The Striker's Chance

by Rebecca Crowley

  “I thought you wanted to get away from those women. We can go back if you’d prefer.”

  “No,” Holly said too quickly, too forcefully. She took a deep, steadying breath. “No, I don’t. It’s my sister’s birthday, that’s why I’m here. Otherwise this is basically the opposite of my scene.”

  Kepler quirked a brow, and she realized that, since he’d come here of his own accord, she’d essentially insulted his taste in nightlife.

  “I didn’t mean—I mean, I’m just not a club kind of girl. There’s nothing wrong with them though.”

  To her relief, he laughed. “That’s fair enough. I have to say, I’m not that impressed so far. One of the guys on the team told me this was a fun spot for a Saturday night, so here I am.” He shrugged.

  She wobbled on her heels and put her palms flat against the wall behind her, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She felt warm and tingly all over, and the longer she gazed up into Kepler’s face, the more beautiful it seemed. The broad, high forehead, the ever-twinkling eyes, that rakish, playful smile...

  “So what is your scene?” he was asking when she blinked back to reality.

  “What? Oh, my scene. Um—” Her thoughts were coming too fast and too slow all at once. Her mind rushed with ideas and emotions, but it took a long time to slot them into words. “Well, I like hanging out with my friends. Having barbecues, low-key house parties, going for hikes, that kind of thing.”

  He looked at her curiously, and she wondered if she’d said something weird without realizing it.

  Someone brushed past them and Kepler moved in to make room. Close enough for her to smell now, that cedarwood and citrus scent as intoxicating as it was masculine. He wore jeans in a dark denim and a light blue collared shirt made out of some incredibly fine weave.

  She had to touch it. To touch him.

  She ran her hand down his chest and tugged on the tail of his shirt, pulling him closer.

  Just let go, she told herself. Let go.

  Kepler had hunger in his eyes as he gazed down at her. The wall was cool at her back with the hard, solid heat of his body against her front. She reached up to stroke his freshly shaven cheek. Then she rose on her tiptoes and put her mouth on his.

  He responded with the confident pressure that was so familiar and yet so longed for, and she shuddered with a mixture of need and fulfillment. His hands moved to her waist as if they belonged there, and she crossed her wrists behind his neck as though she could keep him kissing her forever.

  They’d barely eased into a rhythm when he pulled back.

  “You taste like champagne,” he growled.

  “I bet.” She smiled coyly and leaned into him, but he put even more distance between them.

  “Holly, you’re drunk. I think I should take you home.”

  Anger flashed through her with such sudden intensity that she swayed on her feet. “I am not. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her emotions swung violently in the opposite direction as a horrifying thought smacked her full in the face. “Is this because of my sister?” she asked, ruing the tremble in her voice but unable to control it. “Is it because she’s so much prettier than me?”

  Paralyzed by fear and anxiety, she stared at him, waiting for his response. She didn’t know how she would carry on if he said yes, how she could ever look at him again if she knew that he’d only liked her until he met someone better.

  Kepler cupped her chin in his big hand, and the gentleness with which his thumb swept over her cheekbone belied the steel in his voice.

  “I’m going to choose not to be insulted by the implication that piles of makeup and a low-cut top are all it takes to turn my head. But I don’t want to hear talk like that from you ever again. Is that clear?”

  Holly nodded dumbly, too shocked to take in the full meaning of his words. His eyes searched hers, his forehead creased with unspoken intent.

  Finally he sighed. “I would love nothing more than to stand here and kiss you senseless. But you’ve had too much to drink, doll, and you’re not making good choices. Come now, I’ll give you a lift home.”

  “But I can’t leave now,” Holly protested, struggling to process this sudden change in plans. “What about my sister? And where’s my bag?”

  “Your bag’s on your shoulder. And your sister’s disappeared onto the dance floor, probably hoping to impress me with her moves.”

  Then his arm was around her bare shoulders, and he held her against his side as they made their way out of the club and into the humid night air.

  “This is your car?” Holly asked in surprise as Kepler unlocked the door of a brand new but decidedly rugged Jeep Wrangler.

  “What did you expect?” he asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat beside her.

  “I don’t know. Something flashier, I guess. Like a luxury SUV.”

  He wrinkled his nose as he started the engine and put the car into gear. “Not really my style. Now, where to?”

  She gave him directions to her house and lay back against the seat. The interior of the car seemed to be spinning around her. Her feet ached, her head throbbed and her stomach threatened to reintroduce her to her fancy dinner. But Kepler was a calming presence beside her, his hands sure and strong as he steered the car through the quiet streets.

  She let her eyes fall shut. Right now this felt like the safest place in the world.

  * * *

  Kepler surveyed the street while Holly fumbled with the key to the front door. It reminded him of the neighborhood where he’d grown up and where his parents still lived. Small but proudly kept houses on immaculate lots with sturdy, reliable vehicles parked on the driveways. He imagined the people behind the darkened windows tended toward hard-working but not rich, who voted in local elections and ferried their kids to sports practices and observed strict rules about vegetables and bedtimes.

  Suddenly his million-dollar house in Myers Park seemed like an atrocious, frivolous waste of money.

