Team Russian (Saints Team Series Book 4)

by Ally Adams

  I heard Josh turn the volume up on the television again as he waited for my next appearance. I did have an offer from a couple of local dress suppliers to provide me with a gown for the night, but that was a fallback option. Last time I had taken up the offer, some idiot spilled a drink on me, the stain didn’t come out with dry cleaning and I found myself having to buy a dress that I couldn’t afford because I couldn’t return it. I’d only ever borrow a black dress from now on!

  I put on a deep green dress with a plunging neckline and high cut leg that had been given to me after a fashion shoot for one of the team’s sponsors. I was sure this would be a winner and I pranced out to show Josh.

  “Good Lord no!” he exclaimed.

  “Really?” I frowned at him. “I could have sworn you would love this dress.”

  “You look like a harlot,” he said.

  I began to laugh. “No one in the whole world says ‘harlot’ anymore. Whore, slut, prostitute, hooker, maybe ... but harlot?”

  “Harlot,” he confirmed, sighing, “I think you have no choice, Carla baby ...”

  I nodded.

  “She did offer,” Josh reminded me.

  “But reluctantly,” I said, with a sigh.

  I reached for my phone and took it with me when I went in to change. I just hoped that Sasha’s throw away comment about making me a dress was a real option.

  Chapter 3

  Ninety minutes later I stood on Sasha’s catwalk while she took my measurements. She had the most amazing apartment – a catwalk right down the middle of the room. I just wanted to put on some music and strut. Plus, she had this platform where she fitted brides or girls getting formal dresses and a whole wall of mirrors. Up on another level completely, I could see her bedroom and a black cat looking down at me. The best view, however, was in the kitchen – the gorgeous Niklas Wagner was in there. He had gotten home from training early and was now making dinner. I was invited to join them, but I declined. Who could swallow in front of him? I accepted a coffee however and was subtly watching Nik whip that up in the kitchen – sigh.

  “Carla!” Sasha snapped at me.

  “What?” I looked down at her as she got my waist to ankle measurement.

  “Stop wriggling; you’re almost as bad as Nik when I try and measure him… almost.”

  Nik gave me a sympathetic smile from the kitchen.

  “You’re just so lucky I like you,” Sasha continued, “or there’d be no way you’d be getting this dress made in time.”

  “I’m really sorry Sasha… you won’t be up late at night, will you?” I felt bad for landing this on her.

  She smiled. “No, I’m just teasing you. I’ll have it knocked up in a few days. It helps that you went with one of my designs and I have fabric on hand. I just bought some more when Nik and I went to New York again.” She looked his way and smiled. Mm, can only imagine what went on there.

  Nik must have been thinking about it too as he cleared his throat.

  “It’s a great chance to show off your label Süsse,” he said, using his German nickname for her. They were so cute.

  “True,” I said, encouraging that thought. “There’ll be about four hundred people there and I promise to drop your label reference every chance I get.”

  “Done,” Sasha said, pushing herself up off the ground. “You are going to be stunning. The pale gold is really in at the moment, and we’ll cinch this at the waist, since you’ve got a really defined waist, and then let it drop to a full skirt to your ankles.”

  “You don’t think the split at my chest is too low?” I asked, looking at Sasha’s design.

  “No, but I’ll take it up a little so you’re not self-conscious. You can wear it, trust me,” she said.

  “I do, thanks, Sash,” I said, stepping off the catwalk. “We could have the best dance party on this catwalk.”

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Nik said, “I could sit here with my coffee and stay out of the way while you two dance.”

  Sasha gave him a look.

  “Or not,” he said, with a raised eyebrow.

  “So, Carla is going to ask The Russian to go to the Suns’ Ball with her,” Sasha told Nik. I gave her an alarmed look. I didn’t want anyone knowing in case he said no, and I didn’t want anyone thinking I was keen, desperate or dateless.

  She gave me a barely discernible shake of her head. “Don’t worry, Nik’s discreet,” she said.

  Nik placed our coffees on the table in the middle of the room and we sat down on the sofas in Sasha’s open plan living room. Did I mention he was beautiful? A whole different beautiful to The Russian, but just as good.

  “Could be good for him to have a date,” Nik said, putting a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “I only met Leesa a few times … strange couple; he’s so stable and she was this wild girl. He’d do well to meet a nice lady like you, Kaa-la.”

  Ah, Nik – good looking and so charming.

  “Want me to tell him to take you?” Nik said.

  I spluttered my mouthful of coffee. “NO, no, but thanks Nik. I better ask him ... I’m not thinking of a date, just friends, sort of,” I said, the last few words trailing off.

  “I wonder what he’s like in bed,” Sasha said.

  “Well, stop wondering,” Nik growled, and she moved closer to pacify him. I grinned at them.

