Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(7)
Her sister’s brash voice served as a defibrillator, zapping Breezy back to life and the fact she was on the clock, not the steamy Playboy Grotto. “And . . .” She licked her too-dry lips before continuing, “Don’t forget to sign up for the summer reading challenge by the checkout desk. Lots of great prizes to win, including tickets to the Hellions home opener next season. Unmask the Super Reader in you.” Impulsively, she flexed her biceps in a double muscle pose.
The gesture tested the limits of the old costume.
Air-conditioned air kissed her suddenly bare skin as the threadbare material gave way in an audible rip. Make that her bare-ass skin.
Worse, she’d fallen behind on laundry and this morning the only clean underwear remaining in her dresser was her “Fox-trotting Foxes” thong.
Before the full impact of the fashion disaster could register, a crunch of Gore-Tex encircled her hips. A silent scream detonated deep inside her skull. Jed West had his actual hands on her actual body, albeit through his rain jacket that he pressed to her naked butt cheeks with enough force to staunch blood flow, or more aptly, her wounded pride.
The universe had a seriously sinister way of granting wishes. The pensive expression in his eyes couldn’t be further from passionate ardor. This wasn’t that sultry “Wanna play plant the parsnip?” look she’d imagined earlier. It was pity. She was an expert in being on the receiving end of those sorts of faces.
Tonight Jed would take some svelte Sports Illustrated model out for cocktails, tell her about his crazy day, and they’d laugh and laugh.
She’d be relegated to the punch line of a funny story, a walking, talking joke. Salt burned the insides of her eyelids, a warning that tears weren’t lagging far behind.
“Why don’t you borrow this and get changed?” Jed didn’t sound as if he was fighting off a chuckle. No, he sounded grave, kind even.
Of course he did.
Everyone knew Westy was a good guy. The captain who always had complimentary words for the opposing team, never failed to yield the spotlight to teammates. He’d offered to stick around and sign autographs for children, and now had been blinded by a jilted librarian’s full moon. He wasn’t going to mock her. But he wasn’t going to really see her either, at least not as a woman. Just an awkward calamity.
“T-thank you.” She stumbled, but he was already turning to walk toward Neve. As he reached for the first notepad pressed into his hand, a dozen camera phones flashed like paparazzi.
“Jed West?” Daisy, her librarian tech, sidled up with an incredulous laugh. “Wow! Way to throw a wrench into Tater Tots’s plans. You might have bought us a reprieve today. No way can they shut us down after that stunt.” Tater Tots was the secret code name for their dour boss, Janet Tater. The lady disliked anyone under the age of sixteen, and barely tolerated the boisterous noise that often floated from the children’s department.
“Cover me,” Breezy blurted, hoisting the jacket at her waist. “I have to go.”
“What? Where?” Daisy’s blond bob swung as she jerked back her head.
“I have a . . . uh . . . to make an urgent call.” Breezy scuttled backward, one hand clutching her exposed rump. The back exit led to the stairwell, one that would take her to the first floor. From there she could cut across the nonfiction section to the handicap bathroom and change. That toilet was rarely used so it was a safe place to release the tears building—hot and terrible—behind her twitching lids.
“You can’t leave, I don’t care if the pope is on the phone.” Daisy flashed an incredulous look. “What’s gotten into you? Jed West is here. Your Jed West.”
In addition to the Westy mug, Breezy had a wall calendar of him hanging behind her desk, a gift from last year’s office secret Santa. The library volunteers kept her supplied with a steady stream of fangirl-related gifs, memes and interview clips.
“Listen to me.” Her self-control rapidly approached a breaking point. “I’m out of commission. You have to hold down the fort. Make sure these families don’t leave without signing up for the summer reading challenge. Oh, and please thank my sister. She is amazing. A goddess.”
Daisy stuck her hands on her hips, but before she could rattle off more questions Breezy barreled through the exit and into the stairwell. By the time she hit the main floor, she was panting.
“Breezy? Breezy, honey, what happened?” A concerned female voice piped from the reference desk. She didn’t turn to see which of the senior volunteers asked the question. A couple of men waved from the public access computers as she blew past like a human tornado. At the last moment, she veered out the main exit.
The sliding doors opened and she burst into the parking lot, slamming a hand shield over her eyes to peer through the downpour.
Screw the bathroom. Better to get the hell out of Dodge and fast.
The trouble was that her purse was locked in her bottom desk drawer. Ah, wait. She sighed in relief. A spare key was hidden behind the bumper. Squatting, she fished it out as the costume’s fabric ripped more. Her hamstrings were now exposed too, but whatever, the worst of damage was done. Opening the door to her yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she climbed into the driver’s seat.
Rain hammered the roof like a furious punctuation to the whole sorry affair. “Oh my God,” she muttered between ragged breaths. But that didn’t come close to releasing the hot emotion building inside her, squeezing each rib like a vise.