The Man Tamer. Cindi Myers

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      RACHEL CONVINCED MOIRA to come with her to the Dallas Devils game Friday night. “Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Moira said when she met Rachel at the light-rail station. “You hate sports. So do I, for that matter.”

      “But you’re my best friend so you’ll come to support me, right?” Rachel fed dollar bills into the ticket machine. The train would drop them right at the stadium, saving the huge hassle of parking downtown.

      “You don’t need my support.” Moira accepted her ticket. “Though you must have it really bad for Garret Kelly if you let him talk you into coming to a game.”

      “I’m doing this for my career, remember,” Rachel said. Well, mostly for her career. Seeing Garret again was merely a bonus.

      “Oh, right. The bet. What does the Wild Man think about that?”

      “He doesn’t know. Denton didn’t tell him and I’m certainly not going to.” The train arrived and they climbed aboard.

      Moira plopped into the seat beside Rachel and shook her head. “I don’t know. What’s going to happen when he finds out?”

      “If he finds out, I’ll laugh it off as another of Denton’s publicity stunts. He’s always coming up with crazy stuff like that.”

      “Then why not tell Garret now and get it over with?”

      “Because…” She chewed her lower lip. “Because I really like Garret and I don’t want him flipping out over the whole Man Tamer thing.”

      “He’s going to find out about your column one of these days. Especially if you take it to TV.”

      “But by then he’ll know me better. Plus, I’ll have applied my principles to our relationship and he’ll see how great they’ve been for both of us.”

      “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

      “I know you haven’t had much success with David,” Rachel said. “But I think that’s because you haven’t given my approach time to take effect.” Granted, maybe the man-taming principles didn’t work for everyone. But letters from her readers and her own studies into behavior modification assured her they were effective most of the time.

      “One thing I don’t understand is, I thought your techniques were designed for women to use on their boyfriends or husbands. You and Garret hardly know each other.”

      “Yes, but that could change.”

      “Oh?” Moira leaned toward her, her expression avid. “So I was right when I said he was interested in you, too.”

      “You could say that. He asked me to go to bed with him last night.”

      Moira laughed. “If every man who wanted to have sex with you qualified as a boyfriend, you wouldn’t have a free night in the week.”

      “Maybe, but this was different.” Rachel allowed herself a small smile. “I wanted to go to bed with him, too.”

      “Then why didn’t you?”

      She sat up straighter. “We’d just met!”

      Moira shrugged. “What better way to really get to know a man?”

      She had a point, Rachel conceded. The train arrived at their station and they were swept along in the crowd making its way to the arena. They found their seats—center court, front row, thanks to Garret—and settled in. “Looks like a hockey setup without the ice.” Moira pointed to the nets at each end of the court. “Those are the same as hockey, too.”

      “How do you know so much?” Rachel asked.

      “I guess I picked up a few things from David.”

      Just then the arena went dark and an announcer’s voice boomed. “Get ready to welcome your Dallas Devils!” With an explosion of fireworks and the blare of heavy-metal music, a double line of motorcycles raced into the arena. On the back of each was perched a scantily clad dancer. Behind them, heralded by more fireworks, the players, clad in shorts, loose jerseys, gloves and helmets, raced in.

      The crowd screamed and whistled, louder even than the music. Rachel wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, but refrained. “There’s Garret!”

      Moira pointed to the fourth man in the first row of players—number thirty-six, the name Kelly stitched across the back. Rachel probably wouldn’t have recognized him. The helmet covered his head and the padded jersey made his shoulders even broader. Her gaze shifted to the only part of him that wasn’t covered. “Nice legs,” she said. They were muscular and toned, dusted with brown hair.

      “They all have nice legs,” Moira said appreciatively. “Too bad the shorts aren’t tighter, though.”

      After the Canadian and American anthems were played, they settled in to watch the game. Rachel’s bottom had barely touched the seat before the crowd roared and surged to its feet again. “Devils’ goal!” the announcer shouted. Lights flashed and music pounded as the players raced to the end of the court.

      “What happened?” Rachel asked.

      “We scored, I guess.”