See Jane Score Read Free Page A

about “relationships and issues,” as if everything needed to be analyzed to death. As if most problems between men and women weren’t the direct invention of females anyway.
    â€œWho’s she gonna room with on the road?” someone asked from the left, and laughter eased the tension somewhat. The conversation moved from Ms. Alcott to the upcoming four games in an eight-day grind.
    Luc dropped his towel to the floor and dug into his duffel bag. Virgil Duffy had gone senile, Luc thought, as he tossed his white briefs and T-shirt on the bench. That or the divorce he was going through was making him crazy. This woman probably didn’t know a thing about hockey. She’d probably want to talk feelings and dating troubles. Well, she could ask him questions until she turned blue and passed out, he wasn’t going to answer a damn thing. After his troubles of the last few years, Luc no longer spoke to reporters. Ever . Having one travel with them wasn’t going to change that.
    He pulled his briefs up over his behind, then glanced over his shoulder at Ms. Alcott before he slipped his T-shirt over his head. He caught her staring at her shoes. Women sports reporters were nothing new in the locker room. If a woman didn’t mind seeing a room full of bare-assed men, as far as he could tell they were treated pretty much as their male counterparts. But Ms. Alcott looked as uptight as an old virgin aunt. Not that he would know anything about virgins.
    He finished dressing in a pair of faded Levi’s and a blue ribbed sweater. Then he shoved his feet into his black boots and strapped his gold Rolex onto his wrist. The watch had been given to him as a signing gift from Virgil Duffy. A little flash to seal the deal.
    Luc grabbed his leather bomber jacket and duffel bag, then made his way to the front office. He picked up the itinerary for the next eight days and spoke with the business office to make sure they remembered that he roomed alone. Last time there’d been a mix-up in Toronto, and they’d stuck Rob Sutter in his room. Usually, Luc could fall asleep within seconds of lying down, but Rob snored like a buzz saw.
    It was just after noon when Luc left the building, the thud of his boot heels echoing off the concrete walls as he made his way to the exit. As he stepped outside, a gray mist touched his face and slid down the collar of his jacket. It was the kind of haze that didn’t actually rain, but was gloomy as hell. The kind he had yet to get used to living in Seattle. It was one of the reasons he liked to travel out of the city, but it wasn’t the biggest reason. The biggest reason was the peace he found on the road. But he had a real bad feeling that his peace was about to be shattered by the woman standing a few feet away, digging around in the briefcase hanging from her shoulder.
    Ms. Alcott had wrapped herself up in some sort of slick raincoat that tied around the waist. It was long and black and the wind from the bay filled out the bottom and made her look as if she were carrying ballast in her rear end. In one hand, she still held her to-go cup of Starbucks.
    â€œThat six A.M . flight to Phoenix is a killer,” he said as he walked toward her on his way to the parking garage. “Don’t be late. It’d be a shame if you missed it.”
    â€œI’ll be there,” she assured him as he moved past her. “You don’t want me traveling with the team. Is it because I’m a woman?”
    He stopped and turned to face her. A crisp breeze tugged at the lapels of her coat and blew several strands from her ponytail across her pink cheeks. On closer inspection, she really didn’t improve all that much. “No. I don’t like reporters.”
    â€œThat’s understandable given your history, I suppose.” She’d clearly read up on him.
    â€œWhat history?” He wondered if she’d read that piece-of-shit book The Bad Boys of Hockey,