  “Got it,” Holly declared and pushed open the front door. She staggered inside, flicking on lights as she went, but Kepler lingered in the doorway. Keen as he was to spend more time with her and assure himself she would be all right, it felt somehow ungentlemanly and inappropriate to barge into her home when she was in a compromised state.

  She was an adult; she could handle herself. She’d have enough of a headache tomorrow morning. He didn’t want her to have the added stress of knowing he’d come into her house essentially uninvited.

  He had his car keys in his hand and was about to call out his goodbye when Holly tripped over her own feet and stumbled hard against the edge of the coffee table, barely managing to stay upright.

  Kepler sighed, pocketed his keys and stepped inside.

  “Come on, doll.” He took her arm to steady her. “Where’s the kitchen?”

  Twenty minutes later they were ensconced at her kitchen table with cups of coffee, glasses of water and a hastily assembled plate of cheese, crackers and grapes between them. Holly had kicked off her shoes and seemed to be sobering up, although the pointed questions she fired at him gave evidence that her guard was still down.

  “Be honest with me,” she insisted. “There are tons of photos of you outside London nightclubs with random women on your arm. Do you really expect me to believe you didn’t sleep with them? That the press made that all up?”

  Kepler scrubbed wearily at his eyes. Since he almost always had a game scheduled, it wasn’t often he had the chance to go out on a Saturday night. He was usually busy soaking his match-sore muscles in a hot bath and trying not to fall asleep in front of the eleven o’clock news. Tonight he’d been accosted by that friend of Gina’s before he’d even bought a drink, and now he was stone-cold sober and being interrogated by the woman he yearned for.

  “I slept with some of them,” he admitted, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic mug. “But not as many as you might think. That’s the truth.”

  Holly’s eyes narrowed skeptically. He sighed.r />
  “When I was living in Spain, I was totally intimidated by the social side of professional soccer. I was an inexperienced, immature, virginal eighteen-year-old from the back end of nowhere. The super-sexual Spanish women that hung around the athletes were, quite frankly, terrifying.”

  Her cynical expression eased into a slight smile. “Virginal?”

  “Oh yeah.” He nodded earnestly. “For some players, being thrust into this ultra-macho world at a young age turns them into oversexed, slobbering dogs. But I went the other way and was painfully shy around women. Painfully.”

  “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

  “Old.”

  “How old?”

  Kepler winced. “Twenty-one.”

  “That’s not so old,” she comforted, but he could tell from the twinkle in her eye that she didn’t believe her own words.

  “It’s okay, I’ve come to terms with it.” He grinned. “And in the long run I’ve realized that I was right to wait until I was ready. Over time I learned I liked going out and having fun and being rowdy with my teammates, hence all the photos in the tabloids. But I’m very selective about who I go to bed with. With most of those women, the encounter never went further than the inside of a taxi.”

  “You didn’t seem that selective in the backseat of my car,” Holly said with sudden aggression that took him completely by surprise.

  “What do you mean, that wasn’t selective? It’s not like I’d just come from someone else’s backseat,” he countered, irritated at having to fight this battle again.

  “I mean you barely knew me, yet you wasted no time in getting hot and heavy.” She crossed her arms.

  “I knew you well enough to know how much I liked you, and that I had real feelings for you,” he said defensively. “I still do, but I have to tell you that I really don’t understand where you’re coming from. I think I’ve been pretty damn honest about my intentions. Then one minute you tell me nothing can happen between us, and in the next you’re jealous of a hundred imaginary women I’m supposed to have been with.”

  He threw up his hands in exasperation. He hadn’t planned on telling her all this, but now that it was out in the open, he was glad.

  “Leaving the professional conflict out of this for a moment, I wish you’d tell me straight. Are you interested in me or not?”

  Holly’s pretty face crumpled, and for one horrifying moment Kepler thought he’d brought her to tears. But she pulled in a heartening breath and her big blue eyes stayed dry.

  “Kepler, you’re one of the greatest guys I’ve ever met,” she said, her compliment undermined by the sadness of her tone. “Don’t get me wrong, at first I thought you were a total jerk, but once I got a few glimpses at the man behind the swagger, I realized you weren’t nearly as arrogant and self-centered as you seemed.”

  He blinked, dumbstruck. “Thanks?”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied. “The answer is yes, I’m interested in you. When we’re not at each other’s throats we’ve had a lot of fun together, and of course you were just voted top hottie in the bar by my sister. What girl can pass up credentials like that? But I don’t see how it can work. I’m your PR manager, you’re my client, and LKC Energy pays a lot of money to keep it that way. I would’ve said we could give it a try once the season had finished, but now—”

  She stopped short, and her eyes went wide with alarm.

  “What?” Kepler asked, annoyed both at her answer and her abrupt refusal to say more. “Why not try when the season’s over?”

  “It’s...um...if LKC Energy wants to retain me to work with you again next year, you know, that would look pretty bad.”

  He got the distinct impression there was something else she wasn’t telling him. Did she have some ex-boyfriend moving back to town? Was she secretly married? Had she accepted a job offer in another city and was just waiting for it to be finalized?

