Simply Irresistible

Chapter Nine

“Hey, look at me!”

Mae glanced up from the carefully folded napkins in her hands as Lexie ran by dragging a pink Barbie kite behind her. Her denim hat with the big sunflower in front flew off her head and landed on the grass.

“You’re doing great,” Mae hollered. She set down the napkins and stood back to view the picnic table with a critical eye. The ends of the blue and white striped cloth fluttered in the slight breeze while Lexie’s Chia Pet sat on an overturned bowl in the center of the table. The grassy pig wore little sunglasses cut out of poster board, and a bright pink scarf had been tied around its neck. “What are you trying to prove?” she asked.

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” Georgeanne answered, wedging a tray of salmon-asparagus bundles, smoked-bluefish pate, and rounds of toast on one end of the table. For some reason, a small porcelain cat sat in the middle of the tray licking its paws. On the cat’s head was a pointed hat made out of yellow felt. Mae knew Georgeanne well enough to know that there was a theme to this picnic somewhere. She just hadn’t figured it out yet, but she would.

She moved her gaze from the cat to the variety of food she recognized from jobs they’d catered the week before. She recognized the cheese blintzes and the loaf of traditional challah bread from little Mitchell Wiseman’s bar mitzvah. The crab cakes and checkerboard canapйs looked like they’d come from Mrs. Brody’s annual garden party. And the roasted chicken and baby back ribs with plum sauce had been served at the barbecue they’d catered the night before. “Well, it looks like you’re trying to prove to someone that you can cook.”

“I just cleaned out the freezer at work, that’s all,” Georgeanne answered.

No, that wasn’t all. The artfully arranged and carefully polished tower of fruit hadn’t come from work. The apples, pears, and bananas were perfect. The peaches and cherries had been meticulously positioned, and a blue-feather bird wearing a paisley cape looked down from a perch high atop a mound of shiny green and purple grapes. “Georgeanne, you don’t have to prove to anyone that you’re a successful woman or a good mother. I know you are and you know it, too. And since you and I are the only grownups around here that count, why kill yourself to impress a bonehead hockey player?”

Georgeanne looked up from the crystal duck in a muumuu that she’d placed beside the canapйs. “I told John to bring a friend, so I don’t think he’ll be alone. And I’m not trying to impress him. I certainly don’t care what he thinks.”

Mae didn’t argue. Instead, she grabbed a stack of clear plastic glasses and set them on the table next to the iced tea. Whether intentional or not, Georgeanne had set out to impress the man who’d dumped her at Sea-Tac seven years ago. Mae understood Georgeanne’s need to prove she’d made a success of her life. Although she did think the designer brownies Georgeanne had molded into the shapes of dogs was going a bit too far.

And Georgeanne’s appearance was a little too perfect for a day at the park, too. Mae wondered if she was trying to convince John Kowalsky that she was as perfect as June Cleaver. Her dark hair was pulled up on each side of her head and held in place with gold combs. The gold hoops in her ears shined, and her makeup was flawless. Her emerald green halter dress matched her eyes, and her pink fingernail polish matched her toenails. She’d kicked off her sandals, and the thin gold ring on her third toe gleamed in the sun.

Just a little too perfectly put together for a woman who didn’t care if she impressed the father of her child.

When Mae had first hired Georgeanne, she’d felt a little drab standing beside her, like a pound mutt next to a highbred poodle. But her self-conscious feelings hadn’t lasted long. Georgeanne couldn’t help being a glamour queen any more than Mae could help feeling most comfortable in T-shirts and jeans. Or wearing a pair of cutoffs and a tank top like today.

“What time is it?” Georgeanne asked as she poured herself a glass of tea.

Mae looked at the big Mickey Mouse watch strapped to her wrist. “Eleven-forty.”

“We’ve got twenty minutes then. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t show.”

“What did you tell Lexie?” Mae asked as she dropped ice cubes into a glass.

“Just that John might come to our picnic.” Georgeanne raised a hand to her brow and watched Lexie run with her kite.

Mae reached for the tea pitcher and poured. “Might come to your picnic?”

