Tumbling Into You – By Gwen Galloway #4
“Okay, spill it, sister.” Darcy prodded, leaning forward and rubbing her palms together with excitement.
“The anticipation is killing me. Your cheeky text played me like a freaking cliffhanger,” she said dramatically, giving me her trademark eye roll again.
As a senior creative executive at her dad's production company, Darcy was well-versed in dramatic devices.
“So, I saw this sinfully hot guy—" I started before my impatient bestie jumped in.
“ Love it already.” She nodded emphatically. “Please, continue.”
“He was tall, with exquisite hazel eyes. Broad shoulders, rock-hard chest, washboard abs, lean hips, and sculpted, powerful thighs.” Watching Darcy's jaw drop slowly as I ticked off his stellar attributes was quite amusing.
“He was giving Chris Hemsworth vibes in his t-shirt and jeans. The confidence and sexual energy emanating from this guy were unreal.”
“Damn, girl. Fabulous vibrator visual.” I laughed as Darcy closed her eyes and pretended to moan.
“And then, Hamish exploded in his chaotic, yet lovable way, knocking down his seven-year-old daughter, Maggie.”
“Shit, was the mom there too? She probably went all ragey mama bear on your ass.”
“Nope,” I said, emphasizing the ‘p’ with a loud pop. “He’s a single dad.”
“Oh, this is getting good. My rom-com brain is already breaking down the beats. I love, love, LOVE the sexy single dad trope.”
“Thankfully, Maggie wasn't hurt. She was already laughing and snuggling with Hamish by the time I got there, which, I might add, was before Sterling did.” Off Darcy's questioning look, I clarified, “Sterling's the hot dad.”
“Of course he has a sexy-as-fuck name.”
“Oh, wait for it,” I said, pausing dramatically. “Then Hamish barreled into me, flinging me into Sterling, whose cat-like reflexes wrapped me up in his strong, muscly arms, remarkably rotating his body under me to cushion my fall. Flat. On. Top. Of. Him.”
“OMGeeee. Please tell me you straddled that bad boy and shimmied your hips to check out his package.”
"Darcy!"
“What?!” She flashed me a laughably innocent look.
“Not intentionally.” I winked, knowing Darcy knew I was full of shit. “Okay, when I scrambled to extricate myself—in the most unladylike way, I might add—his semi-hard state promised huge potential.”
“Oh, my dear,” Darcy drawled, using a dramatic, upper-crust affectation. “Everything about your gentleman friend screams big D energy.”
I laughed as Darcy's eyebrows waggled emphatically. Darcy's flair for the ridiculous was one of my favorite things about her. I also loved her loyalty and unwavering support for me.
“However, he was wearing a LA Storm baseball cap.” Darcy's smile faltered. “The broken-in brim had been lovingly formed into the perfect arc. That hat was clearly important to him.”
Darcy inhaled deeply, blowing it slowly through her lips. Her eyes grew soft with understanding and shared disappointment.
“Well, fuck. That's about as appealing as stepping on Legos in bare feet.” She winced. “Though there could be other explanations . . .” Darcy furrowed her brows. “At least he’s not Dumpster Fire Chad , your puck-fucking ex-boyfriend.” Darcy had threatened to fly to DC to exact revenge on Chad, when I discovered after four months of dating, he was with me solely to meet my famous dad and party with his hockey players.
“Like I was even allowed to hang out with Dad’s players,” I said, shaking my head. Darcy knew that at fifteen, my overprotective dad had imposed a strict no-dating-his-players policy.
“And let’s be honest—” I added. “I’m on a strict hockey detox, and sexy Sterling is a full-on sin-bin violation.” I huffed a laugh, then shrugged my shoulders. “Anyway, I'm not convinced he was even interested in me. He kinda grimaced when he checked out my boobs.”
“Ha! Gurl, don't fret. We'll find you a healthy snack at tomorrow night's party in the Hollywood Hills—lots of hot actors to whet your appetite.” Darcy reached over to rub a soothing hand up and down my arm. “I need to network and schmooze a bit for work, but after that, I’m fully committed to the open bar and bad decisions.”
“Looking forward to seeing your crazy in action.” Draining the precious last drops of my tea, I suddenly remembered the present.
“Oh, I almost forgot! Here's the hockey jersey my dad promised your dad.” Reaching into my backpack, I dragged out the official Washington Revolution jersey, signed by the whole team on the double zeros printed under Gold , their family name.
Holding it up high with two hands, I stretched the fabric taut so she could check it out.
“And look who signed down on the left.” I poked my face around the jersey, pointing at the signature and wiggling my eyebrows.
