Tumbling Into You – By Gwen Galloway #5
“Oh, but don't count me out completely,” I continued, trying to lighten the mood again.
“Earlier today, I had a good tumble with a super sexy woman.” Declan's eyebrows shot up as he leaned in, anticipating the dirty details.
“Unfortunately, we were both fully clothed and in public, but it was still enough to make me hard as steel.”
“What?” The priceless look of confusion on Declan's face made me chuckle.
“Maggie and I went for an early morning hike up Runyon when this out-of-control, but ultimately sweet, dog knocked Maggie on her butt—thankfully she didn't get hurt.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah, and then it got interesting when the dog's owner—the super sexy woman—tried to wrangle her rambunctious dog. It was like a scene from a Hollywood romantic comedy.” Declan's smile grew wider as I recounted my entire interaction with Winnie.
“Damn, that's kinda hot.” Declan nodded enthusiastically, massaging the back of his neck.
“Man, she ignited every nerve in my body.
I was aroused even before her supple body was pressed against mine—and that hasn't happened in forever.” My body's reaction to Winnie still surprised me.
“But strangely, she didn't seem to recognize me. I kept expecting her to ask for a selfie with me or want to exchange numbers. To be honest, she might have been more enamored with Maggie than with me.”
Declan's eyes twinkled with amusement, and a sly grin appeared on his face as he listened to me wrestle with my thoughts aloud. “Damn, I don't think I've ever seen you so rattled by a woman you just met.”
“Can't stop thinking about her.” And I practically jerked off in a car wash, fantasizing about fucking her in my shower.
“Maybe there's something there.” Declan's teasing faded, his lips curving into a gentle smile.
“Except she was wearing a Penn men's soccer t-shirt.”
“And?” Declan cocked his head, his eyes narrowing in confusion.
“You know, the t-shirt trophy?” Declan nodded with understanding. “In college, my Stanford men's soccer gear disappeared every time I hooked up with a girl in my dorm room. Clearly, Winnie has a thing for athletes.”
“Hmm.” Declan didn't look convinced. “There could be other explanations?—”
“Oh, and . . .” I interrupted, not ready for him to explain away my concerns.
“Not forty-five minutes later, driving down Vine, I saw her having coffee with a girlfriend. She was showing off her signed Washington Revolution jersey with such excitement—it’s probably one of her prized possessions.
If that doesn't scream pro-athlete stalker, I don't know what does.”
“O—kay.” Declan quirked a brow, again skeptical of my reasoning. “Did you get her number at least?”
“Nope. After retrieving my baseball cap from the ground, she practically threw it at me as if it had burned her fingers. Then she abruptly bailed, barely saying goodbye to me.”
“You're lucky,” I added. “At least Gemma knew you before you became a superstar footballer.”
“We'll see. Never say never, mate,” Declan said. I was unclear whether he was speaking about me or himself.
Wrapping his hand around his half-full pint, Declan took a slow, measured sip of his IPA.
“Oh! Before I forget.” Renewed energy bubbled up in Declan's eyes. “Do you have plans tomorrow night?”
“Not really. Probably watching Netflix with Maggie.” I shrugged my shoulders.
Some might consider my Saturday night plans with my daughter lame, but I treasured our time together.
Friends with older daughters have warned me that soon Maggie will prefer to hang out with her friends over spending time with me. “Why, what d'ya got?”
“I posted a selfie at the Santa Monica Pier this morning on Instagram, and a buddy from high school reached out, inviting me to his party up in Laurel Canyon tomorrow night. You should come.” Pausing, Declan took another swig of his beer. “Do you know the actor Nash Winters? That’s my buddy.”
“Sure, I've seen him in that spy thriller series on Netflix. Count me in. I'm sure Maggie would love to spend another night with Charley.”
WINNIE
As Darcy and I stepped into the party, high up in the Hollywood Hills, the room buzzed with lively conversation and laughter.
The main entrance opened into a vast living room, softly illuminated by lamps casting a warm, inviting glow over dark wooden floors and multiple cozy seating areas.
The entire back wall was lined with large windows, offering a stunning view of LA’s sprawling city lights sparkling against the clear night sky.
Among the hundred or so guests mingling in the front room, I immediately recognized several actors, their faces familiar from numerous movies and television shows.
Darcy had lent me her flirty deep purple wrap dress, saving me from feeling self-conscious in my DC wardrobe, which unfortunately lacked key items for LA's relaxed, yet effortlessly stylish, vibe.
