Two Luke
Two
Luke
“You read up on the team,” I say gruffly.
“I didn’t have to read up on the team to know who you are,” she responds slowly.
Dammit.
Abigail Hunt already knows who I am. She knows I’m a total asshole, and I don’t quite know how I’m going to convince anyone otherwise. I agreed to what the owners put me up to, starting with this goddamned tour, for the exact reason she just said.
To avoid being suspended from the team. I’d gotten one too many cards last season, mouthed off to one too many refs, gotten a reputation for being a fucking diva with the coaches. Being the bad boy of soccer hasn’t earned me many fans inside the organization.
My molars grind, and I stare at her mismatched eyes, trying to figure out what to say to her.
I could tell her none of it’s true. I could tell her it’s all true.
The thing is, the truth is somewhere in the middle. Gray, like truth usually is.
I’m not a diva. I just don’t put up with shit from people. I say it like it is.
People don’t like that.
More than anything, though, I want to finally get fucking traded to Seattle, where I can be close to my family. The owners know all too well how badly I want to get back home, to be close to my sick mom, and they’re gleeful at finally having something to hold over my head. They forced my hand.
Said they’d take me off the protected roster of players and approve the trade to Seattle, as long as I did something for them.
Pretend to be her boyfriend. Sell our fake romance to the press, to the paparazzi, and watch ticket sales to our games soar.
Fuck them.
Charles and John seem to think that Abigail Hunt is the answer to all their prayers. Apparently, me—the bad boy of soccer—dating her, the wholesome girl next door turned actress with her own built-in fan base, will translate to massive crowd turnout.
Everyone loves a tabloid romance, they said, dollar signs in their eyes. Fucking owners.
“You underestimated me.” She interrupts my thoughts, tilting her head and giving me the same grin that was plastered all over every conceivable surface in town just a few years ago.
There’s no mermaid tail in sight, but it’s unmistakable.
I haven’t seen it much since, though I can’t remember what happened to whatever show she was on.
Too bad.
It’s a good smile.
I grunt, unwilling to let her know it has any effect on me whatsoever.
“Don’t act like it’s the first time,” I say, turning around.
She laughs again, and the sound is surprisingly genuine and completely out of place in the back halls of this fucking football club.
“All right, Abigail—”
“Yes, oh big bad Wolfe?” she asks in that same singsong voice, and I bite back a surprised laugh of my own.
No one fucking talks to me like that.
“You’re stuck with me for your grand tour. I’m a shitty tour guide, so I’ll make it quick.” I stick my hands in my pockets, then immediately take them out. “Ask questions—I probably won’t answer them.”
“Wow. I have to say, I love the honesty.”
“I’m an unrepentant asshole; I’m not honest.” That’s the truest thing I’ve said to her since the moment I saw her in the conference room.
And everything from this moment forward will be a fucking lie. Can’t say I didn’t warn her.
Maybe fake dating the stunning woman standing in front of me, smiling at me like she sees right through my bullshit, won’t be as horrible as I thought.
Maybe it will be worse.
Fuck it.
“Do you want to go to dinner with me?” I blurt out the question, narrowing my eyes.
She’ll say no. It can’t be that easy to ask out a semi-famous actress.
“Tonight?” I add.
She’s busy, there’s no way she isn’t busy already, and I can tell John and Charles that I tried and was shot down—
“Is that…part of the tour?” Her eyebrows are sky-high, her strange, mismatched eyes, one hazel and one green, full of mischief and delight.
“Fuck no,” I say, jamming my hands in my pockets. Say no, say no—
“Then yes.” Her grin is so infectious I almost smile back before I remember the reason I’m a fucking liar. I need to remember I’m not doing this for her; I’m doing this for me.
For my career.
Not for her grin.
“Yes,” I repeat, slightly stunned and more pissed off than ever.
“Yep,” she agrees, still smiling that Hollywood smile.
I frown at her. “Fine.”
She lets out another laugh, like I’m the most hilarious man in the world.
Abigail Hunt said yes. I’m going to dinner with Abigail Hunt. John and Charles are about to get their way again.
Fuck me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so disgruntled after I agreed to go on a date with them.”
I grunt, finally tearing my gaze away from her pretty face and turning.
“Let’s get this over with.” Fuck.
“So we can get ready for dinner?” she asks, and I wince.
When I glance back at her, though, she seems thoroughly amused by my bad attitude, and it pisses me off even more.
“Hey, Wolfe.” Our keeper, one of the few other players I can stand on the team, comes around the corner.
I clear my throat.
