A few weeks later, Paige entered the golf course clubhouse and slid her Tiffany-blue sunglasses to the top of her head. She’d been there since four a.m. with several employees from the course, setting up the games at the challenge holes, the promotional banners from their sponsors, and the snack and beverage tables, which would be manned by some of the older kids who’d been to camp before. The sponsorships alone had gotten them to their goal of $30,000, and she’d had the pleasure of sending acceptance letters to each kid who’d applied for a camp scholarship that year. The rest of the money from auctioning off the golfing spaces and whatever they made that day would go toward the new equipment in the fall.
The sun was shining, there was just a slight warm breeze, and the forecast said zero chance of rain. So far, she’d call the event a success.
“You guys all set?” she asked, heading toward Ben Westmore and Joe Fink, another Colorado Avalanche defenseman she’d paired for the event.
“Yes, but I can’t believe you put me on a team with those two,” Ben said, pointing across the clubhouse to where his sister, Becky, and brother Jackson posed for a picture with Clint Fields, the quarterback for the Denver Tigers. “Do they look like they’re here to play golf?”
She laughed. “Sorry, luck of the draw. As long as they paid to play, they can lie around and sunbathe all day if they want.” Part of her was still slightly annoyed with Ben, though she knew it hadn’t been his fault Owen had double-booked himself for dates. Mostly, she was embarrassed. Well, she’d learned her lesson.
“But even my baby brother and his friend Emma would have been better,” Ben mumbled, nodding across the course toward them.
“Yeah, I’m not sure they’re here to golf, either,” Paige said with a raised eyebrow. The youngest Westmore brother looked like he wasn’t eager to remove his hands from the waist of the pretty, petite blond as she practiced her golf swing. She looked around the clubhouse. “Is Bernie here yet? The kids are starting to arrive, and they’re asking for him.”
Ben glanced around and lowered his voice. “I think he went into one of the pro shop’s change rooms,” he said, shaking his head as he continued to watch his family members harass the athletes. “They are so embarrassing. You would think they’d never been around greatness before.”
She grinned. “I’m going to go see if Bernie is ready. Good luck,” she called as she headed toward the pro shop.
She scanned the clubhouse as she went. She’d yet to see Owen, and she hoped he wasn’t with the mascot. The day was going great so far. At the front desk, registration was going smoothly, the caterers were there already, and the food smelled delicious. She was relaxed and relieved. Seeing Owen would just make things awkward. She’d forgiven him for the date disaster, but now there was just a dull longing for something she’d never had any intention of letting herself have anyway.
At the change rooms, she saw a duffel bag on the floor under the only closed one. Must be him. Knocking once, it gave way, swinging open. “Oh sorry!” she said, seeing a man with his back to her.
He grabbed the mascot head on the floor next to him and shoved it on as he turned.
Her jaw dropped at the sight of the guy in boxer briefs and a mascot head.
Damn, Bernie was hot!
Obviously, she’d had all the wrong misconceptions about what the furry costume was hiding. Not that she had any preconceived notions, but a chiseled chest, broad shoulders, and a droolworthy six-pack was definitely not what she would have put money on.
He made a small coughing noise as he reached for the costume pants.
“So sorry. The kids were looking for you,” she muttered, desperate to avert her eyes, but somehow unable. When he turned to put his legs into the pants, she noticed several long scars along the right side of his body, extending from his ribs to the top of his oblique muscles.
Never in her life had she thought scars could enhance an appearance, but they only made this guy more appealing. And the full-sleeve tattoos covering his arms were hot. Bernie the mascot must have a rougher, more rugged alter ego…rougher, rugged, sexier alter-ego. “I’ll meet you outside,” she said, hurrying back out and resting against the wall. She forced a breath, desperate to cool herself. The rush of heat at the sight of those muscles had extended from her cheeks to her toes. Get a grip. The guy is a mascot. Hot body or not, he was probably much younger than her and maybe lacking slightly in the ambition department, unless this was a side job for extra cash…in which case, the guy was probably living paycheck to paycheck…Oh my God—was she really weighing pros and cons?
