CHAPTER SIX
Hardy
J esus. I map the sway of her hips as she storms off through the bar. The clingy fabric and the curves of her body. Blue is most definitely her color.
Then again, my thoughts are more centered on her losing the dress so who cares what color she’s wearing?
Bloody hell.
The woman has balls, beauty, and brains.
Two are real. One is figurative.
I move back toward the table and take a seat to the boys whistling as I scrub a hand over my jaw and don’t fight the smirk. A woman just dressed me down in public and...I kind of liked it.
When has that ever happened before?
I’m used to the trembling, the crying, the big eyes, and overdone cleavage—not that I mind that one—to make me look their way.
Yet Whitney-whatever-her-name-is just walked away after delivering a stinging rebuke without a glance back.
Dare I say I’m turned on by it?
“Who was that?” Santiago, one of my wingers, asks with a glance over his shoulder to the wake Whitney left in her path.
“I don’t know,” I say, “but I sure as shit want to.” I follow his gaze and see her flip her hair on the other side of the bar. But when I look back, all five of them are staring at me.
Fuck .
“What?” I ask.
“You’re an ass, Hardy,” Xavi Davies says.
“Why’s that, mate? Because she’s hot and wants me?”
“The academy?” Gallo, our goalie, says. “You fucking stood up kids?”
“There’s more to the story than that,” I say, but I knew then just like I know now, that I should have stayed there today.
I didn’t.
It is what it is.
Santiago twists his lips as he meets my eyes. “You do know about Rush, right? His backstory? How little he had and how it’s his goal to try and give back now that he’s made it big time?” He shakes his head. “When he finds out, he’s not going to think too kindly on your no-show.”
Fuck . I groan and then tilt my lager up and down the rest of it. Time to get the hell out of here.
“Show up. They’re kids, man. Give ’em some time,” Xavi says.
No one ever showed up for me.
“Yeah. What does it hurt to show up for a few hours?” Noah, my center back, asks.
“She’s still here. Go fix it. Go over and—”
“Fine. I got it.” I rise from my seat and throw my hands up in surrender, my good mood now turned to shit. “I’ll show the fuck up. Now get off my case.”
“Not until you go fix it with her,” Gallo says.
“What’s it to you?” I bark back, the power of his punch still fresh in the back of my mind.
“You came to the States to play. We may be in first place, but we need you or else we won’t win the whole fucking championship. We can’t do that if you get benched for this shit. Do what the fuck you’re supposed to do so you can do just that—win with us,” Santiago says.
My shoulders sag momentarily. When he puts it like that . “Right.” I take a few steps away from the table into the crowd and with my back toward them, lift my right hand and flip them off.
I hear their barked laughs, know they’re right, and respectfully hate them and myself for it as I move across the bar. I’ve never been one to care who’s watching. In fact, the more eyes on me the better, and yet this feels a lot like a walk of shame—not that I’d ever know what that feels like.
When I approach the table, Whitney’s disdain darkens the green of her eyes. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man, but then again, she’s already stopping my heart.
Correction . It’s stopped because all the blood is flowing south and for no other reason than that.
Especially when she tilts her head to the side and glares at me. It gives me a perfect view of her—the full lips, the incredible cleavage, the sense that she would eat me alive if she could.
“I’m not a glutton for punishment, babe, but”—I hold my arms out—“go right ahead.”
“Jesus. Even after you chase after me, you’re a prick. Has anyone ever taught you humility?”
I take another step forward and hold out my hand to the other lady sitting at the table. She’s giving me more the look I’m used to—the flushed cheeks, the wide eyes, the stuttered smile. “Hi. Alexander Hardy, but people call me Hardy.”
She takes my hand and shakes it. “Suri Johnson. Nice to meet you.”
“Same.”
“Do you not like Alexander?” she asks as she takes a sip of her drink while Whitney shifts impatiently in her seat.
“No.” I help myself to the barstool open at their table and finish my answer before Whitney can protest. “And I hear my stepfather’s voice every time someone calls me it—and he’s a dick—so I prefer Hardy.”
It’s truth enough. I can hear the pompous prick calling after my mum every time she’d ring me at the boarding school—where he said it was pertinent I attend. Good ol’ Monty couldn’t stand the idea of her sharing a moment of her time—even if it was with her son. Selfish prick. Fuck. What does that make me if I’m being one too?
That’s sobering .
And fuck awful.
“Makes sense,” Suri says, but my attention is already focused back on Whitney.
My hands are folded and my eyes are locked on hers. She wants a staring contest, I’ll give her one.
“I can do this all night,” I say.
“I doubt there is anything you’re capable of doing all night ,” she mutters beneath her breath, eliciting a chuckle from me.
“For a woman who despises me, you sure are thinking of me a lot.”
She slaps her hands on the table and pushes her stool back. “Are we done here? Because I sure as shit am.”
I reach out and grab her wrist. There’s the briefest of moments where, I swear to God, we both pause from whatever that jolt of—adrenaline, lust, desire—something is that races through my system before she shakes her wrist out of my grasp.
“I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Don’t be,” she says.