Darcy, of course, was stunning in her champagne-colored slip dress with cognac ankle boots.
We'd barely stepped into the living room when I came to an abrupt halt.
Across the room stood Sterling—the mere sight of him left me breathless.
Running into him here felt astronomically improbable; like if I'd bet on those odds in Vegas, I'd be an extremely wealthy woman.
What the fuck was he doing at this party ?
I jabbed Darcy sharply in the ribs, prompting her immediate irritation.
She'd been on the verge of introducing me to Nash Winters, the host, who was attractive in his own right, but nothing compared to the blazing-hot Sterling.
“What?” She whisper-hissed, narrowing her eyes as she turned to me.
Returning her look with comically wide eyes, Darcy instantly understood my silent plea for an urgent sidebar convo.
“Nash, I'd love to introduce my best friend, Winnie, but could you please give us a moment?” With plenty of other guests to greet, Nash assured her it was no trouble and turned to welcome the newest arrivals.
“Try not to be obvious.” I cautioned her, knowing full well that subtlety wasn't her strong suit.
“Look over there, at two o'clock. The tall, attractive guy with dark blond hair.” I discreetly gestured toward Sterling.
Darcy scanned the crowded room, and I could tell the instant she spotted him because her head snapped back to me, her eyes now wide with astonishment. She gasped.
“You're shitting me,” she whispered urgently, her perfectly manicured fingers gripping my arm tightly.
“What? He's super cute, right?”
“You seriously don't recognize him? Are professional sports leagues really that siloed?”
“What?” I echoed, stealing another glance at Sterling, who was now looking our way, his gorgeous face momentarily frozen in surprise. Was that a good surprise or a bad one? On closer inspection, his knitted brows made him appear . . . was he angry?
“He's the star goalkeeper for the LA Blaze—you know, soccer? And, I might add, the most eligible bachelor in the LA sports scene.” She frowned, still noticing my lack of recognition.
“And if I'm not mistaken, that's Declan Shaw, who plays European soccer for Liverpool F.C.
I wonder what brings him here. He's quite yummy too.”
“Well, he doesn't seem interested in chatting with me.” My stomach tightened abruptly, as if swarmed by butterflies.
“Let's grab a drink . . . like right NOW .” Hooking my arm through hers, I pulled her toward the bar, where a charming bartender—likely an aspiring actor, according to Darcy—was serving cocktails.
Glancing back, I confirmed that Sterling was still watching me, apparently now surprised I hadn't approached him. Ha! Winnie 1, Sterling 0.
“Hey there, beautiful. What can I get you?” The bartender gave me a flirtatious grin, but as soon as Darcy squeezed into the space next to me, his focus shifted, recognition lighting up his face.
“Oh, hello, lovely lady,” he said, leaning in toward Darcy, flashing his smooth actor smile.
Clearly, an entertainment executive and daughter of a famous actor/producer/director was higher-valued currency in this town.
At the same time, I was completely fine with blending into the crowd.
“We'll have two Maker's on the rocks, please.” Darcy remained courteous but completely disregarded the bartender's overture.
She was a master at handling people looking to turn a simple interaction into an opportunity to pitch a project or get an introduction to her father.
I admired her quick judgment and ability to respond astutely.
Thankfully, I could relax tonight—men here were more interested in Hollywood connections than hockey royalty.
“What do you think so far?” Darcy turned to face me, adjusting a stack of black cocktail napkins as we waited for our bourbons.
“I get that LA gets a bad rap for its Hollywood clichés—everyone's a producer or an aspiring actor—but it's also full of smart, talented, creative people, who make critically acclaimed films and TV shows.
A good litmus test in this town? If someone claims they're a big producer, they're probably not.”
“Actually, I'm loving it. I'm an outsider who gets to kick back and observe everything. No one cares that I'm Sam O'Sullivan's daughter.”
“Oh, please. You're definitely NOT a nobody. You're gorgeous, with curves in all the right places. Add your intelligence, kindness, and sense of humor, and you've got the whole package. Flaunt it, sister.”
“Thanks for the reminder, Darcy.”
Darcy wrapped her arm around my shoulders and hugged me tightly. “I'm so glad my best friend is here!” she squealed. Hearing our drinks slide across the bar behind us, we turned and grabbed them. Darcy slipped a five-dollar bill into the tip jar before steering us back into the crowd of guests.