Chapter 4 #2
Standing a few feet away, framed by the dim glow of the entryway, were Oliver Stone and Will Norman—the coaches for the Hands.
My stomach dropped. Of all the pubs in London . . . What the hell were they doing here? He said he lived north of us. Why was he freaking here?
“Luna,” I turned and whisper shouted to her while she was talking to Clive about the best strawberries of all fucking things.
“What?” she asked, and I leaned in.
“The assistant coach is here.”
“Hot Coach?” Luna perked up.
“Not hot. But yes. Here. In this bar.”
Luna stood up, and I reached across the table, shoving her down.
“A romantic connection?” Clive chimed in, his voice loud enough to cut through the pub chatter.
Before I could stop him, he stood up, whistling dramatically and pointing right to where Luna’s gaze had shifted.
“You,” he called out, jabbing a finger toward Will. “Come here.”
“Oh my fucking god,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
“Is that him?” Luna leaned in, clearly enjoying this way too much. “He’s a little old, Nove.”
“Noooo,” I groaned again. “That’s not him. Oh my god, no.”
My hands stayed firmly over my face, but the heat radiating from it was a dead giveaway. This was mortifying. Absolutely mortifying.
Clive, of course, was unfazed. I could’ve sworn I heard the waitress mutter, “Two nights in a row? Good to see you boys back.”
Two nights in a—oh my god.
“Get out of here.” Will grinned as he approached the table. “The new hire?”
I peeked out from behind my hands just as Clive turned and pointed straight at me.
Luna was practically doubled over with laughter, clutching her pint like it was the best show she’d seen in years.
Meanwhile, one of Clive’s friends dragged over two more chairs and plopped them down right next to me.
“This one here’s got a crush on ya,” Clive declared proudly, nodding like he’d announced something monumental.
No.
No. No. No.
This could not be happening. I wanted to crawl under the table, let the ground swallow me whole, and disappear forever. Even then, it wouldn’t be far enough.
“I do not,” I grumbled, finally dragging my hands down from my face.
My cheeks were flaming, and I knew I looked like a tomato, but there was no escaping this.
“Hi, Will.” I forced myself to meet his amused expression and then closed my eyes briefly, gathering what little dignity I had left. “I do not have a crush on you.”
Will raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained.
“And we are not children, Clive,” I snapped, glaring at the older man, who looked far too pleased with himself.
Will shook his head, pulling up one of the empty chairs. “Well, this is the most interesting introduction I’ve had in a while.”
“What did I miss?”
I looked up, and Oliver looked so fucking . . . large inside the bar. How the hell was he going to fit on one of those chairs? It wasn’t that he was overly tall, but he was really wide and strong.
He was dressed in a tight black shirt that clung to his chest and arms, paired with black jeans and boots that looked almost identical to mine.
His dark hair was styled neatly to the side, with enough gel to hold it in place without looking overdone, and as he moved, I caught the faintest glimpse of a tattoo peeking out from the cuff of his sleeve, stretching across the back of his hand.
“Hi, Oliver,” I mumbled as he slid into the chair closest to me, plopping down with a casual ease.
“You feeling better, love?” he asked, leaning in like the question was meant for me and no one else. His fingers went to my straightened hair. “I like it like this.”
I nodded quickly, my cheeks warming again. I was not going to look at Luna. I refused to—
“Hi.” Luna’s voice cut through, full of pride. “My name is Luna, and I’m Nova’s roommate.”
I finally looked at her, and she was beaming at Oliver like he was the best thing she’d seen all night.
“Ollie.” His eyes lingered on mine for a moment before turning to Luna. “I work with Nova.”
Luna’s grin widened as she turned to Will. “Hi.” She stuck her hand out like she was introducing herself to royalty.
“Watch what he’s going to do,” Oliver—Ollie—whispered to me teasingly.
Will grabbed her hand, but instead of shaking it, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of it.
“Oh, honey.” Luna sighed dramatically, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. “Unless you’ve got a twin brother or own a sex club, you’re way too vanilla for me.”
“Luna Pierson,” I shouted, my face heating instantly.
But Luna and Clive only burst into loud, unapologetic laughter from their seats. Will, for all his suave confidence, turned bright red, his grip on her hand loosening quickly.
“Sorry about her,” I muttered, turning to Will with an apologetic smile. “Also, hi. I never formally introduced myself—I’m Nova.”
The corner of Will’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Hey, Nova. So, you’re the reason Ollie had me dragged around Richmond all weekend, eh?”
“What?” My head snapped toward Ollie, who leaned back in his chair, his expression frustratingly neutral. The waitress set our drinks down.
“He’s being an ass,” Ollie said flatly, taking a sip.
Will laughed, lifting his glass in a mock toast. Luna seized the opportunity, firing off a question about rugby players, and suddenly Will, Clive, and the whole entourage were deep in a loud, enthusiastic discussion about the sport.
I should’ve been paying attention. I should’ve been soaking in every word, learning something useful. My mind was stuck on what Will had said—and the way Ollie avoided it.
