pulled back.

“Ow.”

“Hey, you
are
hurt,” he said, taking her hand back and looking at her palm. He didn’t like seeing the scrapes, but at least she wasn’t bleeding.

“It’s nothing really.
You’re
the one who’s hurt,” she said, turning the tables and examining his hand now.

He noticed now that she smelled like coconut. It made him wonder what she looked like in a bikini. He could easily picture her frolicking in the surf with him. He loved the beach. That was part of the reason he’d relished this move to San Diego. As she checked his hand out for injuries, he felt an instant and surprising physical attraction. As if sensing it, she looked up at him, her eyes slightly narrowed and her lips pursed.

“I’m fine,” he said, trying not to think about what her hands would feel like on his body, curled around his cock.

She released his hand and he felt disappointed. “I guess you’re right. You look okay, but you should put some ice on those knuckles.” She looked up at him again, this time smiling. “Thanks for leaping to my rescue, by the way. Pretty impressive. But then again, that’s pretty much your job, right?”

He cocked his head at her. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” she said, making like a boxer and throwing a couple of air punches. “Fighting. Hits. Clean and unclean.”

He chuckled. She didn’t know shit about hockey, obviously. He wondered why she was here. He sincerely hoped she wasn’t in it for the money too. “Fights are a necessary evil.”

“Fighting is never necessary,” she said.

“Here’s your food, miss!” the Q Burger manager called out. He came toward them carrying a cardboard box.

“Oh, thanks a lot! Give me just a second.” Erin turned back to Tim. “I’d love to debate the merits of violence with you some more, but I have to get back. I work at Good Samaritan Hospital down the street, but call me when you get that swag.” She pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and jotted down her name and number.

As she walked away, pointing out her car to the Q Burger manager, Tim found himself really wishing he could see her ass, but it was covered up by the baggy tunic she wore.

Damn.

His phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Tim Hollander?” It was a man.

“Yes.”

“This is James Atwater. I’m with the Barracuda PR department.”

Tim sighed. “Wow. That was fast.”

“What was fast?”

“Aren’t you calling about what happened?”

Atwater paused. “Something happened?”

Fuck.

Reluctantly, Tim described the scene.

After a long pause, there was an even longer pause. Tim felt as if a guillotine blade hung above his head.

Eventually Atwater said, “Let me call you back.”

Tim cursed. Management was going to have his ass on a platter with a side of potatoes. The team hadn’t even started training yet and already he’d had embroiled himself in a violent scandal. Media field day didn’t even begin to describe it.

Atwater called back. “I did not need this right now.”

“I know. But I couldn’t let that guy get away with hassling that woman.”

“That’s exactly the angle I’m going to push. You were coming to her rescue. Is she still there?”

“No, she left. But she works at Good Samaritan Hospital as a nurse. Isn’t that where I’m supposed to be signing tomorrow?”

Atwater chuckled. “It sure is. Is she in pediatrics?”

Tim thought back on her outfit. Her top had cartoon monkeys on it. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“So we don’t know if we’ll see her tomorrow,” Atwater said. “Okay. Doesn’t matter. I want to get a statement from her tonight anyway. Do you think she’ll spin it the way we want?”

This was exactly why Tim disliked PR people. They only thought about angles and benefits, and yet every club needed them, especially with news so readily available via social media. To be honest, Tim needed the guy right now.

“I don’t want to her to spin anything,” Tim protested. “If she talks to the press, I don’t want her to say anything but the truth.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just wanted your read on her. Do you think her version of what happened will be favorable to us?”

Tim thought about it. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, she was in line to get my autograph, not Chastain’s. And she openly said she’d stand up for me in court, should it come to that. Do you think I’ll get sued?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Depends on the guy. If he’s greedy enough, he might try. He might try to milk you
and
the club since it was an official appearance. Hell, he could actually try to get something from the league. We’ll have to wait and see on that.” Atwater sighed. “All right. I’ll try to do some damage control when I get off the phone with you, but you know, while I personally admire your willingness to go to bat for a damsel in distress, after Bottlegate, I really would like you to just sign the shit next time. Can you do that for me? Just sign the shit.”

“Will do. Won’t happen again.”

“Now, the reason I called originally was to touch base with you about what’s going on tomorrow, but you’re obviously on top of it. Some guys I have to practically show up at their houses and drag them out of bed.”