4. Cassie
CASSIE
I’ve been to stadiums before, but usually I’ve been the one performing.
The inside is quiet, except for the sound of my sneakers on the linoleum floor and the clicking of Adam, my dad’s assistant’s, shoes.
Adam met me in the parking lot to escort me to my father.
I assumed we’d be in his glass office overlooking the pitch, but as I’m led further through the circular stadium, I’m not so sure.
The fresh paint smell lingers as we pass through dark blue corridors.
“Mr Hamilton had contractors repainting over the weekend,” Adam tells me as he uses his keycard to open a door. “Royal blue.”
“Looks great,” I tell him as I follow him through the double doors. The hallway slants downwards and I can see a shaft of light peeking from behind a corner.
The bright sun shines in my eyes as soon as we turn onto the field, and I reach for the sunglasses perched in my hair. Of course, when your hair is a mess of curls like mine, the ends of the glasses get caught, and I emerge onto the field with crossed eyes trying to untangle them.
“Cassie,” I hear my father call as I finally place my glasses on my nose.
He’s standing to the side of the pitch, speaking to a man in a windbreaker.
My father looks like he’s walked off the golf course with his khaki slacks and half-zip fleece.
He kisses my cheek as I approach him. “Sweetheart, this is Florent Toulon, our Head Coach.”
Florent sends me a small smile as he shakes my hand, but he quickly turns his attention back to the field and the thirty or so men out there.
They’re moving quickly, neat lines of a dozen players hopping over ladders laid out on the grass and dribbling black and white balls through a series of cones.
A young guy runs up next to me and offers me a bottle of water. I thank him with a smile and politely avoid the way his face turns bright red under my gaze.
“Cassie, I want you to meet someone,” my dad says, turning towards the field. “King!” he yells, gesturing with his hand.
I’m sipping my water as the player comes into view. Strong thighs hide behind delightfully short shorts and a practice shirt clings to strong abs. It’s only when I reach his face that I choke on my drink.
It’s him.
My eyes widen as I cough, turning away from the crowd of confused men. What the fuck. King is Robbie? My Robbie?
I take a calming breath as I turn back. “Excuse me.”
Robbie–King–shoots me a serious look as he offers his hand to me. “Robbie King,” he says as if the last time I saw him the hand he’s currently offering wasn’t knuckle-deep inside me.
I flick my hair off my shoulder and meet his eyes. Thank god I’m wearing sunglasses so he can’t see the way my eyes are drinking in his face. It was dark when we met, so I couldn’t fully appreciate the warm brown of his eyes, which instantly harden as he assesses me now.
“Cassandra Hamilton,” I say, taking his hand. I ignore the way sparks shoot along my skin and quickly release him.
“You’ll be seeing each other around quite a bit,” Dad says, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
Robbie finally pulls his attention off me, turning to my dad questioningly.
Dad basically rubs his hands together. “This season, we’re looking for that star power.
With you on the field, King, we’re going to get attention from all over the world.
Everyone wants to see where The King is calling his new home.
New league, new team, new colors. And with my Cassie in the stands every game, we’ll get so many new fans. ”
I startle. This is the first I’m hearing of this. I agreed to come today to see the new stadium, but I didn’t even question why he’d want me to come. “Every game?”
He doesn’t acknowledge me, instead looking to Florent and Robbie with a grin on his face.
“Star power,” Dad repeats again. “This team is going to be untouchable.”
How many more times can I hear the words ‘star power’?
Robbie runs his hand across his jaw, glancing at Florent. The manager chews on his gum and crosses his arms across his chest. “Does the team know about this?” Robbie asks.
Florent glances at him before nodding slightly.
Robbie pokes his tongue against his cheek. “Right. I’ve got to get back to training.”
He doesn’t even look at me as he darts back to his teammates, Florent tapping his clipboard on his back as he passes.
I tug on my dad’s elbow. “Every game? Dad, that’s insane.”
Dad turns to me, his eyebrow creasing. “Cassie, please. It’s a few hours a week where you have to sit in the stands, look pretty, and pretend to be interested in the game. I’m sure you can manage it.”
I reel back. I’m sure you can manage it?
“Dad, I have a job.” I lower my voice, conscious of the other men still lingering on the sidelines. “A job I’m very good at. I can’t be expected to attend every game, and you’d know that if you’d asked me first.”
