There is No Try (Needing to Score #2)

7. Lucas

CHAPTER 7

LUCAS

I make a mess with the spare ribs, including a few unavoidable drops of sauce on my shirt. It makes Bridget laugh, and it’s worth it to see my girl smile.

Through the rest of dinner, Bridget relaxes. It could be her cocktail, but considering I’ve seen her polish off half a bottle of wine before and still be stressed, I choose to believe it’s her accepting everything that transpired over the past two days.

The ride home feels more like our normal banter than it has in days. I can’t help wishing with all of my being that nothing will change when the season starts.

Except, it absolutely will.

I’ll be gone all day during the week, then away more than I’m home on the weekends. I’ll miss most of Gavin’s matches, just as I did last year. I’ll have leftovers for dinner Bridget insisted were extra, despite knowing she made enough for me. I’ll miss her so fucking much. My heart will likely try its best to escape my chest the moment I see her after several days of passing each other in her kitchen…

Is this going to be our life? No, I refuse to accept it. We’ll find a way to make it work. My career is coming to an end and we both know it. I was never supposed to be a hooker; my height is a disadvantage. I’m not built for it. If I don’t constantly work on strengthening my neck and shoulders, a scrum could easily snap my neck. Still, I only have one, maybe two years left, then I’m all Bridget’s.

As soon as we’re home, it takes everything in me to not maul her like a wild animal. She’s fragile—this is fragile. I’m a man of my word, and keep my promises... Even if every ounce of me is craving to touch her, kiss her, be in her space. I resist.

“I meant what I said, Bridge. Go get comfortable.”

She nods, biting her lip, and I want nothing more than to take it between my own teeth. All of this is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated. Turning on her heel, she saunters off to her bedroom, and I rush into mine. After a quick change into light grey joggers and nothing else, I make my way back to the couch, attempting the most nonchalant but seductive pose I can muster.

It’s an epic fail, obvious to anyone who could walk in.

Should I wear a shirt?

Hurrying back to my bedroom, my second attempt isn’t much better, but even without a shirt, at least I’m wearing underwear this time around. The shower is still running, and I can’t help being a fucking creep listening in to hear if she’s touching herself. I love and hate that she’s not.

Several minutes later, she emerges in her atrocious black and white pyjama pants and a solid black tee that still hugs her curves beautifully. I sit up straighter but she stops before sitting beside me.

“All of the times you sat here without a shirt on, was it intentional?”

Her question takes me off-guard, but I admit, “Yes, but I was hoping to get a rise out of you and it never happened.”

Bridge smirks and folds her arms over her chest. “If you truly want a movie night, you’ll put a shirt on.”

“If you’re truly not affected by me, you’ll take yours off,” I counter.

“I never said I wasn’t.”

Touché. Bridget - 1.

Lucas - 0.

“It’s a good thing you’re not climbing on my lap to find out exactly how much you affect me.”

Bridget looks away, attempting to hide the break in her stoic expression. She returns her gaze to me and asks, “What movie are we watching? Empire Strikes Back , again?”

“How can you beat ‘I love you, I know?’ You can’t!” I insist, reaching for the remote.

Bridget takes a seat beside me, remaining rigid. The movie hasn’t even begun and she blurts out, “Are you really not going to put a shirt on?”

“Am I distracting you, Bridget?” I chuckle, loving how easily she’s flustered.

“No.” She scoffs, but her voice is no less than an octave higher than normal, giving her away. “I’m not distracted.”

“Shame, because I am. I don’t care how many pieces of clothing you have on, I can’t get the image of you riding my face out of my mind.”

“Luc!” She playfully smacks my chest with the back of my hand, and her ring hits me with more force than I prepared for. The spot where the stone hit me stings and I stifle a groan, but it comes out sexier than I intended. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, and her voice is laboured as she repeats my name as a whisper, “Luc.”

“Yes, pup?” This time, my purr is intentional.

Her hand travels lower, grazing my stomach. “We shouldn’t do anything. It could complicate all of it.”

“Nothing about how much I want you is complicated. I’m all in for whatever you’re up for but consider this a warning—if you touch my cock with that ring on your finger, you’re claiming me as yours.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you. No one is being claimed tonight,” she teases, tucking into my side.

“I’m not disappointed.” I wrap my arm around Bridget, and her hand never leaves my stomach, no matter how much I desperately want her fingers to travel lower.

Keeping my abdominal muscles flexed for another thirty minutes is truly a feat my training staff would be proud of. Bridget couldn’t care less how toned I am, but I still feel as if I have something to prove. If she was anyone else, I’d have her on her back writhing under my tongue. Instead, I’m in a bullshit limbo between friend and fiancé, and I fucking hate it. I want her to crave me, and that requires more than dinner and a movie.

We’ve watched the series no less than a dozen times start to finish, with emphasis on episodes four through six. After the long weekend we’ve had, it’s no surprise both of us fall asleep on the couch. I wake to the last scene with Luke, Leia, and the bots watching the Millenium Falcon leave. As the credits begin to roll, I turn off the telly then carry Bridget to bed. What I intend to be a sweet, romantic gesture goes horribly wrong as she startles in my arms and I nearly drop her.

Bridge grips me tighter and shrieks, “Luc! What are you doing?”

