Scoring Wilder

by R.S. Grey

  “Kinsley, scoot back, you’re about to fall off the counter,” Becca said, pulling me out of my people-watching zone. I hadn’t realized I’d been swaying so heavily.

  I scooted back a little bit so that more of my thighs pressed against the cold granite.

  "Oh, here! I almost forgot," she said, reaching down to dig in her purse.

  "What is it? What is it?" I clapped my hands together, feeling giddy from the alcohol and party atmosphere. "A vibrator?" I exclaimed loud enough for the few people around us to eye me with suspicious grins. I shot them all a confident smile.

  "No, you hussy! It's a birthday crown. It’s what I had to grab at the Rookie House earlier," she answered, retrieving a pink, sparkly princess crown out of her purse. It looked like a piece of a costume I'd had as a little girl and I instantly loved it.

  "Ooooh. It's beeuuooteefuulll," I drawled with wide eyes as she placed it on the top of my head.

  Becca started laughing, making me laugh, and eventually I was clutching my stomach. My nineteenth birthday was definitely getting better. Laughing like an insane person sure beat eating cake alone.

  "Here, this should help," Emily said, returning from the freezer and handing me a makeshift icepack with a bemused smile. I'd forgotten my cheek was even injured.

  I took the pack and gave her a cheesy grin. "What would I do without you two?!"

  "Well you're about to find out because I have to use the bathroom."

  "I'll go with you," Becca said, turning toward Emily. "I should find the other freshman girls and bring them in here. They're probably wondering where we went."

  "What?" I asked with puppy-dog-eyes. "You're both leaving me?" I actually felt sad about it.

  "Yes, just stay there and keep icing your face. We'll be right back!" Becca called as she and Emily disappeared through the crowd. What the hell? Now I looked like a big loser sitting by myself with a princess crown and an ice pack. But I'd be damned if I took it off. I was a birthday princess. I even gave a royal wave to anyone that walked by me.

  "That crown looks good on you! Want to do a birthday shot?" A dark voice asked. I looked up to find a group of cute guys surrounding me. They looked a bit older and I knew the one speaking to me was on the LA Stars team. If I wasn't drunk I could have told you his name, but I hardly remembered my name. Kinsley Bryant. Kinsley Bryant.

  "Well, since my friends ditched me for the pisser, er… I mean the powder room… I might as well," I shrugged.

  "That's a good attitude," the cute one said as he passed me a jell-o shot. I decided I’d call him Oliver until I remembered his actual name. He looked like an Oliver.

  "Skim your finger around the rim so that you can loosen the jell-o from the plastic," he instructed, stepping closer to me.

  I shot him an indignant look. "Do I look like an amateur?" I laughed, tipping back the jell-o in one smooth swoosh.

  "Mmm, cherry." I smiled and the guys laughed.

  I would have paid more attention to them or asked for another shot, but the moment the words escaped my lips, I looked toward the doorway of the kitchen and my breath caught in my throat.

  Liam Wilder.

  Sex on steroids rolled in pastry crust. Liam Wilder.

  I didn't think he showed up to things like this. I thought he jaunted around on yachts and baptized babies all day. Babies that would one day grow up to be swimsuit models, thanks to his touch. No, he’s not a priest; he’s just a god in the soccer world. (And also in the real world.)

  Jeez, he was good-looking up close. Tall, toned, sexy light brown hair, and a face that made you want to cry a little it was so perfect. He was the star of the LA Stars and the resident bad boy of LA. Seriously. Every week there was news coverage of him leaving a bar with some model or actress. He was young, handsome, and could literally sleep with anyone he wanted. Could you blame the guy for taking advantage of it?

  From my vantage point on the counter, I watched him walk into the kitchen with people trailing after him like love-sick puppies. I could get so much done if I had people following me around all day. “You there, make me lunch, and you, fan me with tiny blades of grass.” It’s weird that I had no one applying for the job…

  His eyes skimmed the crowd until he found his teammate, the one who'd just given me a jell-o shot, and then his eyes looked up and found me. Oh god. I was staring at him as I wore a lopsided birthday crown and held a bag of ice to my face… and it wasn't like I could do anything about it since he was already heading over toward us.