I turned to him, narrowing my eyes. “You’ve been looking for me? Why are you even in this area? I thought you lived north of here?”
Ollie barely glanced my way as he lifted his glass. “Good beer here.” He settled deeper into his seat.
That was it. No further explanation.
I stared at him, my curiosity only growing.
“Tell me about you,” he encouraged.
I huffed. “I hate this question. I don’t even know where to start. Do you want to know I was born at Grace Methodist hospital and was seven pounds at birth, or were you looking more for the fact that I lost my virginity in a—”
“I already know about your dead mom.” He leaned forward slightly, his elbow resting on the table. “Tell me something else.”
I snorted. “Well, that’s quite heavy for a pub,” I said mockingly, throwing his earlier words back at him.
He grinned, unfazed. “Gimme something else.” He tipped his glass toward me. “I’ll take it.”
I hesitated for a moment, then shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I’m a couple weeks away from finalizing my divorce.”
The words hung in the air for a second, and I watched his reaction. Ollie didn’t flinch.
Instead, he paused, his grin softening into something more amused, almost knowing. Then he smiled again, a little slower this time. “Of course you are, Nova,” he said, his voice low and tinged with humor. “I’d expect nothing less complicated from you.”
I furrowed my brows and tilted my head, not sure if I should be offended or amused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ollie chuckled, taking a sip of his beer without answering. That smirk of his lingered, though, like he knew something I didn’t—and it drove me mad.
I wasn’t about to let him get away with that vague, smug answer. If he wanted to play this game, fine. Two could play.
“Alright.” I leaned forward, resting my chin in my hand. “Tell me something about you. Something people don’t usually talk about in a pub.”
He quirked his brow, like he hadn’t expected me to flip the script, and leaned back in his chair. “You sure you want to open that door?”
“Absolutely,” I replied, matching his smirk. “You called me complicated. Let’s hear something complicated about you.”
He studied me for a moment, his expression turning into something more thoughtful. Finally, he picked up his beer, took a slow sip, and set it down with a soft clink.
“I haven’t been with anyone,” he said casually.
“Tonight? Boring,” I shot back.
“In two years.”
I blinked. “Two years?”
“Yep.” He nodded, tilting his head slightly like it wasn’t a big deal. “Since I started coaching. It’s . . . messy. The job, I mean. Too many blurred lines. So, I’ve kept things simple—no dating, no flirting, no drama.”
I frowned. “No drama sounds nice, but nothing? That seems . . . boring.”
He shrugged, his smirk returning. “What can I say? I like to keep my life uncomplicated.”
I was about to let it slide when he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel like a secret. “But you . . .” He let the words hang. “You’re testing every bit of control I’ve got.”
I froze, my breath catching, but he wasn’t done.
“I want to bend you over this table.”
My entire body went rigid, heat flooding through me like a wave as his mouth came right over my ear.
“I want to see your lips swollen and red,” he continued, “from how much you’ve been sucking on me.”
It’s like my lungs forgot how to work, my hand gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
He pulled back enough to let his gaze meet mine, his smirk wicked and devastating. “Too much for a pub?” he asked, his voice laced with mock innocence.
I swallowed hard, my brain scrambling for any coherent response, but nothing came. My cheeks burned, my pulse racing so fast I could feel it in my throat.
Ollie leaned back and lifted his beer to his lips, completely unfazed. “Thought so,” he said with a small chuckle.
I stared at him, my chest heaving, trying and failing to regain control.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, pushing back from the table so fast my chair scraped loudly against the floor.
I had to get out. This wasn’t happening. I wasn’t doing this.
I was pregnant. He worked for me. This wasn’t messy—it was a disaster waiting to happen. Hormones, stupid fucking hormones, weren’t listening to logic, but I wasn’t about to let them win.
“I gotta go,” I said abruptly, my voice tight. Without looking at Ollie again, I turned and grabbed Luna by the arm. “Come on.”
“What—?” she started, but I didn’t let her finish.
I tugged her up and out of the chair, and somehow, Clive got swept into my whirlwind escape too.
Ollie called my name as we reached the door, his voice cutting through the noise of the pub, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. My feet carried me forward, single-minded, the three of us stumbling out into the night air.
“What happened?” Luna asked when we were far enough away. She was slightly breathless, her arm still hooked in mine.
I glanced around and realized it was the three of us now. Alone.
I hesitated, then whispered, “He hit on me.”
Clive, drunk and wobbling on his feet, burst into such loud laughter I thought he might actually fall over or piss himself.
“You could use a good dick down.” Luna raised an eyebrow. “We’ve got two bedrooms now—why not put one to use?”
“Stop,” I said sharply. “Please.”
Clive snorted, his laughter tapering off, while Luna pressed her lips into a tight line and nodded. She didn’t push it any further, and the three of us walked the rest of the way home in silence.
My mind wasn’t silent. It was a mess. A hurricane of Ollie’s words, the heat of his gaze, and the gnawing frustration of knowing this was too much—too messy, too complicated, too dangerous. And yet, my body didn’t seem to care.
Damn hormones.