Georgeanne shrugged. “A girl can hope. And besides, I’m not convinced John will really want to be a part of Lexie’s life forever. I can’t help but think that sooner or later he’ll get tired of being a daddy. I just hope it happens sooner than later, because if he abandons her after she’s come to care for him, it will break her heart. You know how protective I am, and of course, something like that would bring out my bad temper. I’d naturally feel compelled to retaliate.”

Mae considered Georgeanne one of the genuinely nicest women she knew, except when she lost her temper. “What would you do?”

“Well, the thought of putting termites in his houseboat does hold a certain appeal.”

Mae shook her head. She was fiercely loyal to both mother and daughter, and she considered them her family. “Too slow.”

“Running him down with my car?”

“You’re getting warmer.”

“Drive-by shooting?”

Mae smiled, but dropped the subject as Lexie walked toward them, dragging her kite behind her. The little girl collapsed on the ground at her mother’s feet, the hem of her denim sundress riding up to her Pocahontas underwear. Clumps of grass were stuck to her clear jelly sandals.

“I can’t run no more,” she gasped. For a change, her face was clean of cosmetics.

“You did a real good job, precious darlin‘,” Georgeanne praised. “Would you like a juice box?”

“No. Will you run with me and help get my kite in the air?”

“We’ve talked about this. You know I can’t run.”

“I know,” Lexie sighed, and sat up. “It hurts your boobs and it’s tacky.” She shoved her hat back on her head and looked up at Mae. “Can you help me?”

“I would, but I don’t wear a bra.”

“Why not?” Lexie wanted to know. “Mommy does.”

“Well, Mommy needs to, but Aunt Mae doesn’t.” She studied the little girl for a brief moment, then asked, “Where’s all the goop you usually wear on your face?”

Lexie rolled her eyes. “It’s not goop. It’s my makeup, and Mommy told me that I could have a Kitten Surprise if I didn’t wear it today.”

“I told you I’d buy you a real kitten if you didn’t wear it at all. You’re too young to be a slave to Max Factor.”

“Mommy says I can’t have a kitty or a dog or nothin‘.”

“That’s right,” Georgeanne said, and looked at Mae. “Lexie isn’t old enough for the responsibility of a pet, and I don’t want the burden. Let’s drop this subject before Lexie gets started on it.” Georgeanne paused, then lowered her voice. “I think she might finally be over her fixation with my having a… well, you know.”

Yes, Mae knew, and she thought Georgeanne was wise not to say it out loud and remind Lexie. For about the last six months, Lexie had been preoccupied with the notion that Georgeanne should provide her with a little brother or sister. She’d driven everyone nuts, and Mae was relieved she wouldn’t have to hear about babies anymore. The kid already had a long-standing obsession with owning a pet and had been a certified hypochondriac since birth, which was one hundred percent Georgeanne’s fault since she’d always made a big deal out of every little scratch and scrape.

Mae reached for her tea, raised it halfway to her lips, then set it back down. Walking toward her were two very big, very athletic men. She recognized the man wearing a white collarless shirt tucked inside faded jeans as John Kowalsky. The other man, who was slightly shorter with less bulk, she’d never seen before.

Big, strong men had always intimidated Mae, and not just because she was five one and weighed one hundred five pounds either. Her stomach took a tumble, and she figured that if she was this nervous, then Georgeanne was close to a complete wig-out. She glanced at her friend and saw the anxiety in her eyes.

“Lexie, get up and wipe the grass from your dress,” Georgeanne said slowly. Her hand shook as she reached down and helped her daughter to her feet.

Mae had seen Georgeanne nervous many times, but she hadn’t seen her this bad for several years. “Are you going to be okay?” she whispered.

Georgeanne nodded, and Mae watched as she pasted a smile on her face and flipped on her hostess switch. “Hello, John,” Georgeanne said as the two men approached. “I hope you didn’t have trouble finding us.”