Wow, one semi date—semi disastrous date—weeks before had her seriously contemplating the possibility of dating again? Had she completely forgotten about the fact that dating would eventually lead to the removal of clothing, and she wouldn’t be able to hide behind her armor? She’d be letting someone see the flaws she tried so hard to hide. No pretty face could counter the sight of the long, wrinkled, iridescent lines of flesh along her arms and upper body. No man would be able to look past those.
An image of Owen flashed in her mind and her chest tightened. He might.
But he was a jerk.
The door opened and Bernie walked out—fully dressed in his costume.
Despite the slightly awkward moment, she smiled. The Saint Bernard dressed in a hockey jersey with silver skates on his furry feet was a crowd-pleaser for a reason. “Hi. Sorry again about the intrusion…the door wasn’t locked…” More blushing. More fluttering in her stomach.
The guy remained silent.
Right. “All set?”
Thumbs-up.
“Great. Aren’t you hot in there?” she asked, then blushed an even deeper shade. She could answer that.
He shook his head.
She stared at him, but there was no hint of the person underneath. “Anyway, the kids are helping out at various challenge holes along the course, so if you could walk the course several times during the tournament, let each kid get a chance to hug you, take a picture, that would be great. Does that work?”
He nodded. Another thumbs-up.
“Not a big talker, okay,” she mumbled, checking her watch. “Ready?”
He nodded.
Of course.
* * *
It had to be ninety degrees outside that day and even hotter inside the costume, but the moment he stepped out of the clubhouse, nothing else mattered but putting on a great performance for the kids.
Though admittedly, it was more of a challenge with Paige walking next to him. His mascot oath prevented him from speaking while in costume, but the temptation to pull her aside, remove the head, and apologize in person now that he had her attention was overwhelming.
He’d momentarily panicked when she’d caught him dressing. He’d covered his face quickly, but he feared his recognizable tattoo sleeves would have given him away. But thinking back, she’d never seen them. They’d always been covered.
The way she’d checked him out in the changing room revealed she was obviously not put off by them. The appreciation in her eyes when they took in his torso was surprising and undeniable. After his injury overseas, he’d been self-conscious about his eye and the scars on his body, but when her gaze had landed on them and, instead of being repulsed, a look of understanding had registered on her face, he’d never wanted so much to abandon the costume head and reveal who he was, to prove to her that their connection had been even deeper than she’d realized.
To convince her that whatever had transpired between them in the bar a couple weeks ago was real and could be the start of something fantastic if she’d give him another chance.
But right now, she didn’t need Owen, the guy who was without a doubt falling for her and willing to do and say anything for another shot. She needed Bernie.
“Oh, here’s someone I’d love you to meet,” she said now, stopping at the refreshment table where a boy about sixteen stood handing out drinks to the participants. “Harrison is a huge hockey fan.”
The boy’s face lit up as they approached the table, and through the Saint Bernard’s mesh mouth, Owen could see that he, too, was one of Paige’s survivors. The left side of the boy’s face was scarred with damaged tissue that extended below the collar of his T-shirt and reappeared down the length of his arm.
His gut tightened. He knew the effect his scars had on him, and he was unexpectedly overcome with admiration for the boy’s bravery, not letting the scars prevent him from being involved. He waved in greeting.
“Man, you must be sweating in there,” he said with a laugh, and Owen noticed that the left side of his mouth didn’t move. He wondered how severe the nerve damage was—if it altered his movement in other parts of his body. He nodded and pretended to wipe sweat from the mascot head.
Harrison grinned. “Your job is cool as shit, though,” the boy said excitedly.
“Hey, little ears,” Paige warned gently, nodding toward the other kids nearby.
“Sorry,” Harrison said. “I’m a mascot, too.” He lowered his voice. “For my high school sports teams. We didn’t have one, and after my accident prevented me from playing sports, I asked Mr. Fowler—our basketball coach—if I could create one for the school.”
