See Jane Score Read Free

She was one of those natural women who didn’t wear a touch of makeup. The two slashes of her black brows were the only color on her pale face. Her black jacket and pants were shapeless, hiding even a hint of curves. On one shoulder hung a leather briefcase, and in her hand she held a to-go cup of Starbucks.
    She wasn’t ugly—just plain. Some men liked those natural kind of women. Not Luc. He liked women who wore red lipstick, smelled like powder, and shaved their legs. He liked women who made an effort to look good. This woman clearly made no effort at all.
    â€œI’m sure you’re all aware that reporter Chris Evans has taken a medical leave of absence. In his place, Jane Alcott will be covering our home games,” the owner explained. “And traveling on the road with us for the rest of the season.”
    The players sat in stunned silence. No one said a word, but Luc knew what they were thinking. The same thing he was thinking, that he’d rather get puck-shot than have a reporter, let alone a woman, traveling with the team.
    The players looked at the team captain, Mark “the Hitman” Bressler, then they turned their attention to the coaches, who also sat in stony silence. Waiting for someone to say something. To rescue them from the short, dark-haired nightmare about to be foisted on them.
    â€œWell, I don’t believe this is a good idea,” the Hitman began, but one look of Virgil Duffy’s frosty gray eyes silenced the captain. No one dared speak out again.
    No one but Luc Martineau. He respected Virgil. He even liked him a little. But Luc was having the best season of his life. The Chinooks had a real good shot at the Cup, and he’d be damned if he’d let some journalist ruin it for them. For him. This had disaster written all over it.
    â€œWith all due respect, Mr. Duffy, have you lost your friggin’ mind?” he asked and pushed himself away from the wall. There were certain things that happened on the road that you just didn’t want the rest of the country to read about over a bowl of Wheaties. Luc was more discreet than some of his teammates, but the last thing they needed was a reporter traveling with them.
    And there was always the jinx factor to consider. Anything out of the norm could turn their good luck bad. And a woman traveling with them was definitely out of the norm.
    â€œWe understand you boys’ concerns,” Virgil Duffy continued. “But after a great deal of thought and the assurance of both the Times and Ms. Alcott, we can guarantee you all your privacy. The reporting in no way will infringe on your personal lives.”
    Bullshit, Luc thought, but he didn’t waste his breath arguing further. Seeing the determination on the owner’s face, Luc knew it was pointless. Virgil Duffy paid the bills. But that didn’t mean Luc had to like it.
    â€œWell, you better prepare her for some real crude language,” he warned.
    Ms. Alcott turned her attention to Luc. Her gaze was direct and unwavering. One corner of her mouth lifted as if she were slightly amused. “I’m a journalist, Mr. Martineau,” she said, her voice more subtle than her gaze, a surprising mix of soft femininity and edgy determination. “Your language won’t shock me.”
    He gave her a wanna-bet smile and made his way to his stall at the back of the room.
    â€œIz she woman who write colmunz about finding date?” asked Vlad “the Impaler” Fetisov.
    â€œI write the Single Girl in the City column for the Times, ” she answered.
    â€œI thought that woman was Oriental,” Bruce Fish commented.
    â€œNo, just bad eyeliner,” Ms. Alcott explained.
    Christ, she wasn’t even a real sports reporter. Luc had read her column a few times, or at least he’d attempted to read it. She was the woman who wrote about her and her friends’ trouble with men. She was one of those women who liked to talk