“Gold,” I reply, jerking my chin up at him. He runs a hand through his tousled blond hair, grinning in that unselfconscious way he has.
“Want to grab dinner after practice—” His eyes cut to where Abigail stands next to me, and the perfect white smile he’s known for, brand deals galore to his name, grows even wider.
“Is that Abigail Hunt?” he asks, awe clear in his voice.
“Hi,” Abigail says, holding out a hand and beaming up at him.
“The one and only Tristan Gold,” he responds, winking.
Winking!
He’s so fucking personable that if I didn’t like him, he would make me sick. But the way he’s looking at her, like he’d like to eat her up, makes me want to punch him in the face. It sure would help his orthodontist earn his keep.
“I’m taking her to dinner tonight,” I find myself growling at him.
Gold’s lips twist to the side, one eyebrow quirking up in surprise. “What? You?”
“Don’t act so fucking surprised.”
“We could all go. Make it a team thing.” He elbows me in the ribs. “It would be good for you to go out with all of us instead of taking out your delightful personality on just me. Spread the love, if you will.”
Abigail laughs as if Gold’s said the funniest thing in the world.
I’d never thought I’d want to be funny until this moment.
“It’s not a team thing.” I force the words out.
“It’s a date,” Abigail says smoothly, her lovely eyes flitting from Gold’s face to mine. “He feels so terrible about how we got off on the wrong foot that he wants to make it up to me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Yeah. That, or taking her out is the only way I can get myself off this team and back home.
“He’s a good guy.” Gold addresses Abigail, who’s still smiling sunnily at both of us, apparently completely unbothered by how pissed I am. “Unfriendly, mean, and downright rude, but don’t let that stand in your way.”
“Shut up,” I tell him, but Gold just chuckles.
“I mean it. Don’t let any of that distract you. He’s a nice dude under all that.” He flicks a finger, pointing at the space between us. “If you can get under it. Luke’s probably my best friend on the team. If you break his heart, I’ll be obligated to be pissed at you.”
I squint at him, waiting for the punch line he surely is about to deliver. He doesn’t, though, just lets that pronouncement hang between us all.
When nothing else comes, I clear my throat, running a finger around my collar.
“Good to know,” Abigail says, taking all of this unasked-for information in perfect stride.
“Nice to meet you, Abigail,” he says, pulling his blond hair up into a stupid man bun. “Good luck at dinner. Yell for us if you need help.”
I roll my eyes, and Gold strolls down the hall toward management offices like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Locker room is down there.” I jerk my head at the way Gold went. “We got out of practice not too long ago, so you might see some of the guys still hanging around.”
Abigail grins at me, arching one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Do I get a locker room tour?”
I squint at her, unable to tell if she’s joking or not.
“I can tell you what it looks like: a locker room. It smells like sweaty feet and a bunch of wasted potential.”
She laughs at that, even though I didn’t really mean it to be funny.
“We’re not going to the locker room,” I tell her.
No fucking way am I taking her in there so all the guys can stare at her like Gold did. A protective need surges in me, taking me by surprise.
Nah. I’m not subjecting her to that.
“It’s your tour,” she says casually. “I’m just along for the ride.”
Ride. And just like that, with that little four-letter word, I’m thinking about what she’d feel like on top of me, what she would look like. I clamp down on the thought, a muscle in my jaw twitching.
“Rehab and medical offices,” I say shortly, pointing down the hall in the opposite direction.
I want this over with. I stride away, practically jogging.
“Field is through here,” I call out over my shoulder, but there’s no answer. I glance behind me, only to swear under my breath.
Abigail’s surrounded by my teammates, barely visible as they tower over her. Her laugh rings out above the low thrum of their voices, and an unpleasant, vicious feeling grips me.
“I loved Blood Sirens,” Logan, the youngest player on the team, is telling her loudly. The kid has one volume, and it’s loud.
Blood Sirens. Right. That’s the mermaid show that was blowing up a year or so ago. She was everywhere.
“That episode where they kill you off, that was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen on TV,” Marino adds, giving her his patented heartbreaker stare. “The show was shit without you, too. What you said in that interview? You were right about it. The writing was a mess.”
Her smile falters, and that strange protective urge surges in me again as her lower lip trembles.
“Hey, back off!” I shout, jogging back to the crowd that’s assembled around her. She’s so tiny that she’s almost lost from view among the athletes swarming.
“Can you bring Serena to one of our games?” Logan adds, a hopeful puppy dog look on his face. “You know, the actress who plays Serena the Blood Siren?”