“No,” he answered, stopping directly in front of them. “No trouble.” His eyes were covered by a pair of expensive dark sunglasses. His lips were set in a straight line, and for several awkward seconds, the two just stared at each other. Then Georgeanne abruptly turned her attention to the other man, whom Mae estimated to be around six feet tall. “You must be a friend of John’s.”

“Hugh Miner.” He smiled and stuck out his hand.

While Georgeanne took his hand in both of hers, Mae studied Hugh. With one cursory glance, she determined that his smile was too pleasant for a man with such intense hazel eyes. He was too big, too handsome, and his neck was too thick. She didn’t like him.

“I’m so glad you were able to join us today,” Georgeanne said as she let go of Hugh’s hand, then she introduced the two men to Mae.

John and Hugh said hello at the same time. Mae, who wasn’t as good at hiding her feelings as Georgeanne, managed a smile, sort of. It was really more of a lip twitch.

“This is Mr. Miner, and you remember Mr. Kowalsky, don’t you, Lexie?” Georgeanne inquired, continuing with the introductions.

“Yes. Hello.”

“Hi, Lexie. How have you been?” John asked.

“Well,” Lexie began on a dramatic sigh, “yesterday I stubbed my toe on the front porch at our house, and I hit my elbow really hard on the table, but I’m better now.”

John shoved his hands up to his knuckles into the front pockets of his jeans. He looked down at Lexie and wondered what fathers said to little girls who stubbed their toes and hit their elbows. “I’m glad to hear you’re better,” was all he could come up with. He couldn’t think of anything else, and so he just stared. He indulged himself and watched her as he’d wanted to since he’d first realized she was his child. He looked into her face, without layers of lipstick and eye shadow, really seeing her for the first time. He saw tiny brown freckles dusting her small, straight nose. Her skin looked as smooth as cream, and her plump cheeks were pink as if she’d been running. Her lips were pouty like Georgeanne’s, but her eyes were his, from the color to the lashes he’d inherited from his mother.

“I have a kite,” she told him.

Her dark brown hair fell in curls from beneath a denim hat with a big sunflower sewn on it. “Oh? That’s good,” he uttered, wondering what in the hell was the matter with him. He signed trading cards for kids all the time. Some of his team members brought their children to practices, and he’d never had any trouble talking to them. But for some reason, he couldn’t think of anything to say to his own child.

“Well, it’s a lovely day for a picnic,” Georgeanne said, and Lexie turned away. “We’ve put together a little lunch. I hope you gentlemen are hungry.”

“I’m starved,” Hugh confessed.

“What about you, John?”

As Lexie walked toward her mother, John noticed grass stains on the back of her denim dress. “What about me?” he asked, and looked up.

Georgeanne walk around to the opposite side of the table and looked over at him. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Would you like a glass of iced tea?”

“No. No tea.”

“Fine,” Georgeanne said, her smile faltering. “Lexie, will you hand Mae and Hugh a plate while I pour the tea?”

His answer obviously irritated Georgeanne, but he didn’t particularly care. He felt the same as when he had pregame jitters. Lexie scared the holy shit right out of him and he didn’t know why.

In his life, he’d faced some of the toughest enforcers the NHL had thrown at him. He’d had his wrist and ankle broken, his clavicle snapped like a twig twice, and he’d had five stitches in his left eyebrow, six on the right side of his head, and fourteen to the inside of his mouth. And those were just the injuries he could recall at the moment. After recovering from each incident, he’d grabbed his stick and had skated back out onto the ice, unafraid.

“Mr. Wall, would you like a juice box?” Lexie asked as she climbed onto the bench.

He looked at the backs of her skinny legs and knees, and he felt as if someone had elbowed him in the gut. “What kind of juice?”

“Blueberry or strawberry.”

“Blueberry,” he answered. Lexie jumped down and ran around the table to a cooler.

“Hey, Wall, you should try these salmon asparagus things,” Hugh advised, stuffing his face as he moved to stand across from John and next to Georgeanne.

“I’m so glad you like them.” Georgeanne turned toward Hugh and smiled, and not the phony smile she’d given John either. “I wasn’t sure I’d sliced the salmon thin enough. Oh, and be sure that you try the baby back ribs. The plum barbecue sauce is just to die for.” She glanced at her friend who stood by her other side. “Don’t you think so, Mae?”

