Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

TRAVIS

“That jerk, LaFontanay busted my darn lip, and my eye is swelling - again,” Travis grumbled, glancing across the ice once more to see that gorgeous woman staring at the game with her hands delicately covering her mouth as she watched two other players fist fighting once more. “Coach isn’t going to be happy if Gerry is thrown from the game again. I’m telling you, we’re gonna be bag skating again. Quit punching him and just get the darn biscuit, Gerry!”

“ Arrêt, Gerard , mets ton cul dans le jeu! Arrêt!” Theo Batiste hollered angrily beside him, cursing fluently at the fist fight going on currently, banging on the plexiglass. “He’s going to get in trouble, non?”

“Yep! Eh, eh, we’re up and ‘Bambi’ is coming off the ice,” Travis shot out of his seat, chancing a glance at the girl, before stepping onto the ice and sliding to take his place. He glided forward, moving into place and grinning behind his mask just to irritate the crap out of the other players.

“Heya ‘cherry pickers,’ ain’t nobody playing with you today, boys? Watch and learn how it’s done, eh fellas?”

“ Mais oui, fils de…” Theo grinned – and Travis flinched as the man finished his statement with a foul word that even he knew with his limited French that Theo had taught him. He couldn’t ask for directions in French, but boy, he could insult someone’s entire generation, horses, and every religion known to man… fluently .

Theo spat on the ice, enunciating his thoughts – and Travis translated quickly before the puck hit the ice.

“He says, ‘Hello’…”

“No,” Theo corrected in very thick English, “I says ur a buncha sonsa …”

“He said you are ‘chippy’ players and look like you could take a beating.”

“ Eh!” one man yelled out angrily, waving his stick. “ Je sais ce que ton fou a dit…”

“Uh oh…”

“Fou? Fou? Ostie qu’il m’énerve!”

“Whoa boy…” Gerry grinned, looking at Travis as Theo started screaming at the man in front of him, puffing his chest up.

“Va ta faire a voire…”

“And here go the gloves…” Travis muttered under his breath. Sure enough, Theo looked at him, then at Gerry, and he nodded, sighing heavily. His buddy called it, and it was time for the team to deliver.

All three men flung off their gloves in solidarity, the six protective items flopping onto the ice in unison… as a roar erupted in the stands. The gloves were a clear signal it was game-on, and someone was about to get their rear-end beat – royally.

“ Va ta faire a voire, toi et ta mère, je vais te faire t’étouffer avec tes dents ,” Theo was screaming as they launched at each of the other players angrily, still yelling wildly, his body flailing over the other men who had no idea what to expect from the hot-tempered hockey player.

“I got that word,” Travis grunted, hitting the other player and landing a good one directly on his cheekbone that stung his knuckles .

“Not bad,” the guy grunted. “What’d he say?”

“Something about your boy’s mother – oh! And teeth…” he uttered, as the guy’s fist made contact with his jaw. “ Dents is teeth, of which I want to keep, dang it.”

“Ce naiiseux… les nouilles ne sont pas toútes dans la soupe!”

“He’s pissed.”

-punch-

“Very…”

-punch-

“Anyone ever tell you,” -punch- “that your face is like a wall?”

Travis landed another blow just as hands started to pull him away. Theo was raging, struggling to get back at the other man who hocked a mouthful of spit and blood directly at him, wincing as the string of words got even louder.

“Theo! Hey man…” Travis said, pulling his buddy toward the penalty box, where they had both been sent. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We both know he’s no good. Let’s just sit this ‘dime’ and we’ll be back in for another round.”

“Hey Giroux!”

“Yeah?”

“Did ya’ see the ‘Holly Hotpants’ in the stands wearing your jersey?”

“How do you think she got it?” Travis taunted, fully intending to say ‘hello’ again as soon as he got a chance. He’d seen her looking at him every chance she got, and the feeling was mutual. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, and the fact that they liked the same stuff did not go unnoticed.

“I’m gonna get her number…”

“Back off and leave her alone, hoser,” Travis growled protectively.

“Maybe she’d rather have a ‘liney’ than a center, eh?”

“Leave her alone…”

Theo stood up and pointed at the other player near Travis.

“ C’est un gros cochon… Leeev ’er alone, okay? ”

“Thanks, Theo,” he grinned as Holden, their lineman, rolled his eyes. Turning to sit down, he risked a look at her across the way and raised his hand slightly to say ‘Hello’ silently… only to see her frown as she pointed to her chin, then at him, before back at her chin.