“I was bringing you to bed.” I chuckle and carefully set her on her feet. Keeping her body flush with mine, I quietly ask, “Is it all right if I stay with you?”

“Your bed is bigger than mine. You’ll be uncomfortable.”

“True.” I release Bridget to toss her over my shoulder. She lets out a full laugh and the sound makes my heart swell.

I have to be mindful of the narrow doorway but manage to bring her into my room without issue. Tossing her into the bed, her giggles cease. I’d give just about anything to spend the night with her soft, naked body tangled with mine.

Not tonight.

After we both brush our teeth and she takes her nightly medication—including her birth control pill and melatonin—we slide under the covers and I keep her close. With my arms wrapped around her, she rests her head on my chest, and we let out a collective, satisfied sigh. She fits perfectly tucked against me. I love this woman more than words could ever express, and I don’t know how I’ll manage a night without her after tonight.

I wake several hours later for my weekly group therapy call. When I was in Australia, it was the middle of the day, but being here in Ireland, I’m forced to be an early bird like Ronan. I put on a shirt and log on a few minutes before we’re scheduled to begin. Russ is already on video.

“G’day, mate.”

“Hey, Robinson. You weren’t in the group chat this weekend. How’s everything going?”

I keep my voice low to not wake Bridget in my room. I’d typically do the call from my bed, but the kitchen table will have to do tonight. “Sorry about that, it’s been busy and I don’t think Ronan would appreciate seeing my name appear on his phone.”

“Did you two have a lovers quarrel?” he teases, wiggling his eyebrow.

“Not exactly,” I reply carefully. “I’m marrying his sister.”

Russ is mid-sip of his coffee and nearly chokes. “What did you just say? Did I hear you correctly? You’re marrying his sister?”

“Yeah, mate, yeah.” I rub my hand down my face, not wanting to rehash the past weekend.

He’s about to say something when an additional square appears on the screen. My stomach drops, thinking it’s Ronan, but breathe a sigh of relief to see it’s Will.

“Will! I just saw the footage from the game. That was a nasty hit,” Russ offers. “Are you okay?”

He groans, “Fuck, my back is killing me. It’s only preseason. I shouldn’t be playing with these young fucking rooks.”

“What happened?” I ask, feeling like an arse for not knowing what my mate went through today.

“I was sacked by a fucking beast. The kid easily had over a hundred pounds on me; knocked the wind right out of my lungs.” Will adjusts in his seat and winces. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“Try it without padding,” I jest with a wink to lighten the mood.

“Fuck off, Luc,” he laughs. “Not all of us have thunder thighs and tree trunk torsos to work with.”

“As beautiful as that alliteration is, to be fair, if I played American football with men who had that kind of physical advantage, I’d need padding too.”

Vicky comes on the call and greets, “Good morning, gentlemen. Who would like to start today?”

“Where’s Ronan?” Russ asks, and though his question is directed to Vicky, it feels accusatory towards me.

She adjusts her glasses and replies, “He emailed that he would be unable to make it.”

Fuck, I hope it’s not because of me.

Will begins, talking about how he’s contemplating retirement. I can’t say I blame him. All of us are in our early thirties, but being in contact sports, it takes a toll on your body. He complains, yet again, about his team’s PR manager, and so far today’s session is a rinse and repeat of every other meeting we’ve had. I do my best to stay present, but I’m bloody exhausted and want nothing more than to climb back into bed with Bridget.

When Will is finished, Vicky moves on to Russ, who I’m pleased to admit has made great progress since we began these calls. For so long, he was in denial about an altercation he had on the ice. Now, not only has he seemed to come to terms with it, he’s been working hard to control his anger using healthy outlets.

Vicky directs her attention to me. “Lucas, I know you don’t typically have anything new to share, but?—”

“He does this time,” Russ snickers.

As much as I’d love to tell him to fuck off, Vicky doesn’t like us using profanity… and also he’s right. I take a deep breath and admit everything that’s happened, from confessing how I feel about Bridget, to the not-so-fake marriage. Vicky remains quiet, taking notes and occasionally prompting me to continue. When I’m done with my story, Will’s mouth is agape. Russ is smothering a smile, but his eyes are still twinkling through the screen.

Will takes a moment to work through everything I’ve shared then barks out a laugh. “I thought you were just friends with her. All this time, you were fucking his sister? No wonder he’s not here.”

Fuck, is he really avoiding me?

“I wasn’t, we haven’t,” I insist. “Ronan’s less than thrilled about everything, but I can’t help how I feel about Bridget. He’ll come around.”

Vicky suggests I reach out to Ronan and says if I need to meet with her separately she’s available. We wrap up our call and uneasiness settles in my gut as I close my laptop.

If I go back to bed, I’ll have at least two more hours before I need to wake up and get ready for the day. I keep my pyjama pants on but remove my shirt, then slide into bed with Bridget. As I reach for her, I’m met with the smooth, soft skin of her hip, not her shirt or pants. They must’ve slipped or adjusted while she was sleeping.

I tuck in behind her, and my chest is met with her bare back. I still, unsure what to make of it; Bridge definitely had clothes on when I took my video call. She glances over her shoulder, and her sweet lips are so close I could claim them.

“What are you up to, pup?”