One Abigail #3
“We’ll send a packet of franchise information over, along with the NDA and a list of potential meetings for you to attend as well as our practice and home game schedule. We also had a package of merchandise prepped for you.”
“That would be great,” I gush. Manifesting! That Academy Award is going to look so good on my mantel. I wonder if I can get one of the big fashion houses to dress me for the awards ceremony. Yes. I can do this!
Probably.
John Pugilisi folds his fingers on top of the glossy conference table.
“We will have plenty of time to get down to the nitty-gritty details.” He says it slowly, like he’s talking to a favorite granddaughter.
I can’t decide if it’s charming or patronizing.
“You just go with Luke and enjoy the introduction to the football club today. We’ll ease you in.
” To Luke he says, “Take her to meet Michelle when you’re done. ”
Luke grunts.
“Thank you so much,” I say, offering my hand for another round of handshakes, and the two owners oblige me.
Hell fucking yeah.
I have a close call with the urge to fist-pump but manage to restrain myself…barely.
Luke gestures impatiently for me to follow him, and I do, almost forgetting to snatch my handbag off the chair.
“Thanks so much for taking the time—” I turn to say as we walk out the door, and it shuts in my face.
Luke doesn’t look surprised, just disgruntled. That’s probably his usual expression, though. RAF. Resting ass face.
“You got something you want to say to me?” he asks, challenge in every syllable.
I don’t think he’ll appreciate my observation about his RAF, so I blurt the first thing that comes to mind instead.
“You’re very tall,” I tell him. I almost say something about how muscular he is, too, but that feels like outright creeper behavior, so I don’t.
“That’s right. Good observation skills,” he says acidly. “Come on.”
Silent, I follow him down the plush carpeted hallway. I don’t like silence. Nope.
I pull my phone from my handbag, because if Jean were here, she would at least be able to act as my personal verbal human shield. A message lights up the screen.
Jean
I’m heading out. The owners came out to shake my hand and said you were going on a tour. I trust you to stay out of trouble. -Jean
Jean
Please stay out of trouble. -Jean
I can’t help snorting in amusement. Despite my misgivings and the weird vibe from…well, everyone, at least Jean thinks I will be fine on my own. Jean, who always worries I won’t be able to figure out who’s texting me unless she signs her name.
Luke’s long legs have taken him far ahead of me, and I double-time it, my heels sinking awkwardly in the carpet as I try to catch up. The tight pencil skirt doesn’t help matters, and I have the distinct impression that I look absolutely absurd.
I start to say something to fill the silence. The moment I open my mouth, Luke turns and silences me with a look that practically drips with derision.
My jaw snaps shut automatically.
Inhaling through my nose, I fight the need to talk.
This is why my parents put me in theater when I was four—put that talkativeness to good use, they always said.
And then my mouth opens again, and the first thing on my mind pops out.
“You have the worst reputation,” I say out loud. “That’s how I remembered who you were.”
Oh god. Why did I have to say that?
Luke frowns at me from over his shoulder. “Do you ever think about what you’re going to say?”
It comes out milder than any reproach I expected, but I wince all the same.
“Not often,” I admit. “Definitely keeps things interesting.”
He grunts, the only sign he’s heard me.
I should apologize, but I don’t. Instead, I watch his backside as he leads the way. Muscles ripple under the thin fabric of his shirt, and my eyes widen in appreciation.
Creeper McCreeperson, that’s me.
“What are you looking at?” he asks, glancing back at me again.
“Just trying to catch up.” My voice comes out a little hoarse. “Are you always this rude?”
“Yes,” he says, one thick eyebrow raised. “I don’t give a shit what you think, or anyone else. I’m here to play soccer, not be a fucking tour guide.”
“At least you’re equal opportunity about the lack of shits you have to give.” I laugh in spite of myself. “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t hire you to do both. You’re such a charming tour guide.” He’s too easy to bait. It shouldn’t be so much fun to do so.
He stops in his tracks and turns, bearing down on me, all intimidating size and cold blue eyes.
I bat my eyelashes at him, unable to resist poking at the so-called Wolf of LA soccer. If he can say whatever he wants to me, then I’ll say whatever I want right back.
Kind of refreshing, actually.
“I see why they call you the Wolf,” I manage. “Do you like being the villain, too? You must know they call you that. ‘The bad boy of soccer.’ ” I do air quotes.
He barks a laugh, and it surprises us both, the sound echoing off the narrow walls.
“You really do always say what you think, huh?”
“I’m a little infamous for that, actually.” I grimace, unable to hide it.
“I don’t like being the villain,” he finally answers, raising one strong eyebrow.
God, his face is really interesting, different and appealing and manly.
“I don’t trust people. Neither should you. Especially not those motherfuckers.” He jerks his chin toward the way we just came.
“Who?” Confusion wrinkles my brow.
“The owners. Pugilisi and Treadwick.”
“Oh.” Huh. “Thanks for the advice,” I say, nodding like I’m considering it. I’m not. Refusing to trust anyone? That sounds lonely as hell.
As for the owners…It just affirms my own vibes about them.
The Wolf squints at me as if my response has surprised him. “That doesn’t bother you?”
“That you don’t trust people or that you’re telling me not to? Should it?” I honestly don’t understand this guy. Is he trying to upset me?
My nose crinkles, and I stare into those light blue eyes, at a loss.
“I think most people are fucking assholes,” Luke says, and it’s my turn to laugh.
“You know, you have a bit of a reputation for saying whatever you’re thinking, too.”
“Nah. I usually don’t say much at all.” He turns back around, and I have to do an impression of an Olympic speed walker just to keep up. Damn it, this tight skirt was a real choice.
“Well, I heard a rumor you said enough that they threatened you with suspension from the league,” I say too sweetly.
This time when he stops, it’s not just intimidating, it’s menacing. Angry.
I grin at him.
What can I say? Maybe I do love getting a reaction. I am an actor, after all.