“The smoldering Alexander Klimovich.” Darcy loved to give me shit about my off-limits crush on the new Ukrainian player, whose package we'd discussed at length in vivid NSFW detail.
“So snacky.” We both laughed.
“Dad's gonna love it,” she said, reaching across the table to take the jersey. “Please thank your dad for this amazing gift.” She carefully folded the jersey, placing it in her daffodil yellow Kate Spade bag at her feet.
Sterling
“I'll have a Macallan 18, neat.” The young, blonde server nodded her head, flashing me a shy smile as her cheeks flushed. “Thanks,” I said politely, turning my attention back to my friend, Declan. “You?”
“I'll take a pint of the West Coast IPA.” Sliding his finger down the menu, Declan pointed to his selection. “Brilliant, cheers,” he added, as the server typed his order into the electronic tablet.
I'd brought Declan to The Velvet Lounge, an upscale bar located in a revitalized area of downtown LA, known for its meticulously curated selection of top-notch whiskies and local craft beers.
The dimly lit interior had an inviting warmth, with VIP lounge areas featuring deep, worn leather chairs that practically begged you to sink in and linger.
The bar was a favorite of mine because I could relax with friends without being interrupted by star-struck soccer fans or women looking to hook up with professional athletes.
“Brilliant? Dude, you've been playing in the UK too long.” Declan narrowed his eyes at me, punching me in the bicep with no real heat behind it. “Time to bring your ass back to California permanently.”
“I'd tell you to piss off, but I'm far too polite.” Declan scoffed, lifting his chin with mock aloofness before laughing.
Declan shrugged his shoulders as his tone shifted, becoming more introspective. “Though seriously, mate. Who knows? For the next two months, I'm rehabbing with my family in NorCal. That gnarly knee injury in the UEFA Champions League quarterfinals really fucked me up.”
My stomach clenched, and a sharp hiss escaped through my teeth. Every professional athlete feared the possibility of a career-ending injury.
“Sorry, man, the uncertainty has gotta be tough.
But you're such a well-liked, talented player, and a respected leader.
I'm sure you'll have lots of options if things don't go your way.” I gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze, as the server returned, placing our drinks onto the low coffee table in front of us.
“Cheers, man,” Declan said softly, the warmth of his gratitude was unmistakable. I lifted my tumbler and gently clinked it against Declan's raised pint glass, the condensation shimmering even in the low light.
“How's the wonderful Ms. Maggie?” Declan asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.
My face softened at the way Declan affectionately asked about Maggie.
She was my everything. Before she was born, soccer held that spot, but not anymore.
“She's smart, sassy, silly, and kind—keeps me on my toes every day.
She inspires me to be the best dad possible, especially since I'm raising her on my own.”
“She's always been a firecracker. I’m looking forward to seeing her tomorrow. And your sister, Charley. I love that she's close to help with Maggie.”
“Wait a second.” I took a quick sip of my scotch, savoring the velvety liquid as it warmed my throat.
Placing it back on the black linen coaster, I asked, “Whatever happened to that woman you were pining for in college? Gemma, right?” Even as he took a sip from the pint glass, Declan's lips curled into a mischievous smile before returning it to the table.
“Yes, Gemma's now the Chief Operating Officer at my family's winery,” said Declan, a renewed vitality sparkling in his eyes.
Declan leaned in eagerly. “She's a single mom with the sweetest five-year-old daughter. And Sasha—the wee munchkin—has mad soccer skills. I'm coaching her summer soccer camp.”
“That should earn you major points with Gemma!”
“Oh, and . . . I'm staying in her guest house,” Declan added, quirking his eyebrow.
“Damn, Declan. Nice strategy. Please tell me she waters her backyard in silky shortie pajamas.” I chuckled. Declan had been in love with Gemma—his older sister's best friend—since he was thirteen, and she was eighteen with plans to attend a college three thousand miles away.
“Haven't had that pleasure yet, but I moved in only two weeks ago.” Declan's smile and bright eyes made him look hopeful. “What about you? Dating or still sitting on the bench?”
Pressing my lips in a firm line, I answered him wordlessly with a slow, deliberate shake of my head.
“I could kill Tara for what she did to you and Maggie—what a soulless bitch.”
I felt the stabbing pain of shame in my chest whenever Tara's name came up. Declan had been in LA for several exposition matches when my relationship with Tara had imploded. He’d witnessed Tara's unfathomable contempt for the pregnancy and the baby I had loved from the moment I knew she existed.
“Thanks, bro. You've always been there for me.” Raising my tumbler again, I tipped my head to him, conveying my immense gratitude for our friendship.