The short blonde with the bad attitude shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

Georgeanne’s eyes widened as she stared at her friend. Then she turned back to Hugh. “Why don’t you try the pate while I carve you some chicken?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she grabbed a large knife. “While I do this, why don’t y’all look around the table. If you look real close, you will see a variety of little animals in their picnic attire.”

John folded his arms across his chest and stared at a Chia Pig wearing sunglasses and a scarf. A funny tingle started at the base of his skull.

“Lexie and I thought today would be a perfect opportunity for her to unveil her summer collection of animal couture.”

“Oh, I get it now,” Mae said as she reached for a crab cake.

“Animal couture?” Hugh sounded as incredulous as John felt.

“Yes. Lexie likes to make clothes for all the little glass and porcelain animals in our house. I know it may sound strange,” Georgeanne continued as she sliced, “but she comes by it honestly. Her great-grandmother Chandler, that’s on my grandfather’s side of the family, used to design clothes for pullets. Being northerners, you may not know this, but a pullet is a young hen. Young because they don’t get to be very old before…” She paused and raised the knife about five inches from her throat and made choking sounds. “Well, you know.” She shrugged and lowered the knife once more. “And hens because it goes without saying that it would be a colossal waste of time and talent to make clothing for roosters, being that they are predisposed to nasty temperaments. Anyway, Great-grandmother used to make little capes with matching hoods for the family’s pullets. Lexie has inherited her great-grandmother’s eye for fashion and is carrying on a time-honored family tradition.”

“Are you serious?” Hugh asked as Georgeanne slid slices of chicken onto his plate.

She raised her right hand. “My lips to God’s ears.”

The tingle in John’s skull shot to his brain as deja vu enveloped him. “Oh, God.”

Georgeanne glanced across the table at him, and he saw her as she’d been seven years ago, a beautiful young woman who had rambled on about Jell-O and foot-washing Baptists. He saw her killer green eyes and sexy mouth. He saw her come-to-papa body all wrapped up in his black silk robe. She’d driven him crazy with her teasing glances and honey-coated voice. And as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t immune to her.

“Mr. Wall.”

John felt a tug on the belt loop of his pants, and he looked down at Lexie.

“Here’s your juice box, Mr. Wall.”

“Thank you,” he said, and took the little blue carton from her.

“I put the straw in it already.”

“Yes, I see.” He raised the box to his mouth and sucked the blue juice through the straw.

“Good, huh?”

“Mmm,” he said, trying not to grimace.

“I brung you this, too.”

She shoved a paper napkin at him, and he grabbed it with his free hand. It was folded into a shape he didn’t readily recognize.

“It’s a rabbit.”

“Yes. I see that,” he lied.

“I have a kite.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but it won’t fly. My mommy wears a real big bra, but she still can’t run.” She shook her head sadly. “And Mae can’t run either ‘cause she doesn’t wear a bra at all.”

Silence fell on the picnic like a curtain of doom. John raised his gaze to the two women on the other side of the table. They stood as if freeze-dried. Mae gripped a black olive positioned before her mouth, while Georgeanne held the big knife in midair with a piece of chicken stuck on the end. Their eyes were huge, and bright red stained their cheeks.

John coughed into his rabbit napkin to hide his laughter, but no one said a word.

Except Hugh. He leaned forward, looked past Georgeanne to her shorter friend. “Is that right, sweetheart?” he asked with a big grin.

Both women lowered their hands at the same time. Georgeanne got real busy cutting and straightening while Mae turned to frown at Hugh.

Hugh either didn’t notice Mae’s scowl or he didn’t care. Knowing his friend, John would bet the latter was the case. “I’ve always been partial to a liberated woman,” he continued. “In fact, I’ve been thinking of becoming a member of NOW.”

“Men can’t belong to NOW,” Mae informed him tersely.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I believe Phil Donahue is a member.”

“That’s not true,” Mae argued.