Wow—this kid was cool as shit. He gave two thumbs-up.
Paige looked impressed, too. “What’s your costume?”
Harrison pulled out his cell phone and scrolled to a pic. “I’m Blades, Highland Montessori’s teen wolf,” he said, handing Paige the phone.
She moved closer. Her shoulder touched his arm beneath the costume, and staying focused on the photo she showed him became a challenge. He gave in to the urge to wrap an arm around her shoulder, using his alter ego to his advantage.
She glanced at him in surprise, but didn’t seem to mind.
No one turned down a hug from Bernie.
“This is really great—did your mom make the costume?” Paige asked, handing the phone back to Harrison but staying beneath his arm.
“Yeah. I helped. And I choreographed all of my own routines, with my sister’s help—she’s a gymnast,” he said proudly.
This guy just kept getting more and more impressive.
“I’d love to be a real mascot someday…for a professional team. Maybe we could chat sometime?” he asked shyly.
Paige looked up at him expectantly and he nodded, reaching into the pocket in his costume, where he always kept several of his promotion manager business cards. He handed one to Harrison.
Paige’s smile faded slightly and she moved away. “Right, that’s…Owen McConnell—he’s the promotions manager for the team. I’m sure he’d be happy to set up some time with you to talk about Bernie…” She glanced at him and he nodded. “So just reach out to him.” She paused. “He’s a really great guy.”
Owen’s heart leaped for joy. Despite the disastrous date, she still thought he was great. A new hope surged through him.
“Awesome. I will,” Harrison said. “Thanks!”
He gave another thumbs-up, but his gaze beneath the mask was on Paige. He couldn’t read her thoughtful expression as they moved on along the course, but he hoped maybe she was thinking about him.
* * *
This guy was fantastic. She’d attended several hockey games in the past, but she’d barely noticed him there, and she doubted it was the same person anyway. They probably had several people playing the part.
But the way the energy level and competitive spirit increased on the golf course whenever he was near a hole was incredible. No wonder the Avalanche fans were some of the most intense and enthusiastic in all of hockey. The games were always sold out, and season tickets weren’t cheap. Winning the Stanley Cup and having all-star players like Westmore definitely helped the team’s popularity, but she believed the team’s mascot was severely underrated.
And hot. Don’t forget hot. At least from the neck down. As she watched him do handstands while a group of kids shot loose golf balls at him across the field, she smiled, wondering what he looked like. So far that day, he hadn’t said a word, and she found herself drawn to his silence, yet fantasizing about what his voice might sound like. Deep, strong…like Owen’s when he was singing in the bar.
She forced a breath. It was bad enough that she was thinking inappropriate thoughts about a mascot, she had to stop thinking about Owen.
Yet her gaze scanned the course. Weird that he hadn’t shown up at some point throughout the day. As the team’s promotions manager and Bernie’s “voice,” she’d expected him to be there.
Also a part of her had expected that if the opportunity to force her to listen to another apology presented itself, he’d take it.
Guess he no longer had anything to say. Maybe the flowers, cookies, and persistent phone calls for a week were as far as he went in chasing a woman.
Good. Because she wasn’t someone who wanted to be chased. She’d allowed herself one brief moment of vulnerability and hope—that was all.
But she did hope that Harrison decided to reach out to him. She was confident he’d do what he could to help the boy in his ambition to become a professional mascot someday.
Sigh. She hadn’t been lying. Owen was a great guy.
“Paige, they’re looking for you at the podium to make your announcements,” the golf course administrator said, coming up behind her.
“Okay, thank you.” This was the part she hated most. She had no problem thanking the participants for their support, but she hated to be the center of attention. Giving speeches full of statistics about the number of burn victims a year who benefited from their services didn’t seem uplifting or inspiring. It was depressing and sad. She’d give anything to see an empty ward at the hospital. But they needed to reassure donors that their money was needed and appreciated.
