by Melody Anne
“I don’t know where to start,” she admitted. The rows of a dozen paint pots sat at the edge of the table taunting her with possibilities. The haphazard smattering of paintbrushes was the extra kick in the gut when she was already down.
Gabe slathered on some clashing blue next. “Start wherever you want. If it feels good, go for it. If it doesn’t work, who cares?”
“Easy come, easy go. Is that how you treat every decision in life?”
He shrugged. “There are some things in life that I never compromise on. My family. My career. My home.”
Her heart pounded as his words sunk in. No matter how much fun she was having, she couldn’t let herself be duped. Maybe he really did enjoy spending time with her as she did with him, but no matter what reassurances he gave, she knew there was an ulterior motive to his charm.
“What would you be if you weren’t a soccer player?” Redirecting her dour thoughts seemed like a good idea.
“Is this an interrogation?” Gabe asked amiably.
Feeling mischievous, she nodded. “I guess it is.”
He broke into a wide smile that had her itching to tear his clothes off right then and there. His dimples were irresistible, but it was the naughty meaning behind the smile that set her on fire. “Never thought about it too much. A teacher, I guess. What about you?”
“There was never another option for me, either, but I’m pretty good with a nail gun. Favorite season?”
“Nothing beats ski season in the Pacific Northwest.”
She cringed and shook her head. “The risk of breaking your leg is so high. I’m getting heart palpitations just thinking of it.”
“Are you sure it’s the thought of skiing doing that to you?” His leg, which had been brushing against hers at the cramped table, pushed her thighs open. “But seriously, I will get you out on the slopes one of these days.”
They continued their verbal volleys for the next hour, shifting the topic to the teams they rooted for in all the major European leagues, the best stadiums in the United States and abroad, and—always a favorite topic among players—worst referees. The latter debate turned rather heated but ended the way most of their conversations seemed to go. With gut-busting laughter.
Eventually Lainey settled on painting a soccer ball on her mug while their chatter faded. First she layered green paint on the whole thing for grass. It didn’t really look like grass, so she pressed the bristles of her brush upward, hoping to make it look properly textured.
It looked ridiculous.
She gave up on the grass and worked on the ball instead. Using the black paint, she used a slender brush to draw a small hexagon. It immediately smudged into the green. “Dammit!” She blew her hair out of her eyes and looked at Gabe. She would have sworn she saw him smile, but his mouth was drawn into a stern line, expression impassive.
Seeing as she couldn’t wait for the paint to dry, she added a few more black blobs, hoping to even out the lines with the white paint. As soon as she did, the white streaked into the black, leaving a soggy gray mess. Gabe’s chin was trembling as he struggled to keep his lips sealed.
Undeterred, she used the edge of her fingernail to remove some of the excess paint. Unfortunately, she kept her fingernails ridiculously short and ended up with paint all over her fingertip. She grabbed a tissue from a box set next to the jar of brushes and tried to wipe away the mess she had made.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded, seeing Gabe’s shoulders shaking up and down. He burst out laughing.
“You have paint on your cheek.” He gestured to the side of her face. “And in your hair.”
“I do not!” She twisted around to look at her faint reflection in the window. “Crap. I do.”
Gabe snickered again.
“Not funny.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s totally funny.”
She grabbed her paintbrush and smeared it along the edge of Gabe’s plate.
His eyes narrowed. “Perfect addition. A splotch of black is just what I needed.” She closed her eyes as he reached for his brush, knowing a messy retaliation was coming.
A thunderous bang on the window jolted her back to reality. A couple of teenagers were banging at the window, pointing at them. One of them stuck his lips against the glass and pressed until he looked like a giant, disgusting suckerfish, while the other one yelled at Gabe that he was his favorite player. They made a few more semi-obscene, amusing gestures, and then continued on their way.
“They clearly liked your plate,” she offered with a chuckle. Admittedly, she was a bit jealous. The random splashes of colors made the piece look airy, like a sunset. Hers looked like a two-year-old was given free rein with finger paints.
Bang!
The teenagers were back. One of them shouted through the window, “Who’s the girl?”