“Cassie, come on.” Dad chuckles. “You’re not on tour, you’ve got nothing but time. I’m sure you can squeeze the games in around your luncheons and beauty treatments.”
I bite my cheek, glancing at the crowd of coaches and staff who are pretending not to listen. I’ve never met the men in this stadium before, haven’t been introduced to any of them yet, but they’ve all heard my father insult my career and order me around like a child.
I’m out of words, my mouth dry. I clench the water in my hand, the crackle of the plastic assaulting my ears. “Well it’s certainly not a game now, so I’m out of here. I have a luncheon to attend.”
“Bye, sweetheart.” Dad turns back to the pitch, barely affording me a glance.
I storm back through the tunnel, heart pounding.
I’m about to burst through the double doors that lead back to the main hall when a hand grabs my elbow and pulls me through a door.
The light overhead blinks on and I assess my surroundings.
A storage closet. And Robbie King towering over me, his hand still holding my elbow.
His broad shoulders almost fill the small space, not to mention his overwhelming scent.
He’s in the middle of practice in eighty degree weather but he still smells divine.
Fresh cut grass and sweat that should not smell as tempting as it does.
“We need to talk, trouble.” His voice is a low rumble that causes a shiver to climb down my spine.
I shake my arm free. “Oh, so now we need to talk.” My patience is on thin ice now. “You ignored me out there.”
“Did you know who I was?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “You think I would have done that with you if I did?”
He sends me a dark glare. “I think you might have, yeah.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He seems mad. It’s so unlike the flirty suave guy from my patio that I have to recalibrate. I wasn’t expecting to see him ever again and I definitely wasn’t expecting this reaction.
My back is pressed against a shelf, the wood digging into the base of my spine and making me arch my lower body towards him.
“Did you know who I was?” I throw his question back in his face. “No offense, but it’s far more likely that you’d recognize me. Did you think seducing the boss’s daughter was a great idea?”
“You know I didn’t know who you were,” he snaps.
It’s almost refreshing for him to admit that he didn’t recognize me, considering I can barely walk down the street without sensing heads turn.
This is the first time being famous would have actually solved my problem.
Or at least prevented this situation from happening in the first place.
Despite his pissy mood, I still can’t bring myself to regret it, especially as he towers over me. The last time I saw him, we were both sitting down and now I barely reach his chin. I’m a tall girl, even taller in heels, but I’m still the perfect height to see his pulse race in his throat.
“Fine,” I cross my arms. “You didn’t know who I was, and I didn’t know who you were. We can just go on pretending we still don’t know each other.”
“We were literally introduced a few minutes ago.”
“Shall we pretend that didn’t happen too? Every time we cross paths from now on, we can shake hands and announce our full names and job titles.”
“Cassie,” he grits out.
“No one will ever need to know that you know what I taste like.”
Robbie’s silent for a second, his eyes hooded, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.
He nods once, the movement stilted. “We can’t do it again.” He whispers the words so quietly, as if he’s talking to himself.
I tilt my head up, bringing our faces close together. “Are you sure about that?”
I can’t deny the heat pooling in my belly at the prospect of his lips brushing mine. Of his strong hands pushing me back onto the shelf, his hips falling into the cradle of my thighs. Of making me forget the world that exists outside of this tiny closet.
“This should never have happened. It’s…” He runs his hand through his hair. “Inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?" I choke. "It’s not like I’m signing your checks."
"No.” He glares at me. “But your father is.”
I chew on my lip. My dad hasn’t owned the team for long, and it’s not like he’s explicitly told me I can’t date a player, but it does feel pretty likely that he would not approve. Still, I can't seem to regret it as much as Robbie obviously does.
Except for the pretty clear sign that he feels something a little bit more than regret.
“Hmm,” I murmur. “So maybe you should stop pressing your boner against my thigh.”
He freezes in place, eyes widening as if he didn’t notice the hard-on that’s making itself very known. When I use my hand to push against his chest, I purposely let my long crimson nails scratch at the neck of his t-shirt, feeling his Adam’s apple bob under my finger.
“See you around, King.” I glance down again at the imprint of his erection clear in his thin athletic shorts. “Probably should sort that out before seeing my father again.”
I let the closet door shut behind me.