The Penalty Box by Deirdre Martin

main attraction. She was sure he could have turned the tavern into a bona fide sports bar with a mega sound system and multiple TVs, but then the focus would be on the screens . . . not him.
    Katie hung back by the door a moment, watching him. He sat perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, surrounded by three young guys who looked to be high school age. One was wearing a New York Blades jersey; another held out a picture for him to autograph. There was no mistaking the pure pleasure on Paul’s face as these young men hung on his every word, adoration in their eyes. Discreetly as she could, she pulled out a pen and jotted down. Ex athletes need to cling to former identity—the importance of remaining in the public eye. She was just capping the pen when Paul spotted her. Pointing in the direction of an empty booth, he mouthed “Five minutes,” then continued talking to the starstruck adolescents.
    Katie slid into the small wooden booth and laid out the items she needed for the interview: list of questions, notepad, microcassette recorder. She hadn’t been sitting for more than a minute before a waitress swung by with a menu, asking if she wanted anything to drink. “A Diet Coke would be great,” said Katie.
    She was busy pretending to study her notes when Paul sat down opposite her. “Sorry ’bout the delay,” he said. Katie nodded uncertainly in the direction of the bar. “Is that Frank DiNizio?”
    â€œYeah. Don’t you remember him from high school?”
    â€œNot really. But it’s nice of you to have kept him on.”
    â€œWhat, are you kidding me?” Paul chortled. “Frank’s great at what he does. He’s fast, he’s amiable—the customers love him. Plus, look at the guy: he’s built like a slab of concrete. If you were drunk, would you mess with Frank?”
    â€œGood point.”
    Paul slid a white box across the table toward her.
    Katie eyed the box suspiciously. “What’s this?”
    â€œOpen it and find out.”
    Katie opened the box. Inside was a beautiful silk scarf, its delicate floral print exactly her taste. “You didn’t have to do this!”
    â€œMaybe I wanted to.”
    Katie felt herself blushing. “Are you flirting with me?”
    â€œDo you want me to be?”
    Katie swallowed. “I think it’s important we keep this interview strictly professional.”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    â€œI mean it, Paul.” Katie narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t a bribe, is it?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œGive the interviewer a beautiful silk scarf in the hopes she’ll go easy on you.”
    Paul smiled sexily. “You were going to go hard on me?”
    â€œOh, here’s my Coke,” Katie said, grateful for the waitress’s reappearance.
    â€œDo you know what you want?” Paul asked.
    â€œHang on.” Katie opened the menu and scanned it quickly, searching for something that was either low cal, healthy, or both. “I’ll have the hamburger, no roll, with a small salad with Russian dressing on the side.”
    â€œYou, boss?” the waitress asked Paul.
    â€œCheeseburger, coke, and some curly fries.”
    â€œYou got it.”
    The waitress trotted off.
    â€œI’m disappointed you didn’t order my world-famous curly fries,” said Paul.
    â€œI’ll just nibble on a few of yours, if that’s all right.”
    â€œNibble away.”
    Her eyes went to the bandaged cut on his head. “How are you feeling?”
    â€œFine. How ’bout you? Run down any more pedestrians this week?” Paul joked.
    â€œClipped two old ladies and a mailman.”
    Paul applauded lightly. “Very good. I think you get bonus points for the old women.” He jerked his head in the direction of the large tote bag beside her. “Do you go anywhere without that?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œIt was in