The Soccer Player and the Single Mom (Quail Hollow)

by Kyra Jacobs

  “Hmm, then maybe he just needs a little extra motivation.” Lauren slipped from the couch and padded away, a woman on a mission and one who was well versed in “don’t wake the kids” stealth-mode. She returned a moment later with a flyer in hand.

  “KidFest is this weekend. Remember, we took the kids there last fall, out at Lawton Park? It kicks off with a parade downtown, leading over to the main festival. They’ll have all sorts of local sports teams there recruiting young talent, which means the Fever will be there. And they’re always looking for volunteers.”

  “The Fever?”

  “They’re a minor league soccer club. Like, minor, minor. But they’ve been actively recruiting college kids and twenty-somethings, trying to build up their roster. Rumor has it they have a sponsor and are looking to make a push to launch a legit minor league team in Fort Wayne.”

  Where was her cousin going with this? “Scott already has a team. Why would he go out and help recruit for somebody else?”

  “Because minor leagues feed into major leagues. You get a big name like Scott Gillie out there, and it’s sure to gain attention.”

  Minors feeding into majors? Felicity was glad Tyler wasn’t sitting with them—he would have been shaking his head at her missing that one. Even so, Lauren’s scheme was far from bulletproof. “But Scott’s on crutches. He can’t walk in a parade.”

  “Then I guess it’s good the Fever always rides in on a fire engine,” Lauren said, handing over the flyer. On the front was a soccer player, one who looked an awful lot like Scott, actually, though this guy had been captured in midair, doing some crazy sideways kick. Above him read: The Fever Needs Your Help. Below, was this message:

  The Fort Wayne Fever is seeking volunteers from our dedicated local soccer community to man our booth at the KidFest, September 20-22. Many time slots have already been filled, but we’re still looking for people to hand out flyers and take turns being our mascot, Tempy. To sign up, call or email our main office at…

  Felicity met the mischievous glint in her cousin’s eyes. “You’re not suggesting he hand out flyers, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “And what exactly is their mascot?”

  A giggle escaped Lauren. “Turn it over.”

  There, in bold red ink was a sketch of what had to be the most ridiculous mascot she’d ever seen: a man-size thermometer. It was hideous, it was darn near phallic, and it was 100 percent perfect.

  Felicity grinned. “You’re evil, you know that.”

  “I do. I also keep holding out hope that one day some of this may rub off on you.”

  “Oh, I think me conning him into this would definitely fit the bill. Too bad he’ll never agree to it.” It didn’t stop her from imagining it, though. Scott waving to all of Fort Wayne dressed in that giant red disaster. It would be the prefect revenge for today’s wild goose chase.

  “He won’t have to,” said Lauren. “Not after you go ahead and sign him up. Heck, his agent might give you a raise once he sees him in that getup.”

  “Too bad I’ll never get a chance to spend it, because Scott would kill me first.”

  “Whatever. The guy was being a dick to you. Now you’ll make him look like one to everyone else.”

  “Stop,” Felicity said, laughing. “I can’t do this.”

  “You can, and you will. After all the crap that’s been dished your way this week, don’t take this lying down. He knows all you’ve been through, and yet there he sat today, probably at home with his feet kicked up, while you drove all over God’s green earth?”

  She did have a point. Several, actually. Felicity had been furious once she’d realized Scott had intentionally swindled her out of her entire day. She’d put that anger to good use tonight, powering through another evening of packing and cleaning, but even exhausted she felt it simmering just below the surface still. Maybe retribution would cure the anger and bring her a sense of satisfaction. Goodness knew it’d been forever and a day since she’d felt like she had the upper hand on life. Besides, J.B. was waiting for an update on Scott’s PR plan, and this definitely fit the bill.

  And if Scott got angry at her, so what? It wasn’t like he’d be around much longer. Besides, what she needed more than him pretending to be chummy was a paycheck. Cold, hard cash. If it took him having to parade around a kiddie festival dressed as a giant thermometer, well, so be it.

  She was done letting life push her around. Done.

  Felicity gave her cousin a nod. “I’ll do it.”

  “That’s my girl. Oh, and I have some other ideas for you, too. Toss me my phone over there. I’ve got a few feelers to send out.”

  Chapter Six

  Scott awoke Thursday morning at five thirty, hit snooze the mandatory one time, and lay back to begin planning out his day. Since yesterday had gone amazingly well with Felicity off on his scavenger hunt, he planned to do something similar today. Surely there were more errands she could run—he just had to figure out what they were. Because after getting calls from multiple teammates last night, Scott needed to stay focused now more than ever.

  Mason Herrera had been filling Scott’s position on the field in his absence. Apparently, from what Scott was hearing, filling in a little too well. After last weekend’s game against Toronto, rumors were flying that Mason might get the nod for a starting position in the playoffs even if Scott returned by then.

  A floorboard creaked across the hall, a door brushed open, and someone padded barefoot to the bathroom. Judging by the foot strikes, he’d bet this year’s remaining salary it was Felicity. Tempted as he was to sneak a peek of her in that cute little pajama set, he remained still, savoring these last few moments of rest before he launched into his day. See? Even now, in the quiet of his morning, she was causing him to lose focus.