“Well, if he’s not, he should be. He’s more feminist than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“I doubt you would know a feminist if she bit you on the butt.”

The Caveman smiled. “I’ve never been bitten on the butt by any woman, feminist or not. But I’m willing if you are.”

Folding her arms beneath her breasts, Mae said, “By your lack of manners, the size of your neck, and the slope to your forehead, I assume you play hockey.”

Hugh glanced at John and laughed. Giving shit and taking it when it was thrown right back at him was one of the things John like about Hugh. “‘Slope to your forehead,’ ” Hugh chuckled as his gaze returned to Mae. “That was a good one.”

“Do you play hockey?”

“Yep. I’m goalie for the Chinooks. What is it you do, wrestle pit bulls?”

“Pickle?” Georgeanne reached for the relish plate and shoved it at Hugh. “I made them myself!”

Once more John felt a tug on his belt loop. “Do you know how to fly a kite, Mr. Wall?”

He looked down into Lexie’s upturned face; her eyes were squinted against the sun. “I could try.”

Lexie smiled and a dimple indented her right cheek. “Mommy,” she hollered as she spun around and raced toward the other side of the table. “Mr. Wall is gonna fly my kite with me!”

Georgeanne’s gaze swung to him. “You don’t have to do that, John.”

“I want to.” He placed his juice box on the table.

Setting down the relish plate, Georgeanne said, “I’ll come with the two of you.”

“No.” He needed and wanted time alone with his daughter. “Lexie and I can manage.”

“But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well, I do.”

She quickly glanced over her shoulder at Lexie, who knelt on the ground untangling string. She grabbed his arm and pulled him several feet away. “Okay, but not too far,” she said, stopping in front of him. She rose onto the balls of her feet and looked over his shoulder toward the others.

She whispered something about Lexie, but he wasn’t really listening. She was so close he could smell her perfume. He lowered his gaze to her slim fingers resting on his biceps. The only thing keeping her double Ds from brushing against his chest was a tiny slice of empty space. “What do you want?” he asked, raising his eyes up her smooth arm to the hollow of her soft throat. She was still a tease.

“I just told you.” She lowered her hand and dropped to her heels.

“Why don’t you tell me again, but this time keep your breasts out of the conversation.”

A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “My what? What are you talking about?”

She looked so genuinely perplexed, John almost believed her innocent expression. Almost. “If you want to talk to me, don’t use your body to do it. Unless, of course, you want me to take you up on your offer.”

She shook her head, disgusted. “You’re a sick man, John Kowalsky. If you can manage to keep your eyeballs off the front of my dress, and your mind out of the gutter, we have something more important to discuss than your absurd fantasies.”

John rocked back on his heels and looked down into her face. He wasn’t sick. At least he didn’t think so. He wasn’t as sick as some of the guys he knew.

Georgeanne tilted her head to the side. “I want you to remember your promise.”

“What promise?”

“Not to tell Lexie you’re her father. She should hear it from me.”

“Fine,” he said, and reached for his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. He shoved a side piece down the front pocket of his jeans, leaving the glasses to hang by his hip. “And I want you to remember that Lexie and I are going to get to know each other. Alone. I’m taking her to fly her kite, and don’t you follow us in ten minutes.”

She thought for a moment, then said, “Lexie’s too shy. She’ll need me.”

John seriously doubted there was a shy bone in Lexie’s body. “Don’t bullshit me, Georgie.”

Her green eyes narrowed. “Just don’t go where I can’t see you.”

“What do you think I’m going to do, kidnap her?”

“No,” she said, but John knew she didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her. He had a feeling that was exactly what she thought.

“We won’t go too far.” He turned back toward the others. He’d told Hugh about Georgeanne and Lexie, and he knew he could count on his friend’s discretion. “Are you ready, Lexie?” he asked.

“Yep.” She stood with her pink kite in hand, and together the two of them headed away from people throwing Frisbees, toward a nice grassy expanse. After Lexie got her feet tangled in the kite’s tail the second time, John took it from her. The top of her head barely reached his waist, and he felt huge walking next to her. Again he didn’t know what to say and did very little talking. But then, he didn’t need to.