“Oh my god! That’s Lainey Lukas!” the other shouted. “Go Falcons!”
The other one shoved his friend playfully, then pounded the glass again and proclaimed his love for the Surge.
Sensing the disruption, Anne came back to their table. “Wonderful, Gabe. What lovely use of color. And yours, Lainey. It’s . . . uh . . . interesting. What exactly is it?”
“A work in progress,” Lainey muttered just before Anne flitted to another table.
“I think it’s beautiful, like you,” Gabe interjected. And just like that, her heart melted into a sappy puddle of goo.
They spent a few more minutes putting the finishing touches on their pottery. Lainey tried to salvage hers by adding a red trim along the lip of the mug, but ended up making it look like an angry Muppet.
A few tables over, the telltale cries of a sibling squabble distracted Lainey. A young girl with her black curls in pigtails reached for the pot of paint being held out of reach by a slightly older boy next to her. She was smaller and younger than the rest of the group, likely the little sister tagging along to the older kids’ party.
“Girls can’t have blue paint! Pink is for girls!” the boy teased as the youngster reached for the pot.
Gabe must have sensed Lainey’s reaction. “Easy. They’re just kids.”
“I’m not going to do anything,” Lainey responded.
“Really?” His gazed shifted to her hands, tightly clenched on the edge of the table. He sighed. “Just be nice about it, okay?”
“Aren’t I always?” She picked up the blue paint from her table and walked over to the kids. “Here, you can use mine.”
The girl beamed at her. “Thanks.”
“Hey, Madison, your plate looks like fairy barf!” the boy who’d been pilfering the girl’s paint said, clearly jealous of any attention she was getting.
Lainey picked up the girl’s jar of pink paint. “I’ve never understood why some people think pink is just for girls. Have you ever seen a gazelle after a lion has torn its stomach open? The blood and guts are all pink. Mind if I borrow this?”
She left the kids’ table, hearing the older boys argue about who was now going to use the pink paint for the camo patterns in her wake.
“Nicely done,” Gabe said as she sat back down.
She shrugged, though her actual emotions ran much deeper than she let on. It burned her soul to witness a girl being told she wasn’t good enough. That she didn’t deserve something as simple as a bit of blue paint, much less all of her hopes and dreams. She looked at Gabe and her chest tightened, like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. The Battle of the Sexes was more than a silly squabble long since forgotten between the two of them; it was about all the little girls out there who were told they’d never be good enough. The stakes were higher than she could’ve imagined, and she’d let herself get distracted.
“So,” she said casually to Gabe, not wanting him to pick up on her tension. “What’s your favorite color?”
He leaned forward on his elbows, gaze piercing her. “A few weeks ago, I probably would have said green, but now, it’s unquestionably whisky brown. What’s yours?”
Heat rushed t
o her cheeks. Maybe the good fight could wait for another day. “I’ll deny it if you repeat this, but it actually is pink.”
17
How do I maintain my fitness in the face of temptation? Easy. I just do. Willpower is for losers. If you have to struggle to diet and eat healthy, then you don’t want it badly enough. But, uh, also, I never really learned how to cook anything more complicated than salad.
—Lainey Lukas, quoted in Sports Nutrition Magazine
“OUCH, DID YOU SEE that hit? It was practically a body check.” Lainey leaned forward to get a better view. The woman in front of her with the giant bouffant and tendency to shake her head side to side while tsking loudly kept blocking her view.
“Nah, just a little shoulder-to-shoulder contact,” Gabe said breezily, relaxing back in his seat.
“More like spatula-to-shoulder contact. That has to be illegal!”
“Shh!” The woman in the next row cast a sneering glare their way. “Have some respect for your elders. Some of us are trying to learn something here.”
As soon as she turned around, Lainey and Gabe snickered.