  The toilet flushed, muted steps traveled the hall once more, and a door closed. Moments later, the muffled sound of some sort of exercise routine began. Muffled, but in a house this age, not enough. Yoga, he determined a few minutes in. Instantly, his mind conjured up the image of her in downward dog, wearing some clingy little yoga outfit with that perfect little butt of hers high in the air…

  His alarm sounded a second time, and Scott slammed the off button, frustrated that his nine minutes of mental preparation had been spent on thoughts of the one person he was trying not to think about. He slid out of bed, tugged on a pair of shorts, and hobbled to the restroom and back. Still, the muffled yoga routine continued. Thank God for headphones…

  Not to be outdone, he unrolled his own workout mat and started the modified core workout the team trainer had suggested. It pained him not to be out on a run, his go-to early morning routine, but that would change soon enough. It’d have to if he was going to play at all the rest of this season and not look like some winded has-been.

  By the time he’d finished, showered, and gotten his first cup of coffee down, Felicity was scooting a bleary-eyed Tyler out the door. Edna saw them off then joined him in the kitchen, Bruno bouncing along in her wake.

  “Did you keep them up too late last night, or what?” she asked.

  “Me? I thought it was you. Heck, I was in bed by nine.”

  “Which is why you’re still sleeping alone. A man your age should be out, sowing your wild oats, not spooning his pillow the minute the sun goes down.”

  “And here I thought you’d be supportive of me, trying to make a decent living on my own instead of smoking weed and living in a van down by the river.” She rolled her eyes and went back to pouring a cup of joe. “And for the record? I don’t spoon.”

  “Yet another reason you’re still single. A good spooner is worth his weight in—”

  “La la la.” Scott put both hands over his ears until he knew Edna was done. “Can we maybe talk about something other than my social life?”

  “Or lack thereof,” she muttered over the rim of her mug then joined him at the table. “Sorry, shall I try again?”

  She cleared her throat in as dainty a wa
y as was possible—which was like saying a bull tiptoed as best he could through a china shop—batted her eyelashes and clasped both hands at her chest. “Scott, darling, whatever would you like to discuss with your dear old grandmama this fine day?”

  “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  She winked over the top of her coffee mug. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way. Oh! Look at the time. I’ve got to get ready for Pinochle. Norman will be by soon to pick me up.”

  “Norman?”

  She flicked him on the shoulder. “Don’t judge.”

  With that, she was gone, off to primp and preen before her knight in shining armor arrived. Except instead of on some magnificent white stallion, Scott bet it’d be inside some polished white Buick. He shouldn’t poke fun, though. Edna was right—at least she had a social life. All Scott had was soccer, soccer, and more soccer.

  Which was fine by him.

  Felicity returned as he was finishing breakfast, looking far less timid than she had yesterday. Not what’d he’d hoped to find, but workable nonetheless. He offered her a smile, intending to lead off with small talk before he unveiled today’s to-do list. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Scott.”

  “Get your place all emptied out?”

  “I did, thank you.” She crossed the room to pour herself a cup of coffee, her cinnamon and vanilla scent teasing him as she passed. “Finished up about eleven, got back here just after midnight.”

  And she was up before six doing yoga? Scott understood the importance of routine, but even he had his limits. “Yikes. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to bed for a while?”

  That would keep her out of his hair for at least an hour…

  “I think I’ll be all right.” She leaned one hip against the counter and blew on her coffee. “So, did you have time to look at that list I gave you yesterday?”

  “List?”

  He was sure there was a list of some sort in his memory, but all rational thought had ceased at the sight of her lips pressed together, blowing gently across the steam rising from her mug. Lips he’d thought about far too often since they’d met and even more since that kiss. Her scowl helped get his thoughts back on track.

  “The list from J.B.?”

  “Oh. That list.” The one he hadn’t touched since their initial exchange. In fact, he was pretty sure it was still out on the back porch where he’d left it. Surely it’d just been J.B. sending her busy work; his agent knew how he felt about doing public appearances. Scott would rather go head-to-head with Philly’s sweeper all over again than get up in front of a crowd and give motivational speeches. And that TV commercial J.B. had talked him into a few years back had been a complete disaster. Who knew yogurt could be so deadly? “Uh, yeah, I looked it over a few times.”

  Her features lightened. “Great. So did you check off the ones you want me to set up?”

  “Set up? I thought it was all hypothetical?”

  Felicity’s eyes narrowed. “I take it that’s a no.”

  “My bad. But I promise I’ll work on them today if you—”

  “Run a bunch of errands for you? Sorry, Scott, but I think you’re stocked up on lip balm for a while…which means I’m not leaving until you finish checking off that list. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do. Real work.”

  With that, she walked off, the sway of victory in her hips. Only once she rounded the corner did Scott realize his jaw was still hanging open. He snapped it shut with a snort. Had she seriously just gone motherly on him?