“Last year, when I was a little kid, I was in kindergarten,” his daughter began, then she proceeded to name each child in her class, relate whether they owned a pet, and describe the breed.

“And he gots three dogs.” She held up three fingers. “That’s just not fair.”

John looked over his shoulder, determined that they’d walked a couple of hundred feet, and stopped. “I think this is a good spot.”

“Do you gots any dogs?”

“No. No dogs.” He handed her back the spool of string with the stick through the center.

She shook her head sadly. “Me neither, but I want a dalmatian,” she said as she grasped each side of the stick. “A great big one with lots of spots.”

“Keep the string tight.” He held the pink kite above his head and felt the gentle pull of the breeze.

“Don’t I have to run?”

“Not today.” He moved the kite to the left and the wind tugged harder. “Now walk backward, but don’t let out any string until I tell you.” She nodded and looked so serious he almost laughed.

After ten tries, the kite rose about twenty feet in the air. “Help me.” She panicked, her face turned skyward. “It’s gonna fall again.”

“Not this time,” he assured her as he came to stand next to her. “And if it does, we’ll put it back up.”

She shook her head and her denim hat fell on the ground. “It’s gonna fall, I just know it. You take it!” She shoved the spool toward him.

John lowered himself to one knee beside her. “You can do it,” he said, and when she leaned her back against his chest, he felt his heart stop for a few beats. “Just let the string out slowly.” John stared into her face as she watched her kite soar higher. Her expression turned quickly from trepidation to delight.

“I did it,” she whispered, and turned to look over her shoulder at him.

Her soft breath brushed his cheek and swept deep down to his soul. A moment before, his heart had felt as if it had stopped; now it swelled. It felt as if a balloon were being inflated beneath his sternum. It grew big and fast and intense, and he had to look away. He looked at the people flying kites around him. He looked at fathers and mothers and children. Families. He was a daddy again. But for how long this time? his cynical subconscious asked.

“I did it, Mr. Wall.” She spoke quietly, as if a raised voice would bring her kite crashing to the ground.

He looked back at his child. “My name is John.”

“I did it, John.”

“Yes, you did.”

She smiled. “I like you.”

“I like you, Lexie.”

She looked up at her kite. “Do you gots kids?”

Her question took him by surprise, and he waited a moment before answering, “Yes.” He wasn’t going to lie to her, but she wasn’t ready for the truth, and of course, he’d promised Georgeanne. “I had a little boy, but he died when he was a baby.”

“How?”

John glanced up at the kite. “Let out a little more string.” When Lexie did as he advised he said, “He was born too early.”

“Oh, what time?”

“What?” He looked into the small face so close to his.

“What time was he born?”

“About four o’clock in the morning.”

She nodded as if that answered everything. “Yep, too early. All the doctors are still asleep. I was born late.”

John smiled, impressed with her logic. She was obviously quite bright.

“What was his name?”

“Toby.” And he was your big brother.

“That’s a weird name.”

“I like it,” he said, feeling himself relax a bit for the first time since he’d driven into the park.

Lexie shrugged. “I want to have a baby, but my mommy says no.”

John carefully settled her more comfortably against his chest, and everything seemed to slip into place, like a smooth one-timer: slide, hit, score. He placed his hands on each side of the stick next to hers and relaxed a bit more. His chin touched her soft temple when he said, “Good, you’re too young to have a baby.”

Lexie giggled and shook her head. “Not me! My mom. I want my mom to have a baby.”

“And she said no, huh?”

“Yep, ‘cause she don’t got no husband, but she could get one if she just tried harder.”

“A husband?”

“Yep, and then she could have a baby, too. My mom said she went to the garden and pulled me up like a carrot, but that’s not true. Babies don’t come from a garden.”

“Where do they come from?”

She bumped his chin as she looked up at him. “Don’t you know?”

He’d known for a very long time. “Why don’t you tell me.”

She shrugged and returned her gaze to the kite. “Well, a man and a woman gets married, and then they go home and lie on the bed. They close their eyes really, really tight and think really, really hard. Then a baby goes into the mommy’s tummy.”

