by Melody Anne
“Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.” She took his arm and let him escort her to the registration table.
“Of course, only you could look so good while wearing something that makes it look like you upchucked your morning oatmeal all over yourself,” he said as they waited in line to register.
“The. Sweater. Stays. On,” she said in her most authoritative voice, pointing her finger at him for extra effect. He chuckled.
“Coat check, madam?” the registrant offered as they approached the skirted table.
“No, thank you,” Lainey replied politely.
The registrant gave her a smile so fake he could’ve passed for a wax figurine. “Please, madam. I insist. The event does have a strict dress code, after all.” He pushed a token at her.
Begrudgingly, Lainey stripped off the sweater and handed it to the registrant. She flashed a look at Gabe, intending to cut off any snide remarks at the pass, but he was standing in dumb silence with his mouth agape.
After a few beats, he managed to mouth “wow.” She straightened her shoulders and uncrossed her arms. Without even saying a word, Gabe managed to make her feel a little bit more confident in her near-naked state.
“Will you be making your donation to the Hearts and Hands Charity by cash or check tonight?”
“I’ll be paying for our donation in cash tonight,” Gabe said.
Lainey cleared her throat and pulled a check from her clutch. “That’s not necessary.” Lainey had too much dignity to let Gabe pay her way. She may not make so much as a fraction of his salary, but she could darn well afford to make a charitable donation. Besides, she really didn’t want to give him the impression this was anything other than a mandated publicity appearance. To his credit, he backed off with an easy smile.
Lainey grabbed a pen and wrote in $200.
“Ahem. I’m sure you’re aware the minimum donation is $500,” the registrant added coolly.
“Of course,” Lainey replied, knowing full well that a mottled flush was spreading across her cheeks and neck. Since the stupid clutch Jaime insisted she bring was so tiny, Lainey had only brought the single check and left the rest of her checkbook at home. With a trembling hand, she added an extra zero.
Two thousand dollars.
What the hell had she just done? That was two months’ rent. By the time she signed her name and slid the check over to the registrant, delirium had set in. She’d adjusted her budget to afford the extra expense this month, but there was no way she could donate two thousand dollars without clearing out her entire bank account.
Damn her pride.
There was nothing she could do about it now. She used her visualization techniques to “park” her inevitable freak-out about the money for a later time. Right now, her focus needed to be entirely about getting through the gala without incident.
Gabe escorted her into the reception. Thick crowds of beautiful people were laughing and chatting in every corner of the room. Waiters were flitting about with trays of champagne and canapés. Iridescent chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling and were complemented by dazzling blue-light projections on the walls. Bright orange and yellow blown-glass centerpieces sat on each of the round tables. It was a scene that almost every little girl who fancied herself a princess grew up dreaming about. A scene that could trigger a panic attack in someone as shy and socially awkward as Lainey.
“You will not let your fear get the best of you. You will walk into this room and smile. You will strike up a conversation with strangers,” Lainey whispered to herself with her eyes clenched shut.
“Crowds make you nervous, huh?” Gabe asked her in an equally hushed voice.
Lainey opened one eye and nodded, continuing her rhythmic breathing and chanting. “Envision yourself smiling at people as you walk in the room. You will say witty things to people when they speak to you. You will not hide out in the bathroom for three hours faking a stomach bug.”
“How about I just promise not to leave your side for the entire evening?” Gabe slipped his hand around her waist, settling his grip possessively along her hip bone. The butterflies dancing in her stomach snapped Lainey out of her trance. “Better than having everyone assume you’re in the midst of a schizophrenic episode.”
She nodded, grateful for his promise to stick close even if it meant blending personal space bubbles with him all night. Lainey could never seem to read the smile on Gabe’s face. It was a weird mixture of gloating and sincerity that she didn’t think was humanly possible, but there he was beaming it at her. Lainey couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to always project such unwavering confidence in oneself outside of a soccer field.
“I have to be honest, Lukas. I kind of assumed you were fearless.”
“I know that I play like a god, but I’m still human.” Gabe laughed, and she couldn’t help but smile, too. “After my injury, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to head a ball again. I was sure my career was over.”
“I can’t imagine how you overcame that.”
“I cried every time I touched a soccer ball for the first month of my training. But I kept pushing myself, and eventually I got over it.”
“Wow,” he said in the saddest voice, clenching tightly at her waist. “That must’ve been so difficult.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, it helps that Coach Labreilla is a son of a bitch who wouldn’t tolerate any girly tears.” She hadn’t meant to confess quite so much to him. Something about the location, the clothes, and the chemistry between them made her feel that the moment was more intimate than it was.
A server carrying a tray of champagne flutes approached them once they descended the few stairs to the ballroom. Lainey’s first instinct was to pass, but then she remembered the two thousand dollars. “Screw it,” she muttered, and picked up a glass by the long stem. She had to get through this evening one way or another.
The liquid was crisp, bubbly, and delicious as it slid down her throat. She’d never tasted champagne before, but she instantly understood what all the fuss was about.
“Another?” the server offered. Lainey hadn’t even realized she’d finished the first glass.