It was hard to take the first live taping of the “Marnie and Marika in the Kitchen” segment seriously when the two stars were bickering like an old married couple, flinging passive-aggressive jabs and the occasional physical ones at every turn. The segment focused on creating the perfect Sunday brunch. The disagreements started as soon as it came down to poaching eggs. Aunt Marnie preferred the clean presentation of an egg poached in a metal cup. Marika Havelak insisted that such modern shortcuts were the devil’s handiwork. She advocated instead for a complex and, as far as Lainey was concerned, dangerous method that involved dropping the egg into a pot of swirling boiling water.
Lainey salivated watching Aunt Marnie whisk her famous homemade hollandaise sauce—both women agreed that hollandaise made any way other than from scratch was a cardinal sin. It had been more than ten years since Lainey had allowed herself to experience that tangy, buttery deliciousness. More than ten years since Lainey decided food served the singular purpose of fueling her body.
An elbow jabbing into her rib cage pulled her out of her food-porn fantasy. Jaime, sitting next to her with a scowl on her face, repeated the jab.
Instinctively Lainey tried to retract her hand from Gabe’s, but he just squeezed tighter. She didn’t even realize they were holding hands until that moment. Somehow, the gooey, happy sensation of his thumb rubbing circles against her skin had sucked her in unawares.
“Mmm, think Mama would let me have a taste of that?” Gabe whispered in Lainey’s ear.
As if somehow reading his mind, Marika dipped a wooden spoon in Marnie’s pot and waved to Gabe, encouraging him to come down to the set. With a faux-humble wave to the audience, he stood up and made his way down the aisle.
“My boy deserves the best, which means never holding back on the butter. Food made with love is key to any child’s success. Even the grown ones,” Mama Havelak cooed as she stuffed the spoon in Gabe’s mouth. He moaned exaggeratedly.
“It’s also key to a heart attack,” Aunt Marnie chimed in.
“I’ll gladly risk a heart attack if it means getting a taste of your delicious hollandaise sauce every Sunday, Mrs. Lukas.” And just like that, Aunt Marnie became one of the legions of women sucked in by Gabe’s charm.
Another jab to her ribs pulled Lainey’s attention away from the shenanigans happening on the set.
“What’s with the public hand-holding?” Jaime whispered in Lainey’s ear so none of their teammates could hear.
“You wanted me to get laid,” Lainey whispered back.
“Exactly. Get laid. Take the edge off so you can get your focus back. I didn’t say fall hopelessly in love.”
“It’s not like that. We’re just . . .” Lainey didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
“He’s the kind of guy who will break your heart, and I don’t want to see that happen to you. Don’t forget he’s still your opponent. You need to keep your guard up, okay?”
Lainey nodded. Jaime was only saying what she already knew. Spending time with Gabe made her feel on top of the world. Her life had become enriched in ways she never knew were possible. True to his word, her performance hadn’t suffered one bit. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how much chemistry there was between them, no matter how much fun they had together, she was still the gatekeeper to the one thing he wanted: escape from the stupid, nonexistent curse of Cricket Field. And while she didn’t want to believe it, a man like Gabe was charming enough to play her like a fiddle until he got exactly what he wanted.
“How about another taste? My boy needs another taste,” Mama Havelak exclaimed, eliciting a gooey round of applause from the audience. The cameras followed her hovering over her son, spoon perched lovingly and insistently toward his mouth.
Gabe slurped the spoon and moaned. “I could eat that every day.”
“Looks like you already do!” Jaime called out impulsively. To Lainey’s utter embarrassment, Jaime stood on her seat and mockingly slapped her belly, drawing the cameras’ attention their way. “Getting a little soft around the middle, old man?”
Lainey’s cheeks flushed, knowing there was nothing at all soft about Gabe’s body. He clearly didn’t mind the insult. His eyes twinkled with challenge.
“Perhaps this is the time to officially unveil our calendar and let the public make up their own mind about my belly.” He snapped his fingers and confetti rained from the ceiling. High-tempo music exploded from hidden speakers, and his teammates jumped up from their seats in the crowd. In unison, they tore away their clothing like professional strippers, leaving them only in their boxers. If the specially modified clothing didn’t give it away, the elaborately choreographed salsa down the aisle made it clear that the whole thing was planned. The women in the crowd went nuts as Zazu led his teammates shimmying down to where Gabe was holding up a stack of calendars.