  That last thought settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach. She was the only person he really knew in Charlotte. The only person he really wanted to know. What would he do with himself in this city if she were gone?

  He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Holly reached across the table and gave his hand a quick pat.

  “I know, it sucks. But it’s just how things have to be.”

  “Okay,” Kepler managed hoarsely. He wasn’t a man used to rejection, especially not when he had genuine feelings for someone—which was almost never.

  “You seem to be feeling better. I should probably head home.” He stood stiffly, still reeling from the unexpected turn this night had taken.

  She nodded and silently walked him to the door. He dug in his pocket for his car keys, and she murmured, “Thanks for bringing me home. You’re a true gentleman.”

  But still not enough for you.

  “No problem. See you later.”

  He was halfway down the front walk when Holly called his name. He pivoted eagerly. This was the moment when she changed her mind, when she invited him back in and told him they had to keep it a secret until the end of the season, but that he was worth way more than any PR contract.

  “If you want to go back to the club, I’m sure the girls will still be there. I know Kirsty’s single, and I think Julia might be too.” She shrugged. “I’m just saying, I would understand.”

  Kepler stared at her for a long, long minute, and ran through at least ten possible replies. Eventually he decided no single response could capture the resentment, disappointment and downright offense he felt in that moment.

  He shook his head. Then he turned his back on her and walked away.

  Chapter Eleven

  Holly turned off the ignition and for several minutes simply sat in the parking lot of the indoor football field that doubled as a Discovery training facility.

  It was Thursday afternoon, and she hadn’t been able to face Kepler since he’d left her house Saturday night. As soon as the taillights of his Jeep had disappeared, she’d collapsed on the couch and given herself over to hiccupping, self-pitying tears.

  She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone, and not just on a physical level. She wanted to wake up beside him, to watch him stumble around the kitchen with tousled hair as he put the coffee on to percolate. She wanted to walk with him hand-in-hand on the way to buy a present for his nephew. She wanted to slam through the front door after a stressful day and fall into his arms, not needing to say a thing, safe in the knowledge that he would always be there for her.

  It was a nice fantasy, but that’s all it would ever be.

  Sharon had called her that morning after reading a mock-up of the Chicago Chronicle article, which was scheduled to go to print the next day, leaving plenty of time for people to buy tickets for Saturday’s match.

  Unsurprisingly, she had been delighted. And why shouldn’t she? Sensitively and honestly written, the article offered a touching human interest story without being melodramatic or clichéd. Kepler was articulate and thoughtful in the interview, and the photos were stunning.

  After congratulating Holly on her triumph, she’d said that their analysts were already calculating a massive increase in his saleable value. At this rate, they might even be able to sell him to one of the wealthy European clubs, who would be much more willing to pay a high price than their American counterparts.

  “You’ve got him on the boil, now you have to keep the heat high,” Sharon had urged. “We’re counting on you to make this investment come good. Then we’ll see which of our big accounts we can set you loose on up here in New York.”

  Holly had put the phone down feeling utterly devoid of any of the elation or even vague happiness that such compliments would’ve given her even two months ago. Now she just felt like a liar and a traitor.

  She’d sold Kepler out, and he had no idea.

  She checked the time on her phone. Discovery’s training session should be ending in about five minutes. She hoped catching Kepler somewhere very public and at
the end of a long day of practice would mean he wouldn’t have the time or inclination to press her into a serious conversation about what happened on Saturday.

  It was cowardly, but then that seemed to be her modus operandi these days.

  When she dropped into one of the seats in the front row, near the tunnel exit, the players were running an attacking drill on the pitch. Two of them stood side-by-side on the center line. One of Sven’s assistant coaches kicked a ball between them, and they had to run to try to take control of it and shoot it into the net. Whoever didn’t get the ball had to attempt to block his teammate from scoring.

  Holly leaned her elbows on the railing as she marveled at the dexterity and grace even the rookie players displayed. She’d grown to love how a seemingly simple sport commanded such a complex range of skills, from speed to power to strategy. Rick told her that some people referred to soccer as “the beautiful game,” and with each match she watched she appreciated that more and more.

  Kepler took his turn on the center line against Tyson Daniels. The assistant coach kicked the ball and Kepler was after it in a flash, effortlessly outrunning Tyson and sending it sailing into the net within seconds.

  Tyson stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head in a way that said he was clearly irritated with his own performance. Kepler clapped him on the back and indicated for them to go again.

  They reset their positions, the coach set the ball in motion, and Kepler captured it just as quickly as before, except instead of racing for the goal he drove it back toward the center line, causing Tyson to pivot and sprint after him.

  Kepler led Tyson back and forth in a zigzag toward the goal. At first Holly thought he was being deliberately cruel to his teammate and showing off his own clearly superior capabilities.

  As they veered toward her, though, she could hear him shouting encouragement. “Take it off me, Ty. Go on, take it—I’m broadcasting my next move like a radio, come on!”

  Tyson’s brow furrowed in concentration, his face taut, but in the next instant his toe tipped the ball up from the grass between Kepler’s feet.