  Could I trick him into thinking the ice pack was an elaborate way to get drunk that all the hipsters were using lately? Like I was absorbing alcohol through my pores? Most likely not…

  The guys were talking in front of me, but I didn’t hear a single word. I was watching Liam as he moved, trying to keep my tongue from detaching from my mouth. He had on a black short-sleeve shirt. Tattoos peeked out from beneath the sleeve on his left arm. The inked design traveled down to his forearm, completing the entire package along with his rugged facial hair and piercing grey eyes.

  All right, enough.

  "Can I have another jell-o shot?" I asked, shaking myself out of my delirious Liam-filled haze.

  "You might want to slow down, birthday girl. You zoned out for like five minutes there," Oliver answered with a sly smile.

  "Oliver, c'mon you're going to deny the birthday girl another shot?" one of his friends chimed in. Ha! I knew his name had been Oliver the entire time.

  "Yeah! Listen to him!" I laughed and winked at the new guy.

  I didn't actually want another shot; I just wanted something to do while Liam stepped closer to us. He'd seen me staring at him and he probably thought I was yet another girl in his growing entourage. I mean I would have been, gladly, but he didn't need to know that.

  Oliver moved to go grab another shot just as Liam stepped up to the group.

  "Hey Wilder," everyone cheered, reaching out to do that male-handshake thing while I pretended to be interested in my fingers on my lap. Yup, I still had all ten. That’s good.

  "Oh, I didn't see you there man, you want a shot?" Oliver asked as he returned and handed everyone a small plastic cup.

  I looked up just in time to see Liam shift his gaze away from me. He’d been looking at me. His eyes had been glancing in my general direction. I felt hot and sweaty all over, as if I needed to cool my face with one of those paper fans like a 1900s debutant.

  "Nah, I'm not drinking tonight. Looks like the birthday girl has had enough though."

  What?

  "Excuse me?" I asked with a scowl.

  "Are you even legal?" he asked with a bemused smile.

  What an arrogant asshole.

  I prepped my jell-o shot and slung it back, never taking my eyes off of him. The edge of his mouth perked up, and I knew he enjoyed the fact that I was challenging him.

  I held the empty cup out in front of me, and as he motioned to take it, I let it drop to the floor between us. His dark eyes followed the trail of the cup’s decent to the floor and then came back up to my face. When his gaze locked with mine again, a slow smirk uncurled across his lips.

  "I think your posse needs you." I tilted my head to the side and pointed to the gaggle of people waiting for him to see them standing behind him.

  He ignored them.

  "What happened to your cheek?" he asked, stepping forward and effectively breaking every social code. His teammates had been standing in a circle around me on the counter, so when Liam stepped in front of me, he cut off the circle and pretty much ended the conversation.

  The other guys shrugged and laughed, turning to reform their own group and leaving me alone with Liam. I couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing, but the shots were starting to multiply in my system, so I couldn't be held accountable for my actions.

  As Liam leaned forward to inspect my cheek, I remembered his question. "It's kind of a long story, but it involves gyrating hips and a car console."

  He smiled at my ans
wer, but he didn't take his eyes off my cheek. His hand reached up and he gently nudged my chin to the side so he could see the bruise better. I tried to keep my breath under control while he touched my skin.

  "It's seriously not that bad. I'm just being a baby and icing it so I don't end up with a swollen cheek tomorrow." I needed him to step back. His cologne was practically hijacking my ovulation cycle and I had to fight the urge to let my face collapse onto his shirt and inhale.

  "Ah, yeah, I think you'll survive to see another birthday," he smirked as he crossed his arms.

  "Oh good. This one's been pretty lame until now," I murmured, realizing how depressing the statement sounded only after I'd already said it. Where the hell were Emily and Becca anyway? Was the toilet some kind of portal to another dimension?

  He tilted his head to the side, his gaze unwavering. “What did you get for your birthday?”

  I’m still holding out that you’re actually a stippergram for me.