At the podium, she fixed her tan scarf around her neck as she addressed the crowd.
Everyone gathered around to listen, and her heart echoed loudly in her ears. At one time in her life, she’d relished the spotlight. She’d loved the attention on her. She’d felt confident and beautiful and unstoppable. So much of who she’d been on the inside was a reflection of what she’d looked like on the outside.
So much time had passed, but she still struggled with a sense of identity.
“Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming out today,” she started, feeling her knees unsteady and her palms starting to sweat in the ninety-degree weather. Glancing over the heads of the crowd, as she always did, her gaze landed on the head of the Saint Bernard standing in the back, surrounded by kids. He, too, had halted his antics to listen.
She swallowed, feeling a rush of heat throughout her body under the stare of the big fabric eyes. The memory of how comforting his arm felt draped over her shoulder earlier made her lose her train of thought momentarily. Comforting and also slightly heart-rate raising.
This was ridiculous. First Owen, now a stuffed dog.
She needed a better vibrator, or new batteries perhaps.
A life—she needed a life.
Setting her focus on the mountains in the distance instead, she made it through her speech and hurried down from the podium, desperate to go back inside for some much needed air-conditioning. She knew people must think she was crazy for wearing a long-sleeved blouse and scarf in the summer heat.
Maybe after the procedure the following day, the skin might look a little better…enough to start covering up less.
She stared across the crowd. The kids wore T-shirts and shorts…their scars visible, but not stealing their smiles.
Or maybe…just maybe, she needed to be braver, like those kids.
The rest of the day flew by as she helped work the concession stand and took a shift at the final hole, where golfers had to try to get their ball through an impossibly small hole in the Burn Treatment Center’s logo for a chance to win a camp T-shirt.
Ben’s brother Jackson was the only one successful, and she smiled as the family approached now at the end of the day. “Nice shirt,” she said, loving that he’d put it on over his golf shirt.
“Looks like a great camp,” Jackson said.
“It is. And I can’t thank you all enough for coming out and showing your support.”
“Any chance at beating Ben, and you don’t have to ask twice,” Ben’s sister, Becky, said.
“Hey! I think I golfed my best game ever today,” Ben said.
Paige glanced at his scorecard and laughed. One hundred and twenty. “That’s awful.”
“Hey, I won a Stanley Cup. I can’t be great at every sport played with a stick,” he said, tucking the scorecard away.
Behind him, Bernie came their way. “Your mascot is really great.”
Ben glanced over his shoulder then turned to stare at her. “Did you meet him earlier in the change room?”
She blushed. “Um…yeah, but he was in costume already.” Part of it anyway. “He didn’t say much.”
Ben nodded, an amused smile on his face. “So, you’re attracted to men with fur, huh?”
“No!” She fought to keep her crazy infatuation with the oversized stuffed animal in check. Though she was secretly thrilled that he would also be at the hospital the following day, and she was desperate not to read anything into it. “He was just great with the kids today.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“You know him?” Damn, that sounded a little desperate. Of course he knew him. They probably shared a locker room all season. Suddenly she was jealous of Ben Westmore’s view before every game.
He threw his golf clubs over his back. “Yeah, I know him well. Would you like me to set something up?”
“No!”
Bernie had reached them and was turning his overstuffed head back and forth between the two.
“Anyway, thank you all again for coming. You, too…um…Bernie,” she said, busying herself with gathering the leftover flyers from the registration table.
Ben smiled as he led his family away. Bernie lingered a second longer, then waved as he followed the group.
Then the sound of Bob Marley’s “Stir It Up” reached her. It was muffled…but she recognized the song anyway.
Our song, Owen had said.
Wow, there was really no escaping thoughts of him. He was right about it evoking a memory of their dance, though. She narrowed her eyes as she looked around to see where the sound was coming from, as the same several bars repeated.
A ring tone?
Her gaze landed on Bernie walking away. She couldn’t be perfectly certain, but it sounded like it was coming from the mascot.