Damn those soccer players and their remarkable ability to make even the slightest swivel of their hips seem like the most erotic action.
“If I weren’t so pissed off right now, I’d congratulate you, Lukas, ’cause hot damn is that man ever fine, even with the Will Smith ears,” Jaime said.
Twin flames of anger and jealousy seared through Lainey’s body. Anger that the Falcons had just been upstaged, and jealousy that the man she was sleeping with was standing in front of a camera in nothing but underwear. At least the teddy bear print and loose cut of his boxers were relatively modest. If he’d been wearing the tight boxer briefs he usually preferred—the ones that outlined every detail of his package and made Lainey salivate—she would’ve lost it. He was her man. And she didn’t share.
“Calendars are twenty bucks apiece,” Gabe announced while holding one up so the audience could get a better look. “If you buy five, the entire team will personally autograph the set. If you buy ten, we’ll throw in a free ticket to our first match against Portland.”
“Hmm, and if I buy twenty? What special gift can I expect from you?” Grace asked, tone full of sexual innuendo. Jaime clapped a hand on Lainey’s shoulder, holding her back from attacking the woman. Lainey’s knuckles were white from the force with which she grabbed the skinny armrests of her seat.
“I’ll treat you to a special prize. Brazilian style.” Lainey was grateful that Zazu grinded up on Grace’s side, deflecting her attention from Gabe.
“This is bullshit!” Alyssa, who was sitting in the row behind Lainey, exclaimed. “If we were to strip down and dance in front of cameras to sell a couple of calendars, the media would call us sluts. These guys can get away with anything.”
“I’m not saying I’m not enjoying the show, but Alyssa’s right. I’ve never wanted to win so badly in my life. We need to do something about this,” Lynn added. “Come on, Captain. Time to announce our fund-raiser plan.”
As much as she agreed with her teammates, Lainey kept quiet. She couldn’t look into their suppo
rtive faces and admit that though she’d promised to come up with a plan, all she had was a big fat nothing. Her head pounded like a ticking time bomb with the commotion around her. She closed her eyes and forced herself into a calm mental headspace, zoning out all distractions.
It didn’t last long. Her eyes popped open the moment she heard Grace Mallery’s piercing voice.
“Now, Gabe, how about a sneak peek of the photos?” Grace asked. The audience hushed in anticipation.
“Sure thing. I’d especially like to thank a very special lady for giving me the inspiration for the March photograph.” Gabe winked in Lainey’s general direction as he flipped open to the page. The cameraman zoomed in on the image, which was projected onto the two large screens at either side of the set.
There was a photograph of Gabe in the woods, naked but for a pair of work boots, standing sideways, which emphasized every hard muscle in his body and his beautiful ass. Knowing that millions of women would be looking at this image had Lainey’s blood boiling, but what really threw her over the edge was the “modesty” item in his hand. He was holding a chainsaw in front of his waist like a giant erection.
She rose slowly, vision narrowing until Gabe’s smiling face was the only thing in focus. She didn’t even remember walking down the cramped aisle, but somehow she ended up right in front of him. Gabe quirked an eyebrow, egging her on for whatever she was about to do.
The audience hushed, as if sensing she was on the edge. And she was.
Without thinking, she snatched the microphone from Gabe’s hand, pulled a stool from the side of the stage, and climbed on top of the counter until she was standing with her feet straddling the red ceramic bowls filled with various batters and sauces.
“Ahem,” she said unnecessarily. All attention was already on her. “The Surge are not the only ones with a kick-butt fund-raiser. The Falcons have something epic planned.”
“Yes, you mentioned that last time you were on the show. Care to provide any more details?” Grace intoned. “A specific date perhaps?”
She gulped, suddenly realizing she probably looked like an insane asylum escapee. Her hands trembled, amplifying her uneven, shaky breath in the mic. Not only were there a few hundred people in this room watching her make a fool of herself, but also thousands of people at home watching the broadcast. Dear god, she was going to go down in history as an Internet meme.