  “Well,” I looked down at my empty hands, “I got this birthday crown?” I said it like it was a question because I wasn’t sure that it counted. “My mom always gets me something elaborate, but her package didn’t make it here today from Aspen.”

  Wow, I really did sound pathetic by that point.

  He nodded with narrowed eyes, but he didn't respond to the comment. He crossed his arms tighter, forcing my gaze down to his sexy tattoos. They stretched across his bicep on either side, but only the ones on his left arm dipped below his shirt sleeve. It was a tantalizing glimpse, but I wanted to see more. I knew from photos that they drifted up to his chest and back.

  "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," I murmured cheekily, referring to his tattoos, of course.

  I was seriously playing with fire, but that's what happens when I drink too much and the world puts me in front of the sexiest man alive. No, seriously, I think last year People Magazine named him Sexiest Man Alive.

  "I don't think that’s a good idea," he said.

  Wow. Completely denied. That stung more than my face smashing into the car console. So why was he still standing in front of me, blocking me from talking to anyone else? It was all too confusing for my intoxicated brain to understand.

  "That's good. I couldn't show you where mine is anyway," I answered with a sly grin.

  Even he was caught off guard by that comment, but relax, I don't have a tattoo on my who-hah. It's just along my bra line; a simple line of text that runs horizontally under my arm. But wow I was laying it on thick. I glanced down to ensure that I wasn't humping his leg. Nope, but my black dress had ridden up a bit, exposing more of my tanned thighs.

  “That’s not the reason,” he smirked. “Starting tomorrow I'll be one of your coaches at ULA, so I think that would violate the rules, don't you think?"

  My heart stopped beating at the word "coach".

  Chapter Three

  I narrowed my eyes. Had my drunken ears heard him right? Coach?

  "What are you talking about?" I asked.

  His eyes hardened and his jaw ticked once back and forth. "As of tomorrow, I'll be helping out the ULA women's soccer team for a few months."

  No. No. No, thank you. That's not possible. He couldn't be my coach. He was too busy licking models to coach a soccer team.

  "Kinsley!" Becca called my name from across the room, and I looked up to see her and the sophomore girls waving me over.

  I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, but my head was too foggy. Why did someone put a fog machine in there? I dropped my ice pack in the sink and slunk off the counter.

  "Better get some sleep, Kinsley. You have quite an early morning tomorrow," Liam noted with a smile. I stepped to move past him, but then I thought of something.

  "How'd you know I was on the ULA team?" I asked.

  He grinned, and for a moment I thought I was going to have to pound my chest to make my heart keep beating. He had slight dimples and perfectly straight teeth. That grin should be tucked away and brought out only for special occasions— where heart defibrillators would be present and accounted for.

  "You were the top recruit in the country. There's not a person in the soccer world that doesn't know who you are," he answered with confidence.

  I’d been featured in a few magazines in high school, but damn. Liam Wilder knew who I was. He knew me enough to recognize me at a party… and tomorrow he would be my coach.

  Oh god. I just almost sniffed his shirt and then I asked him if he’d show me his tattoos.

  I'm in major trouble.

  With that thought, I nodded and turned away from him to find my teammates. I had to fill them in stat. We had a lot of Googling to do.

  "Are you okay? And more importantly, were you just talking to Liam Wilder?" Emily asked with wide eyes as soon as I reached them. Becca was standing directly behind her with her mouth hanging open.

  "Yes, and you won't even believe what I have to tell you guys, but I should wait until later." The party was still going strong and I didn't want to squeal about what I'd just found out in front of all these people. Word would probably get back to Liam before I even reached the front door.

  "Okay, that sounds really mysterious. Now I'm even more curious," Emily answered.

  "You should be," I laughed, and then tugged her and Becca through the crowd toward the door. "I'm kind of tired. Do you guys want to share a cab back to the house with me?"

  "Kinsley!" someone called from across the room just as I’d asked my question.

  Josh.

