Hot Shots

Chapter 4

"We did it, Liz."

Dara Flynn high fived her partner as they collapsed on the couch in Lizzie's office. They had just returned from Delfina's, an upscale restaurant on San Antonio's south side where they'd overseen a bridal luncheon for one of the city's best-known television reporters. Going into it they both knew that a major success here could take their business to the next level. Conversely, a screw-up could easily trash their reputation and destroy their fledgling business, Wonder Works, that had just celebrated it's one-year anniversary. They'd both put in a lot of hard, slogging time at the largest event planning firm in the city, Affairs to Remember. Starting her own firm had been a risky venture for them, but their former boss had actually encouraged them and referred some smaller events to them.

"San Antonio needs more firms like this," Margot Shanley, owner of Affairs to Remember, told her.

Liz (she hadn't been Lizzie for a long time) reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a handful of business cards, spreading them on the table for Dara to see.

"All possible clients. They loved everything, especially the part about not having to do a thing except give us their idea and final approval of everything. They all want callbacks within the week." She kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the table next to Dara's. "I think this calls for champagne, which I will get in just a minute."

"I'll get it." Dara slid her feet off he table, and as she did so she knocked off the newspaper that had been scattered there. She picked it up, frowning. "Since when are you reading the sports section again."

"Not again." Lizzie bounced up and tried to grab the paper. "Not ever."

"Uh uh uh." Dara held the paper away from her, staring at the article it was folded to. "Well, what have we here. An article about that, what is it you call him, selfish bastard? Yes. Matt Vorchak. Mr. Selfish Bastard himself. Isn't that interesting."

Lizzie jumped up and tried to take the paper from her, but Dara danced away, holding the newspaper just out of reach.

"Come on. Give it here."

But Dara was staring at the paper, frowning. "This says he's been released by the Cajun Rage. That he doesn't have medical clearance to play any more." She looked at Lizzie. "Did you know that?"

Liz bit her lip. She hadn't wanted Dara - or anyone, for that matter - to know that she'd been following Matt's career. It was a sick obsession she couldn't seem to cure. She kept telling herself a smart woman would manage to get over a ten-year-old crush on a man who had walked away from her because he thought his career was more important. You'd think that in all this time, as badly as he'd hurt her, she'd have been able to put him out of her mind. She was an i***t, tat was what.

"Sort of." She shrugged, trying for an attitude of nonchalance. "I read about him now and then. Since the Rage signed him three years ago he's been all over the local sports section. Home town boy and all that. It's hard to miss it all."

"It's easy if you don't read the sports section," Dara pointed out. She looked at the article again. "And now it's all come crashing down. I saw that long article the other day, how he got body checked, fell wrong and wrecked his knee. Too bad. He was one of the stars of the championship playoff series with the Caps, especially the final game."

"Yeah, too bad." Liz shrugged. With superhuman effort she slammed shut the Matt Vorchak door in her mind. "But enough about him. Today is all about us and L&D Special Events. Where's the champagne?"

"Coming right up." Dara pushed herself off the couch and fetched the chilled bottle from the back room refrigerator. She filled two paper cups, handed one to her partner and raised hers. "To many more successes like today. We're on our way, kiddo."

"I'll drink to that."

Liz touched her cup to Dara's and they each took a long swallow.

Still, as the bubbled fizzed in her mouth and the chilled liquid slid down her throat, she couldn't help thinking of the college boy who'd lived for life on ice, for the slap of the puck and the clash of hockey sticks. What would happen to him now that it was all gone?

She wondered if he'd stay in New Orleans or come home. What would he do with his life? What did other athletes do when an injury forced them out of their careers? Maybe she should do some research on that. Maybe she should -

Maybe I should have my head examined.

She'd spent too many years as an afterthought in Matt Vorchak's life. She needed to get on with her own. She had a thriving career and an active social life. What else did she need?

Someone who sets me on fire and makes me dream of a future together.

Okay, she'd had that very thing. They meshed together so well, and god! The s*x had been so hot it nearly burned the sheets. Only apparently it hadn't been enough for Matt. His dreams were so much bigger, with no end in sight. She might have been willing to make a commitment to hang in there but he'd been very open about his situation. Hockey was everything to him, and he had nothing left over to give to a personal relationship until he'd reached the pinnacle of his career.

How did you measure that, anyway, she wondered.

Finally after a long struggle Matt had played for a team that won The Cup but the last game had ended his future. She was doing her best not to feel sorry for him. After all, he'd made her heart hurt without even realizing it. Or maybe even caring.

It wasn't as if she'd hidden in the dating closet all this time. She'd had more than one long-term relationship, situations she really wanted to work. But none of them had lit the spark that she got with Matt.

Enough!

"Hey!" Dara's voice pierced her thoughts. "Where'd you go?"

Liz gave herself a mental shake. "Just basking in the success of today's event and thinking about filling up our calendar."

"As long as no thoughts about a selfish hockey player were mixed in there."

Liz laughed, hoping she sounded casual. "Nope. Got more important things to think about. Let's finish up today's report then start calling all the people who gave us their cards. Said they wanted to hire us."

"Alrighty, then. I'm on board with that."

But as she opened a document on her computer to fill in the final information from today, she remembered that when a hockey team won The Cup, each member had it for one day. One twenty-four hour period. When was his day? What, she wondered, would Matt do with his? Would he stay in New Orleans and celebrate with people there, or bring it back to show the hometown? And if he brought it to San Antonio, would he bring it over to show her? Did she even want him to?

Am I willing to open that door again and face the possibility of getting my heart stepped on one more time?

That, she thought, is the big question, and one for which, damn it, she had no answer.