She wasn’t an impulsive woman. Every bite of food she consumed was planned out weeks in advance. But Lainey also wasn’t a woman who paraded around in fancy dresses, threw away money like it was confetti, and confessed her tales of woe to veritable strangers. Tonight, one thing was certain: she was a woman who really enjoyed the bubbly goodness of champagne.
“I WOULDN’T HAVE PEGGED you for a champagne drinker,” Gabe said. The sensual and delighted expression on her face as she savored the golden liquid was turning him on like nothing ever had before. He liked seeing this side of her. It was hard to believe that this effusive woman was the same one who talked about her devastating injury and recovery with such matter-of-fact coldness.
As much as he liked to support worthy charities, he’d been growing weary of attending these types of high-society events. This was the first time he’d attended one with Lainey, though, and the dress she was wearing could make the Pope reconsider his celibacy vows.
“What? I’m not fancy enough for champagne?” Lainey asked teasingly, tipping the glass against her sly smile once again. “Opposites attract. It was love at first sight.”
“I can tell. You’re making an orgasm face every time you take a sip. Isn’t it traditional to drink champagne after winning the World Cup?”
She gave him a dirty look and polished off the rest of the glass. He winced, realizing he’d just put his foot in his mouth. “Contrary to popular belief, Norwegian hospitals do not administer alcoholic beverages to unconscious patients through IV—even patients who’ve just won the World Cup. So what do we do now, Mr. Smooth?”
He raised his eyebrows at the “Mr. Smooth” comment but let it go. “We find some interesting people to talk to.”
A look of terror passed over her face. “You’re interesting. Can’t I just talk to you all night?”
“We can be mutually beneficial,” Lainey insisted. Gabe dissolved into laughter. “Oh my gosh. I did not mean that the way it sounds.”
“If you don’t want to talk with people, how do you propose we spend the rest of the evening?”
“Um . . . I spy with my little eye something that is green and—”
“You want to play I spy?” Gabe asked incredulously. Here she was looking drop-dead gorgeous in a killer dress amid the movers and shakers of Seattle, and Lainey wanted to hide out with him in a dark corner to play children’s games. It blew his mind that the two of them could have such similar career paths yet completely opposite temperaments.
She smacked him lightly on the chest. “You didn’t let me finish. I spy with my little eye something that is green and wrapped in bacon. There’s a waiter over there with asparagus wrapped in bacon. Bacon! I want some.”
“Are you drunk after two glasses of champagne?” Gabe asked, finally making sense of her curious, yet entertaining behavior.
“I don’t know,” she responded with a pout. “I’ve never been drunk. Is that why my brain feels tingly?”
“Hmm, are you willing to tell me what you have planned for the fund-raiser?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Then you’re probably just tipsy.”
“Good, back to the subject. Did you know I haven’t had bacon since I was nine?”
“Seriously?” Every word out of her mouth was increasingly hilarious.
“It’s number sixteen on my list,” she said whimsically.
“That’s absolutely tragic. Let’s get you that bacon while you explain what you mean by that list.”
For the next twenty minutes, they stalked waiters across the large room, sampling their offerings and bickering playfully over which was the tastiest. It was the most fun Gabe had had while wearing a stuffy tuxedo. If she was this excited over tuna carpaccio and prosciutto-wrapped cantaloupe, he could only imagine how she’d react to the chocolate fountain.
Just as they were about to sample the shrimp popsicles, Gabe felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Mean Jim Green in the same oversize brown suit he wore to every press conference and social function and wearing a facial expression that said he was about to make someone cry.
“Interesting seeing two rivals cozying up together. Does this mean the Great Battle of the Sexes is a sham?” He pulled a handheld notebook from his inner pocket.
Lainey snorted. “I fully intend on kicking Gabe’s ass in the next three challenges.”
“It’s a friendly competition in the name of charity. We’re not interested in creating mock scandals for you to sell your newspaper,” Gabe added coolly, putting extra emphasis on the word “friendly.”
“How about dredging up real scandals to sell some Falcons tickets? Is it true, Ms. Lukas, that you’re employed as a roofer in addition to your tenure with the Falcons? Do you feel the label ‘professional’ athlete is a misnomer, considering you’re otherwise employed?”
Gabe instinctively gripped both of Lainey’s arms.
“Easy, tiger,” he whispered, keeping his glare fixed on this walking equivalent of an abscessed tooth carrying a notepad. “He’s not worth the effort.”
Gabe plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. He could feel her tensing, readying herself for a fight. “Drink this, sweetheart, and then the bad man will go away.” She downed the glass, handed it back to him, then cracked her knuckles.
Unnerved, the reporter backed off.
“You’re a roofer?” Gabe asked, hoping to get her mind off that unpleasant interlude as quickly as possible.
“You got a problem with that?” Fire burned in her eyes.
“I think it’s sexy as hell.” That pulled a smile out of her, as Gabe had hoped. “I wouldn’t know how to shingle a roof if my life depended on it. Don’t tell anyone this, but I’m secretly scared of heights.”