  Too bad there was one major problem with this strategy of hers: as long as she was working, it kept her out of his hair. No car trip needed.

  “By all means, go do your work,” he muttered into his coffee mug. “And be sure to take as long as you need.”

  …

  The timer on Felicity’s cell phone went off for the third time that morning, and she snapped her laptop shut with a grin. Scott wasn’t a difficult man to figure out, which was beginning to work to her advantage. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said that first day that he was routine-driven. All it took to annoy him was to disrupt his routine.

  And disrupt it, she had. Every thirty minutes since breakfast.

  She trotted down the stairs and found him sitting before the big screen TV in what must have been his grandfather’s den once upon a time, injured leg elevated with a bag of ice resting on top, remote in hand, and pen and notepad on his lap. Apparently, this was what “reviewing film” looked like—him dissecting past games or future opponents. Really, she didn’t know and didn’t care. What she did care about was him doing what she’d asked, something he’d managed to put off all morning.

  “Hey, Scott. Got that list done yet?”

  He bobbled the remote with a soft curse, apparently not having heard her approach. “No. And if you keep interrupting me, it’s just going to take longer.”

  “That’s all right,” she said with a shrug, angelic smile firmly in place. “I’ve got all day.”

  He growled rather than respond, so she headed for the hall. Silly, stubborn man. Like she was really going to let him win.

  “Uh, hey, Felicity?”

  She turned back. “Yeah?”

  “I hate to ask, but since you’re up, would you mind dumping this ice pack and bringing me another? It’s not as cold now, and my knee’s starting to ache.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  She took the offered bag, pretended not to notice the spark of attraction that struck when their fingers briefly met, and headed for the kitchen in moderate shock. He’d actually asked her for real help. Yes, Felicity, there is a Santa Claus.

  Bag of ice dumped and refilled, she headed back to the den and presented his requested item with a smile. “Here you go.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  He appeared genuinely grateful as he took the bag—yes, more finger brushing was involved, not that he seemed to notice—and eased it back onto his swollen knee. For the first time since they’d started working together, Felicity felt like she’d actually helped him with something. Yesterday’s shopping trip had started out feeling semi-helpful, but only until she’d uncovered his ruse. The change today felt…nice.

  “Is there anything else I can get you before I head back upstairs?”

  “You know, now that you mention it, I’d love a glass of water.”

  “Okay. One glass of water, coming right up.”

  She fetched his drink, chalking up him not asking before to his inexperience with giving up control, something she could relate to. Life just seemed to go more smoothly when you were holding the steering wheel. But as J.B. had hired her to be his personal assistant, his giving up control here and there was sort of implied.

  “Your drink, Mr. Gillie,” she said in a teasing tone.

  He reached for it, then paused with a grimace.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing,” he said.

  “No, really, tell me.”

  “I just assumed when I said a glass of water that you’d know to put ice in it.”

  Seriously? She bit back the old saying about what happens when people assume things and forced a smile. “Yes, silly me. Ice water, of course.”

  Felicity headed for the hall and heard the soccer game he was watching click back into action yet again. Out of curiosity, she glanced back…and spied a small smirk lighting his face.

  That sonofabitch.

  She stalked into the kitchen, dumped the water, tossed a handful of ice into the glass, and refilled it, all while plotting a way to kill the man and hide his body. Something that involved injuring his good leg first so he couldn’t get away. Not that she’d actually do it—heck, she couldn’t even stand killing spiders, and she despised them most of all—but picturing him crawling away, begging for mercy did manage to bring a smile to her face.

  Refusing to let him see her flustered, she took a deep breath and walked casually back down the hall.

  “A
ll right, one tall glass of ice water, just for you.”

  Scott clicked pause once again. “Thanks, you’re the best.”

  He took the offered glass and studied it for a moment…but didn’t drink. Felicity worked to keep her cool.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

  “What’s nothing?”

  He offered her a small smile. “It’s just that there’s too much ice now. But really, it’s no big deal.”

  No big deal. The phrase took her back two nights to a dark second-floor hallway, a bare-chested man, and a kiss that had rattled her lonely body like no other. But it had been a big deal to her, just like him jerking her around today.

  “You’re right.”

  Felicity came to stand before him and slowly leaned down until her face was a breath away from his. Scott went stock-still. She wet her lips, drawing his attention there.

  “It’s no.”

  She reached silently into the glass.

  “Big.”

  She grasped a handful of ice.

  “Deal.”

  She raised the ice from said glass and surreptitiously dropped it into his lap.

  Scott sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes wide with surprise. He quickly set the glass on the coffee table and dropped his remote to fish the ice cubes from his crotch.

  Felicity stepped away, not offering to help.

  “Now, if you need anything else, I’ll be in my room until three. After that, I’ll be back to mothering a six-year-old, and you’re on your own.”

  She turned for the door, riding the high of satisfaction at his continued search for ice.

  “Oh, and Scott?” Felicity turned back to find a silent fury in his eyes—guilty eyes—and offered him a sickly-sweet smile. “You’ll have that list to me by tomorrow morning, or else.”