Crossing The Goal Line. Kim Findlay

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      “I’m sorry,” Bridget said, breaking the silence. “That’s none of my business. I tend to speak first and think later.”

      Mike smiled to himself. He’d learned that already. But he had been asking her some personal questions, and after playing hockey with her, and spending time with her and her family, he thought he knew a bit about her. She wasn’t a braggart; he’d learned about her swimming only from Wally the Weasel (that name was very catchy) and her father. And she understood competing.

      So instead of freezing her out, he said, “No, don’t apologize. I may not have a choice about retiring, depending on how I play this year. I wondered how I’d know when it’s time.”

      “What worked for me isn’t necessarily what will happen for you,” Bridget responded. “I was never a top-level swimmer. At international meets, I’d sometimes have a PR, but I could never beat the Americans and Aussies. But you, you’re a top goalie. Even if you slow down a bit, you’re going to be better than most of the others out there. And you have a tough job with a limited time span. You have only a few years to make your big money.”

      Yes, that was true, but he had enough money now. More would be good: growing up poor meant he wanted as much financial security as he could get, but he wasn’t hurting anymore. At least, not for money.

      “I think those are the kindest words I’ve heard from a Toronto fan since I’ve been here,” he responded.

      “I don’t think Toronto fans are known for being kind. Crazy, yes, masochistic, sure, but not really kind. And they’re tough on goalies. You’re replacing a popular guy, and Turchenko has a lot of fans here, so they’re going to be rough on you.”

      “You’re not a Turchenko fan?” Mike asked, remembering her brother’s comment.

      “I think he’s got a lot of skill, but he’s not working hard enough. He makes spectacular saves, so you know he can do it, but he shouldn’t have to. He pulls a lot of boneheaded moves.”

      Mike smiled again. This woman was obviously smart, and he agreed with her about Turchenko. But he’d revealed enough.

      “I should let you go. You work in the morning?”

      “Don’t worry about the time. It’s my own fault for abducting you like that. I do appreciate your being such a good sport about it.”

      Mike unfolded himself from the car. “Honestly, I enjoyed myself. I like your family and—” he paused and leaned in “—you couldn’t score on me.”

      With a grin, he slammed the door shut on her sputtering.

      * * *

      BRIDGET DIDN’T SEE Mike the next morning. She reprimanded herself for noticing. He was a big-time professional athlete. He had been very nice last night, but he was from a different world. He wasn’t interested in her, and she wasn’t looking for a guy now anyway. Coaching may not have been her first career choice, but now that she was doing it, she had serious plans.

      She had a good workout and then headed home to get ready to spend some time with Jee. They’d been best friends growing up, and they still shared almost everything. Bridget couldn’t really be her friend’s confidant on marital issues since Jee had married her brother Brian—even if Brian was her favorite brother. Bridget didn’t think Jee had issues with her in-laws, but then, she’d known what she was getting into. Jee had spent most of her free time at Bridget’s.

      Everyone in the family knew that Jee and Brian had been trying to start a family for more than a year now. But Bridget knew the details that the others didn’t. She felt for her friend’s troubles, but all she could do was provide a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen.

      Bridget could tell when they met that Jee had had bad news again, so they went on a shopping spree. Bridget shopped only in athletic stores or online, but she was happy to keep Jee company and to compliment her choices. Jee would roll her eyes at some of her comments, but by the time they were done, Jee was looking a little more cheerful.

      They stopped at a neighborhood restaurant to have dinner. Jee wanted to hear about Mike. The family news network had been working with its usual speediness.

      “There’s not much to tell. I bet you heard everything that happened and some that didn’t.”

      “What’s he like? He’s good-looking, right?” Jee asked, perking up a little.

      Bridget focused on the first question. “He was nice enough not to raise a stink about me kidnapping him.”

      “Kidnapping? Nancy didn’t mention anything about that.” Jee sounded shocked.

      “Patrick couldn’t tell her what he didn’t know. I didn’t share that with the family. You know he was the lane swimmer, right?”

      Jee nodded. Bridget had complained to her about the lane swimmer. She recapped the events of the day for her friend but didn’t mention the conversation in the car. She didn’t think Mike wanted public speculation about his possible retirement. In Toronto, that would cause an uproar. Maybe she’d read too much into it anyway.

      “So is he cute in person?” Jee asked.

      Bridget thought. “Not really cute. He’s big—taller than any of the boys, and he’s fit, obviously. He’s got a bend in his nose, but otherwise he’s pretty undamaged for a hockey player.” Bridget thought about the gray eyes, smiling at her, daring her to try to score on him. He had a nice voice, too, and well, he wasn’t ugly.

      “No,” she continued. “Cute is not the right word, but he’s okay-looking.”

      “You mean he’s no Connor Treadwell,” Jee said, an edge to her voice.

      Bridget blushed. Jee was the only member of her family who knew all about the crush she’d had on Connor Treadwell. Connor was a champion American swimmer. He was retired now, but Bridget had run into him at meets over her career, and since he was now coaching, she’d met him at competitions and conferences, too. He had blond hair, bright blue eyes and an incredible body that a swimsuit exposed to admiration. Bridget had gone out with him a couple of times, but they hadn’t parted on good terms. Jee thought he was a jerk, but Bridget knew she was partly to blame herself.

      “You should be happy about that,” Bridget responded. “But except for running into him at the club, I doubt I’ll have anything to do with Mike Reimer again.”

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