“Most regular people don’t know how to fix a roof. That’s why the professionals exist,” she answered with a wink. “But really, I just help my uncle out from time to time. He’s the real pro.”
The evening’s emcee invited the guests to take their seats in anticipation of the speeches commencing and the formal dinner being served.
Following Lainey’s lead, Gabe sat down at the table closest to the exit. Typically, he would’ve sat at the main table near the stage, but he was more concerned with making sure she was having a good time than being the center of attention. Besides, she was the only person he was really interested in talking to.
“Look, roofing is pretty cool and all, but why aren’t you supplementing your income with promotional gigs? You must’ve been approached last summer.”
“I’m not talking about it.” Lainey refused to look at him. Instead, she feigned being engrossed with the complicated task of unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap.
“Oh no. You’re holding something back and I bet it’s juicy. Spill it, Lukas.”
She sighed.
“By the time I was done with my recovery, most of the excitement over the World Cup had died out. There aren’t a lot of promotional contracts for female athletes to begin with. But I was contacted about two offers. One was for some sports drink loaded with caffeine and sugar, which I refused on principle. And the other . . .” She hesitated, fidgeting with the napkin in her lap. Gabe nodded, encouraging her to continue. “It was for menstrual products. They wanted to use footage of my injury as a metaphor for just how much blood could be absorbed.”
Gabe coughed, spitting out his drink in the process. “I can see why that would be, uh, uncomfortable. But if you had an agent, they’d vet these things for you.”
“I don’t need an agent. I’m happy working as a roofer in my spare time. I’m not a soccer player to make money or get famous. I’m doing it because I love it. Because I can’t imagine this not being my life and I would do anything to play another game.”
Gabe knew the feeling.“The promotional side of things isn’t just about fame or money. It’s about making the world stand up and take notice. It’s about making the dream of becoming a professional soccer player real for the millions of girls who want to be the next Lainey Lukas.” He hesitated. “Damn, I’m starting to sound like my kid sister.”
“That’s not a bad thing. Your kid sister is smart. I was thinking you sound more like Frank.”
Gabe mimed sucking in a breath like she’d delivered a low blow. “Frank Diavolo is a media whore, but he’s a decent PR manager. Professional leagues don’t exist without publicity. You should let me help you—I can introduce you to my agent. He’s around here somewhere, and he’s good at what he does.”
“Why do you keep trying to help me with this stuff?” She cut a piece of steak from the plate set in front of her and moaned as soon as it touched her tongue.
Because you keep doing stuff like that. “Because I’m not your enemy. I want the Falcons to succeed, and for the first time in my life, my kid sister thinks I’m cool—and it’s just for knowing you. The only reason we aren’t on the same side is because you stole our practice time. I can’t risk an injury from Cricket Field. Not at this stage of my career. One twisted knee and I’m no longer the Hometown Hero. I’m Gabe ‘the Aging Liability’ Havelak, and my ass will be traded to the first team that’ll take me. Seattle is my home.”
“You really love it here, don’t you?” she asked around another mouthful of food.
“It’s where I grew up. Where my family lives. The ocean, the trees, the culture, the vibrancy. This is the place that’s allowed my dreams to come true, and that’s why I’m so passionate about giving back.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Isn’t there something besides soccer you feel passionate about
?”
He watched her intently, realizing he desperately wanted to know the answer. He wanted to know the real Lainey Lukas beyond the impenetrable force of a woman she portrayed to the rest of the world. He wanted to know her quirks, her dreams, her passion.
But tonight was not the night he’d get the answer. She gave him an insecure smile and delved back into her meal.
12
What’s next for me now that I’m leaving La Liga? I’ll play out my days in Seattle and live the good life. And if I’m really lucky, maybe I’ll find a good woman to spend my retirement with.
—Gabe Havelak, quoted in Football World News
“IT DOES NOT LOOK like oatmeal,” Lainey muttered to herself, and wrapped her cardigan tighter, trying to ward off the night’s chill. The sweater was warm, sturdy, and functional—qualities she admired in people as much as she did in inanimate objects. Ever since Gabe had made that stupid comment at the beginning of the evening, she couldn’t get the breakfast-mush association out of her mind.
She checked the time on her phone, wondering if she’d just missed the last bus or if it was running late. All the digits seemed to go fuzzy and blur together. The more she squinted, the worse it got.
She hadn’t even noticed that the servers were filling up her wineglass after every sip until Gabe pointed it out.
Oh, but it was delicious.
The whole meal had been a burst of illicit flavors in her mouth. She wondered if people who ate like that regularly ever got bored with it. This whole evening was a onetime indulgence for Lainey, like Cinderella at the ball. Unfortunately, just like Cinderella, her ride turned into a pumpkin before the night was over. She couldn’t drive in her current state, and couldn’t afford a cab, either. She’d have to contend with standing in the dark waiting for the vomit comet to carry her home.
A shiny flash of red pulled around the corner and came to a stop right in front of her.
“Get in,” Gabe ordered from the driver’s seat. A warm feeling rolled in her belly as she slipped inside. Deep down, a part of her had expected Gabe to show up like Prince Charming. He’d been a perfect gentleman all evening.