John laughed, he couldn’t help it. “Does your mom know that you think babies are conceived through telepathy?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” He’d heard or read somewhere that parents should talk to their children about sex at an early age. “Maybe you better tell your mom that you know babies aren’t grown in a garden.”

She thought for a few moments before she said, “No. My mommy likes to tell that story at night sometimes. But I did tell her that I’m too big to believe in the Easter Bunny.”

He tried to sound shocked. “You don’t believe in the Easter Bunny?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

She looked back at him as if he were stupid. “‘Cause rabbits gots little paws and can’t dye eggs.”

“Ah… that’s true.” Again he was impressed with her six-year-old logic. “Then I bet you’re too old to believe in Santa.”

She gasped, scandalized. “Santa is for real!”

He guessed the same reasoning that told her rabbits couldn’t dye eggs didn’t apply to flying reindeer, a fat man sliding down her chimney, or jolly little elves who lived to make toys three hundred-sixty-four days a year. “Let out some more of your kite string,” he said, then he just relaxed. He listened to her perpetual chatter and noticed little details about her. He watched the breeze toss her soft hair about her head, and he noticed the way she hunched her shoulders and raised her fingers to her lips whenever she giggled. And she giggled a lot. Her favorite subjects were obviously animals and babies. She had a flair for the dramatic, and was undoubtedly a hypochondriac.

“I skinned my knee,” she told him after reciting a long list of the injuries she’d suffered in the past few days. She pulled her dress up her skinny thighs, raised one leg out in front of her, and touched a finger to a neon green Band-Aid. “And see my toe,” she added, pointing to a pink Band-Aid visible beneath her plastic sandal. “Stubbed it at Amy’s. Do you have any ouchies?”

“Ouchies? Hmm…” He thought a moment, then came up with, “I cut my chin shaving this morning.”

Her eyes almost crossed as she looked at his chin.

“My mom gots a Band-Aid. She gots lots of Band-Aids in her purse. I could get one for you.”

He pictured himself with a neon pink bandage. “No. No, thanks,” he declined, and began to take note of Lexie’s other peculiarities, like the way she often said the word “gots” instead of “has” or “have.” He focused all of his attention on her and pretended that they were the only two people in the park. But of course, they weren’t, and it didn’t take long before two boys walked up to them. They looked about thirteen, and both wore baggy black shorts, big T-shirts, and baseball caps with the bills turned backward.

“Aren’t you John Kowalsky?”

“Sure am,” he said as he rose to his feet. Usually he didn’t mind the intrusion, especially by kids who liked to talk hockey. But today he would have preferred that no one approach him. He should have known better. After their last season, the Chinooks were bigger and more popular in the state than ever before. Next to Ken Griffey and Bill Gates, his was the most recognized face in the state of Washington, especially after those billboards he’d done for the Dairy Association.

His teammates had given him a whole shit load of razzing for the white milk mustache, and although he’d pretended otherwise, he had felt like a weenie whenever he’d driven by one of those billboards. But John had learned a long time ago not to take the whole celebrity-athlete thing too seriously.

“We saw you play against the Black Hawks,” said one of the boys, with a picture of a snowboarder on his T-shirt. “I loved the way you hip-checked Chelios at center ice. Man, he flew.”

John remembered that game, too. He’d received a minor penalty and a bruise the size of a cantaloupe. It had hurt like hell, but that was part of the game. Part of his job.

“I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it,” he said, and looked into their young eyes. The hero worship he saw there made him uncomfortable; it always did. “Do you play hockey?”

“Just street,” the other boy answered.

“Where?” He turned to Lexie and reached for her hand so that she wouldn’t feel left out.

“Over at the elementary school by my house. We get a whole bunch of guys together and play.”

As the two boys filled him in on their street hockey, he noticed a young woman walking straight toward them. Her jeans were so tight they looked painful, and her tank top didn’t reach her navel. John could detect a sexually aggressive rink bunny at fifty paces. They were always around. Waiting in a hotel lobby, outside the locker room, and positioned next to the team bus. Women eager to get it on with celebrities were easy to spot in a crowd. It was all in the way they walked and flipped their hair. It was the determined look in their eyes.