Travis gave her a thumbs up… wincing as his lip split again from smiling too broadly. She wanted to know if he was okay? Oh yeah, he was definitely going to say ‘hello’ and get her number after the game. Looking at the clock, he pointed at it, then himself, and held up his thumb and finger to his face pretending to use the phone only to see her smile brightly – and feel Theo backhand him on the chest, pointing at the screen above.

There, on the screen, was his busted-up face, grinning… and on the split-screen - was his mysterious girl. Someone had noticed them trying to communicate, and the crowd was eating it up. There was a ton of cheering and some booing by a few people, but he couldn’t help the sheer joy just seeing that brought to his heart.

He was gonna be watching SportsCenter tonight to see if this was on the recap.

As the game came to a close, Travis turned and grabbed a pen from the pocket of one of the assistant coaches. “Be right back with this,” he said simply and didn’t wait. Surging out onto the ice, he made eye contact with his girl and pointed toward the doorway in the distance.

And everyone noticed.

Heading toward the corner boards, the small gate along the wall that would allow the Zamboni onto the ice, he saw her heading there among the crowd. As he got close, he smiled and started signing autographs, giving her time to get closer through the crowd hopefully, allowing it to clear out just a bit .

“Hey!” Travis called out over a few heads, seeing her smile. “What’s your name?”

“Rebecca Baird, but my friends call me Becca or Becky… and you?” and then she hesitated, laughing nervously and pointed at her shirt. “You are number eighty – Giroux. Are you okay? I mean,” she left off, pointing at her face… and he smiled, before wincing.

“Travis,” he corrected, adoring the way her cheeks got pink. “I’m fine. This is nothing, honestly, but I’d like to explain all of that over dinner sometime, Rebecca… so what shall I call you?”

“Yours?”

Both looked at each other in that split second – and then she stammered again.

“Um, well, that came out wrong. I meant to say ‘your friend’ and…”

“I think it came out exactly the right way,” Travis interrupted knowingly and fought back the urge to fist-pump the air. “Do you have any paper? Or your cell phone?”

“No. I left it with my friend.”

“Stick out your arm,” he ordered, biting the tip off the pen that he’d been using to sign a few autographs, and looked at her as he pulled up the sleeve. “Cover this… please?” and proceeded to write his cell number on the soft underside of her wrist.

“Just you,” he said pointedly, holding her gaze. “Not your friends or anyone else, okay? Call me and leave a message if I’m on the ice.”

“Okay,” she agreed breathlessly, staring at him.

“Dinner next week,” he suggested and yanked her shirtsleeve back down over her wrist. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

***

As Travis got back to the locker room after soaking in an ice bath for his aching body, he checked his cell phone and hesitated, shocked. There were four hundred and thirty-nine text messages… and his voicemail box was full.

“What in the world happened?” he uttered bluntly – only to get slapped on the chest by one of the guys, laughing, chewing on something, and pointing at the television.

“Turn it up for Loverboy… eh?”

Travis had a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he saw that photo of him writing on Becca’s wrist – as the camera zoomed in, magnifying his personal cell phone number for all the world to see. In the time that he was watching that mocking bit of reporting, discussing his desperate attempts at picking up a fan after the game on the screen, his phone had beeped four more times.

Four more text messages.

“Craaaaap…” he drawled in aggravation, slapping his forehead as the guys patted him on the back, laughing.

“It’s okay,” his coach chimed in, walking into the locker room behind him. “Maybe you took one too many hits to the face, eh, pretty boy? Next time I tell you and Theo to keep your darn gloves on – you’ll do it .”

“Yes, sir.”

Travis knew better than to argue with his coach, especially after his cell phone started ringing – again. His coach looked at it pointedly, rolled his eyes, and walked off exasperated. Flipping off the volume, he clicked ignore as the phone rang again… and again. He was going to have to get a new number.

This was never going to stop.

“Dang it,” he sighed heavily. “I hope you actually text, Becca… ‘cause I don’t think I can empty my voicemail fast enough to allow you to leave a message.”

Attempting to dial his agent, he quickly hung up as his phone picked up another call – and then tried calling him again, trying to get through as he was yanking his clothing out of the locker. He was just going to get a second phone – and put this one on silence or get it disconnected. He couldn’t handle this mess right now and had a headache from the pounding his jaw took earlier… in fact, his head was ringing as the stupid phone kept still pinging audibly as text after text came through .

“Ughhhh…” he muttered, frustrated.

Dressing quickly, he slapped a hat and some sunglasses on his head, before marching out to his vehicle. He was going to the closest cellular store, then going home to get some rest.