“Afraid of a girl?”
The bear was well and fully poked. Those eyes were almost lasering through him. With a shrug, he swung himself around the car and opened the passenger door. He’d barely folded himself in when a blast of rap music assailed his ears and Bridget tore out of the parking lot.
Mike propped his hand against the roof of the little car to keep from falling on Bridget as she down shifted for the turn. He should have known that anyone who fell for his car the way she had would drive a stick. And skillfully, too, though she was going a little too fast for safety.
“Okay, now that you’ve got me, where are we going?” he yelled over the music.
“To play hockey!”
Mike wedged himself against the door. He didn’t know what she had in mind, but this was more fun than he’d had in a while.
SHE OBVIOUSLY KNEW the way well, and as she took another side street, he realized he was lost. But they finally pulled up in front of a brick two-story on a dead-end street. Bridget pulled out the keys, and Mike welcomed the sudden silence as the “music” stopped in mid-phrase. She slammed out of the car and stalked up the driveway before unlocking the garage door and sliding it open.
Inside was hockey gear. A moment passed. Then he realized that when she said they were going to play hockey, she hadn’t meant on a screen or table. She wanted to play road hockey. He almost laughed. Sure, she was a good swimmer, but did she really think she could take on a professional hockey player?
Apparently, she did. She was dragging a net down the driveway. Mike opened the door and got out of the car. As she set up the net on the street, he noticed that the block was perfect for playing road ball. Originally, the plan must have been for the street to extend further; the pavement stretched out another fifty feet then dead-ended at a chain-link fence and an abandoned parking lot. There were pink and blue lines marked in chalk. This was a well-used space for road hockey. He’d have loved access to something like this when he was growing up.
“Go get some gear on,” she ordered.
“Seriously?”
“Chicken?” she asked.
Mike laughed. He felt like a seven-year-old being dared.
“So what position am I supposed to play?”
“I thought you were a goalie,” she taunted.
Challenge accepted, Mike thought. He wasn’t sure what she thought she was trying to prove, but he could handle a girl in road ball, even if his game had been off lately. He’d better be able to...
He followed her back to the garage where there was an impressive amount of gear for both road and ice hockey. She pointed to a pile of goalie equipment, and he picked through for the largest pads he could find, then tested a couple of sticks before settling on one. She tossed him a helmet, and he put it on. It wasn’t anything like his own, but if she managed to fire a ball at his face, he was sure there’d be a lot of force behind it.
Bridget was holding a couple of tennis balls and what was obviously her own helmet and stick. Both showed signs of wear. Mike wasn’t surprised. While he was confident he was better than she was, she was obviously athletic, practiced at road hockey and highly motivated. So was he.
“So what are the rules?” he asked once they were back on the road. He knocked the sidebars of the net with the stick to check its size and stability. Then he tapped the stick on the road a couple of times and turned to see what she was planning. He could see her focus through the thick glasses.
“I’m going to score. You’re going to try to stop me. Play to five?”
“We’ll need to stop before that. You’re not going to score.”
Eyes blazing, she started.
* * *
SHE WAS GOOD. He had to give her that. Much better than he’d expected. She occasionally whiffed completely, but she was fast, smart and very determined. She could place the ball exactly where she wanted, and with a lot of force.
Mike, however, was better than good. He was one of the best. He’d grown up playing road hockey and it wasn’t a difficult transition from the ice back to the pavement. He had lightning-fast reflexes and could read a player’s intentions from their body language and expression. He was soon in his zone, watching her every move and glance. She didn’t score. She did come close, tested him pretty well, but he was just as determined as she was, and this time, it was his element, not hers.
After fifteen furious minutes, Bridget called time. Pulling up her face guard, she looked at Mike. He stood up to his full height, shoving up his face guard as well.
“I guess I owe you an apology,” Bridget said after a pause, her previous anger clearly dissipated.
Mike looked down at her. “It’s okay. I admit to provoking you. And this was actually a lot of fun. You’re not bad—for a girl.” He grinned at her.
“You’re not bad, either—for a...for a guy from Quebec,” she countered. “But I should probably get you back now—”
A car had pulled up on the street behind hers. She turned, and stiffened. A man got out of the car. He was older than Mike and had flaming red hair that matched Bridget’s. Not old enough to be her father—a brother? Uncle? Another car followed, and two more guys got out, neither with the red hair.
“Hold on, Bridge! We’ll join you in a minute,” said the red-haired man.
He jogged up to the house and went in the front door. The two non-redheads were pulling gear out of their trunk. Bridget sighed and turned to Mike.
“Sorry, that’s my brother Patrick.”
“I’d guessed that.”
“And two of Cormack’s friends.” She gestured toward the other men who had now opened the garage and were grabbing another net.
“Cormack must have told them we were playing. They think they’re joining us. If you want to get in the car, I’ll throw this stuff in the garage and we can get you out of here.”
The sound of the front door closing interrupted her. “Three on three?” Patrick hollered. “Who’s your guy, anyway?”
“Put your mask back down. I’ll tell them we’re done and get rid of them.”
Mike thought for a moment. He had no place to go except his hotel, and he’d seen more than enough of that. Maybe it would be fun.
“Or we could play. Think we can take them?” he offered.
Bridget whipped back to face him, eyes sparkling. “Really? You have no idea how much I would like to take them down a notch, or ten.”
Mike had to smile at the way her face lit up. “Sure. I’m having fun. Are you going to tell them who I am?”
“Are you nuts?” she asked and waved at his mask.
Mike put the face guard back down. He had no idea where this was going, but it was certainly more interesting than watching hockey on TV alone at the hotel. Playing on the road, no stakes beyond pride: this was what it was like growing up, when he always played goalie because he was the smallest. He wasn’t the smallest anymore. He thought he had at least four inches on any of the others, but that flash of joy he’d felt back then was here.
* * *
CORMACK, ANOTHER REDHEAD, came out the front door dressed up in goalie pads while his two buddies set up the second net. Mike wondered what the family was like when all the redheads’ tempers flared.
Bridget crossed her arms as the four men came down the driveway. “You know, we were