He hoped this woman would walk right on past.

She didn’t.

“David, your mom wants you,” she said as she stopped next to the two boys.

“Tell her in just a second.”

“She said now.”

“Dang!”

“It was good to meet you guys.” John reached out to shake their hands. “The next time you’re at a game, wait for me outside the locker room and I’ll introduce you to some of the guys.”

“Really?”

“All right!”

When the two walked away, the woman stayed behind. John let go of Lexie’s hand and glanced down at the top of her head. “It’s time to reel in your kite,” he said. “Your mom will wonder what happened to us.”

“You John Kowalsky?”

He looked up. “That’s right,” he answered, his tone clearly letting her know that he wasn’t interested in her company. She was pretty enough, but she was skinny and had that fake blond look to her, like she’d been left out in the sun too long. Determination hardened her light blue eyes, and he wondered how rude she was going to force him to get with her.

“Well, John,” she said, and slowly pushed the corners of her lips upward into a seductive smile. “I’m Connie.” Her eyes raked him from head to toe. “And you look pretty good in those jeans.”

He was fairly certain he’d heard that line before, but it had been a while and he couldn’t remember it exactly. Not only was she encroaching on his private time with Lexie, she wasn’t very original either.

“But I think I’d look better. Why don’t you take them off and we’ll see?”

Now John remembered. The first time he’d heard it, he’d been twenty and had just signed with Toronto. He’d probably been stupid enough to bite. “I think both of us should keep our pants on,” he said, and wondered why men were the only gender accused of using cheap old pickup lines. Women’s come-ons were equally bad, and most often downright raunchy.

“Okay. I could just crawl right on inside.” She ran the tip of one long red fingernail along his waistband, then down.

John reached out to remove her finger from his fly, but Lexie took care of the problem. She batted the woman’s hand away, then stepped between them.

“That’s a bad touch,” Lexie said as she glared up at Connie. “You could get into really big trouble.”

The woman’s smile faltered as she glanced down. “Is she yours?”

John chuckled softly, amused by Lexie’s fierce expression. He’d certainly needed his share of security before, especially in the City of Brotherly Love, where the fans could get real nasty if someone put the big hurt on their team. But he’d never been guarded by a girl, much less a girl under four feet. “Her mother is a friend of mine,” he said through his smile.

She looked back up at John and flipped her hair. “Why don’t you send her to Mama, and you and I can go for a drive in my car. I have a big backseat.”

A quickie in the back of a Buick didn’t even arouse his curiosity. “I’m not interested.”

“I’ll do things to you that no other woman has done.”

John seriously doubted her claim. He figured he’d pretty much done everything at least once; more often than not, he’d done it twice just to make sure. He placed his hand on Lexie’s shoulder and considered several different ways to tell Connie to get lost. With his daughter so close, he had to be careful how he phrased his rejection.

Georgeanne’s approach saved him the trouble. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said with that honeyed voice of hers.

He turned to Georgeanne and wrapped an arm around her waist. With his hand on her hip, he looked into her stunned face and smiled. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

“John?” she gasped.

Rather than answer the question in her voice, he raised his hand from Lexie’s shoulder and pointed to the blond woman. “Georgie, honey, this is Connie.”

Georgeanne forced one of her phony smiles and said, “Hello, Connie.”

Connie gave Georgeanne a thorough once-over, then shrugged. “It could have been a kick,” she told John, and turned to leave.

As soon as Connie walked away, John watched the corners of Georgeanne’s full lips fall into a straight line. She looked as if she wanted to hit him with a sharp elbow.

“Are you high?”

John smiled and whispered in her ear. “We’re supposed to be friends, remember? I’m just doing my part.”

“Do you grope all your friends?”

John laughed. He laughed at her, at the whole situation, but mostly he laughed at himself. “Only the pretty ones with green eyes and sassy mouths. You might want to remember that.”