Read Total Rush for Free Online

scarfs, and maroon velvet trousers.
    â€œHey, you.” Theresa’s smile was warm as she maneuvered herself into a seat. “Know how I knew you were already here?”
    â€œHow?”
    Theresa lifted her nose in the air and sniffed. “Your perfume. Very distinctive.”
    Gemma chuckled. “Is that good or bad?”
    â€œIt’s good. Kind of tangerine-y.” Theresa took in the crowd. “ Madonn’, the place is packed.”
    â€œThey’ll raise a lot of money.”
    â€œHope so.”
    Reaching into her purse, Theresa took out a scrunchie and pulled her black, wavy hair into a loose ponytail. Gemma detected a few strands of gray in the mix; not that it mattered. If anything, it made the beautiful Theresa look even more exotic. Though she did look tired in that way many new mothers do.
    â€œSo, how’s the baby?” Gemma wanted to know, squeezing Theresa’s arm.
    Theresa’s smile was weary but happy. “Great.”
    â€œHave you named her yet?” Though their daughter was a month old, Theresa and Michael had yet to agree on a name. Michael wanted Philomena, after his mother. Theresa’s reaction had been concise: “Over my dead body.” Theresa was pushing hard for Galen. Michael said that sounded like an antacid.
    â€œThe way we’re going, she’s going to wind up being called ‘Miss X.’”
    Gemma smiled sympathetically. “Don’t worry, you’ll come up with something.” Taking the jumbo-sized bottle of Evian from Theresa’s hand, she helped herself to a sip. “I’m surprised you’re here. I thought for sure you’d be home with Miss X.”
    â€œThe first baby ever born in the history of the world is with my mother, God save her tiny, unnamed soul. No, I’m here because one of the Blades is a client and he’s slated to do an interview after the game. I want to make sure he doesn’t say anything stupid.” She took the water back from Gemma. “And I wanted to support Michael, of course.”
    â€œOf course.”
    Gemma opened her mouth to say something else but was drowned out by the blaring horn signaling the game was about to begin. Since it was a charity game, they’d be playing only two periods. Though she enjoyed watching her cousin play, Gemma wasn’t a big sports fan in general. She traced it back to elementary school phys ed, when she was always chosen last for basketball because of her height and teased unmercifully for her inability to hit a softball.
    Since Met Gar was the Blades’ home ice, they skated out first. A rousing cheer rose up from the crowd as each player skated out into the spotlight. Gemma noticed that Michael, especially, got a thundering reception, proof of his status as hometown favorite. He loved it, too, waving and smiling as he made a circuit round the ice before gliding to the players’ bench.
    â€œYour husband is such a ham,” she remarked to Theresa, who heartily agreed.
    As loud as the cheers were for the Blades, the decibel level went sky high when the FDNY hockey team appeared, their bright red jerseys dazzling against the white ice. Unlike the Blades, the players for the fire department hockey team came in all shapes and sizes. There were neckless little runts who would be pulverized by one modest hit from a Blades defenseman, refrigerator-sized brutes, and tall, sleek geeks Gemma could envision being blown over by the passing breeze created by a fast-skating team-mate.
    And there was Blue Eyes.
    She turned to Theresa. “Do you have a program?”
    â€œSure.”
    Gemma eagerly flipped through the pages until she came to the FDNY players. There he was, Number 45, Sean Kennealy of Ladder 29 Company. Kennealy. Of course. Blue eyes, dark hair . . . he was “Black Irish.”
    Sean Kennealy. He was playing defense, probably because of his size. He was huge. Strapping. A strapping Irishman.
    The puck