  Damnit, with everything going on I'd completely forgotten he would even be at the party. I shifted my gaze just as I saw him pushing through the crowd and calling my name again. He looked cute as always with his dark brown hair and boyish face. Too bad I knew what kind of asshole he actually was.

  "Kinsley, wait up!"

  Every person in that living room was watching him trying to get to me. Did he have to keep yelling my name like that? I clearly wasn't going anywhere.

  Just as he was about to reach me, I saw movement in the doorway to the kitchen and then Liam stepped into the living room. Oh, great. Let’s make it a show. Maybe we could flip the lights on and cut the music so everyone could have a front row seat.

  "Josh, seriously, not now. I'm tired and drunk, and it's my birthday." I stepped closer to Becca and Emily.

  "I know. I'm so sorry. I tried to call you and I even sent flowers to the house. Did you get them?"

  He meant the roses that I had shredded in the disposal earlier that morning. Whoops.

  "Yes. I got them Josh, but I don't want to talk right now." I ground my molars together.

  "Just let me make it up to you. Can I come see you later this week? Maybe we can get coffee after you're done with practice one day?" His voice was carrying over the party, and I was painfully aware of everyone's eyes on me. I couldn't very well make a scene in front of all those people. He deserved to be punched in the face, but seeing as how I had already incurred one injury on my birthday, I decided to give in.

  "Fine. Just text me, but you need to realize we aren't getting back together." I turned away from him and started to make my way to the front door. I tuned out everything around me. I didn't want to hear if Josh said anything else as I walked away. I didn't want to know if Liam had heard that entire ridiculous exchange. I just wanted my pajamas and fuzzy socks.

  …

  "Are you serious?!" Becca screamed.

  "Dude! If you scream in my ear again I will punch you in the uterus."

  Becca, Emily, and I were lying on my bed back at the Rookie House. Four days before, I'd moved into the rookie house where I'd stay for my freshman year of college. It was within walking distance from the ULA campus and a few miles from our practice fields.

  "Okay, I'm sorry, but you're not kidding, right? I can't tell if you're joking," Becca laughed.

  I rolled over and gave her a dead-serious look, but I was still tipsy so I ended up laughing when she started making faces at me.

&nbs
p; "Ugh, okay. Just believe me. He told me at the party that he was coaching us starting tomorrow."

  "But why? He doesn't need the money and surely he's already busy enough," Emily protested. I’d been wondering the same thing. I wouldn't have believed it either if I hadn't heard it come out of his own mouth. A perfectly supple mouth, fyi.

  "Oh, look at this!" Becca said, pointing to my computer’s scene. "This article talks about him volunteering as a soccer coach with the ULA team after a few of his sponsors got onto him for his ‘bad-boy’ ways. It says they gave him an ultimatum: get dropped from their labels or clean up his act."

  "They couldn't drop him! He's the best soccer player in the US!" I argued.

  "Obviously. But this article says he’s a huge liability," Emily muttered.

  "Well, he seemed fine earlier and he wasn't even drinking," I defended him, trying to recall the scent of his cologne from memory. It was probably called Nectar of the Gods.

  "Well the night is still young, so maybe he started partying hard after we left," Emily murmured. "He's really hot, though, I have to admit."

  "She does have a pulse!" I joked, poking her in the lungs.

  "Hey! Yes, okay. I'm not immune to Liam Wilder, but it doesn't matter— he's our coach now."

  Ugh, she just had to kill my buzz.

  "Not until tomorrow," I clarified.

  "How old is he?" Emily asked.

  "Twenty-five," Becca answered, having known it off the top of her head.

  "Do you think he has a girlfriend?" I asked.

  "Well according to Google images, he has about one thousand of them. Seriously, does this man sleep?" Becca clicked through photos, but I didn't look.

  "Gross, close it," I groaned, lying back and staring up at my ceiling.

  "He's never been linked to anyone in particular, though. He's photographed with women, but he's never gone public with a relationship. For being a media darling, his life is relatively private. These photos of him with women are mostly at fundraisers and parties," Becca explained.

  I wasn't sure what to make of that information. Did he not have a girlfriend because he liked to play the field? Or did the media just not know about it?