“Fitting. You just unload on me over not showing up, and then when I tell you I’m going to show up, you tell me not to?” I step toward her and resist the urge to move a lock of hair off her shoulder. “Gotta say, you’re not really making sense.”
She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head to the side as she studies me. “Ever gotten mad at someone for not saying thank you, so then they say thank you and it doesn’t mean what it should because you told them to say it?”
“That was a mouthful.” I’ll get her to crack a smile yet.
“You saying you’ll come to the academy?” she says, disregarding my quip. “It’s kind of like that. So, nah. Don’t come. We don’t want you there.”
“But you’ll take my money.” Why do you care, Hardy? You got what you wanted—to be rid of this obligation—and now you’re fighting it?
“Reluctantly. Yes . For the kids? Yes . Out of spite? Most definitely, yes .”
“Taking it out of spite? You act like it’s a huge hit to my pocketbook.” I roll my eyes.
She blinks several times at my comment. Fucking hell. That sounded even more like Monty. Ugh. I want to shrug out of my own skin.
“Then write a bigger check,” she deadpans and pulls me from my self-loathing.
Who the fuck says shit like that?
“You’re something else, you know that?”
“I am.” She nods unabashedly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s way past my bedtime.”
I step into her path and chuckle. “It’s only ten o’clock. The night’s still young.”
“Ah. Yes. Here comes the part about how you have a nice little place where we could go have a chat and I’d be the luckiest girl on earth if I went,” she says flippantly.
“Thought never crossed my mind,” I lie.
“But your eyes keep checking out my chest and my ass so ... try and get all of you on the same page.”
Why is her hostility so bloody attractive?
“So I take it that’s a no?” I joke and then make sure my gaze doesn’t dip down again.
Her smile is reticent. “I was trying to be nice. Would you rather me tell you I don’t want to be anywhere near you? Because I can say that if that’s easier for you to comprehend.”
“Look. This has all been in good fun.” I hold my hands up, but it doesn’t look like she’s buying it. “I apologize. I’ll be there tomorrow. I’ll take pictures. Maybe run a few drills. That kind of—”
“Like I said, don’t bother. I don’t want you there.”
“Well, it seems to me it should be about what the kids want. Not what you want, right?” I cave and take another glance at her glorious body. “All for the kids or some shit like that?”
“Kids are the biggest bullshit detectors on the face of the earth. They’d see through you in a heartbeat.”
“And what would they see?”
It’s her turn to size me up and fuck if I’m not basking in her glory. “A man running on ego, who allows that to overshadow his talent. An athlete who takes for granted how his status might inspire others. A guy afraid he just pissed off his owners, the leagues he plays in, his fans, because he fucked up again, but this time it’s affecting their image too and not just his reputation.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and shakes her head. Every one of her barbs hit me like an arrow on a target. “And a player who thinks if he shows up and does the bare minimum, he might get laid.”
I bark out a laugh. Damn . “You don’t hold any punches, do you?”
“For the record, it takes a lot more than just showing up to get laid.” Her flash of a smile is defiant and devious. Both are a turn-on. “No one will be getting laid here. First, you’re not my type. Second, you’re mildly annoying. And third, the arrogance is a turn off.”
“No, it’s not.” I grin. “And I’m everybody’s type. If I weren’t, you would have already marched on out of here.”
“Jesus. You’re something else.”
I flash a panty-melting grin. “Then that makes us quite the pair, doesn’t it?” I pause for emphasis and to let her look a little longer. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“What?” I ask.
“Why are you showing up tomorrow? Because you have to save face with your buddies over there? Because you want to see if we’re reputable or not? Because you need to ease your guilt? I don’t care about any of those so save it. I’ll use your guilt money to help the kids, and I’ll curse you personally despite spending every penny of it.” She glances at Suri and then back to me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I don’t know what possesses me, but I grab her arm as she walks by so that she curls into me. I’m immediately met with the scent of her perfume and the tickle of her long, dark blond hair as it flies with the action. Bloody hell . I notice there are gold flecks in the greens of her irises as her breath hitches and her chest brushes against mine.
If I thought she’d be fazed like I am at the connection, I’d be wrong. Rather, Whitney lifts her eyebrows and looks at me like I’m the bane of her existence.
I love it.
“Let me add some legitimacy to your academy,” I murmur, even though I don’t care in the least about her academy, nor do I have time to commit to something like that.
“Excuse me?” She laughs and shrugs out of my grasp like that little thrill that just shot down my spine didn’t do the same to her. “ Respectfully ? Eat shit, Hardy.”
“Are you always this hostile?” I don’t even fight my grin anymore.
“Only around certified pricks like you.”
“Good thing you’ll be seeing more of me,” I call after her as she walks off.
“Sure. Fine. Whatever floats your boat,” she says over her shoulder as I watch her walk away— again .
Her indifference is...infuriating. Intriguing. It’s everything I’ve always despised from my mum and Monty, but when it’s from her? It challenges me. What would it be like to be the object of all that fire and fervor?
I’ll be there tomorrow. No fucking doubt I will.
If only to simply see how that makes me feel.