  “Big, I suspect,” I said. “I mean, in length ... I mean in the room he would take up in the bed ... I’m going to stop talking now.” We talked about The Russian for a few more minutes – nothing I didn’t know; I finished my coffee and rose from the couch. “Well, I best go and leave you to have dinner. Thank you Sash for fitting me and fitting me in.”

  “Sure, no problem,” she said. She tried to wiggle out of Nik’s arms but he wouldn’t let go.

  She hit his arm. “Release me!”

  He rose, lifting her with him and planted her on her feet. He kissed the top of her head.

  “Got to check our pasta anyway,” he said, with a tap on her butt. “See you for the next fitting Kaa-la.”

  “Or in the media box,” I quipped back. Damn I meant to tell Sasha I had dobbed her in to The Russian about Nik visiting the media box so that she could be on the front foot. I told her at the door as she saw me out.

  “Don’t worry, I can handle The Russian,” she said with a smile. “But about time you did ... I’ve given you his number, so call him, or email him, or do something but invite him ASAP, in case he makes other plans.”

  I nodded and swallowed.

  “Seriously, you’re going to look gorgeous. He’ll be the luckiest guy alive,” she said, boosting my ego.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said with a grin. I thanked her and headed down the stairs, out of her apartment block and back to my car. I should just call him or email him and get it over with. Tomorrow.

  *****

  I couldn’t believe my luck the next morning; someone up above was looking after me! I went to the gym; I was only working part-time for The Sports Daily and wasn’t due back in the office until nine a.m. the next day. I wasn’t good at being idle and I still liked to train so I headed to Archer’s – it was the best weights gym and there were no pretty boys and girls, it was a serious gym especially for athletes.

  I was in the middle of a set of lateral pulldowns when I felt a tap on the shoulder. I turned around and had to look up – that didn’t happen much. And wait for it ... I looked up into the dark, sexy eyes of The Russian. Yes! Thank you, God!

  Then I assumed a casual pose because I’m so cool, uh huh, that’s me.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked, conscious that I was smelly and sweaty, but so was he.

  “Working out ... it’s usually why I come here,” he said, with one of his sly grins. “Good to see you’re keeping your fitness up.”

  “Addictive,” I said.

  “Totally agree. I’d rather do weights than run, but the coach is fixated on running. I’m not a runner,” he added.

  I ran my eyes over him. “Yes,
” I teased him. “As svelte as you are, I can see you’re built for things other than speed.”

  He gave me the hint of a smile. “Well, better go shower and get to work,” he said. “Next time, we could spot each other, even though you’re not lifting much there,” he teased.

  “Shut up! This is my warm down,” I lied, then I took a big gamble. “I’m on my last set. Want to get a coffee?” I swear the world stopped spinning. I had never, ever, asked a guy out and if he had said no, then that would have been it ... how embarrassing.

  “Only if you’re going to shower first,” he said.

  I gave him my best ‘what do you think?’ look and he gave me a real, gorgeous, showing-his-teeth smile.

  “Meet you at reception in ten minutes,” he said and wandered off.

  Yes! I bet he thought I couldn’t be ready in ten minutes; well he was wrong. I powered through the last few in my set with a new enthusiasm I had never shown before in my weights set and headed to the showers.

  *****

  “What will you have?” The Russian asked as we took a seat at the cafe next to the gym.

  “A skinny cappuccino, thanks,” I said, impressed he was going up to order for us. It’s not always a given these days.

  “Nothing to eat?” he asked.

  “I’ll grab a banana later,” I told him. Yep, that’s me, the poster girl for good health. I was so impressive, I wanted to date myself. I’m sure he could see right through me.

  I had the pleasure of watching him at the counter and watching the staff recognize him. One got his autograph on a napkin and the others just batted their eyelashes and flirted outrageously. Good effort girls, worth a try.

  He returned and slumped into a seat beside me, winding his legs around mine under the table. We were both tall and had to fight for leg space ... wonderful.

  I thought I’d lead with the front foot in case he thought I was putting myself in his line of vision all the time. “You’re not stalking me, are you?” I teased.

  He made a scoffing sound and sat back in his chair. “I’m pretty sure you were in my office the other day, and now in my gym!”

  “Oh, your office, your gym,” I said, raising an eyebrow and challenging him. “Last time I looked, you were playing a team sport … which means there’s more than just you in that office, and I’ve been going to Archer’s gym for years. Longer than you.”

  “Want a bet?” he snapped back.

  “Yeah, I do, bring it on.” I was pretty sure I could win this one. “What odds do you want?”

  “Okay,” his eyes narrowed. “If I win, you have to do an exclusive interview with me and get it into the paper, or at worse, online,” he said. “And I better come off looking good.”

  “Done, big head,” I teased him.

  He grinned again. “I have an ulterior motive… we have to do a set number of media interviews a year… you can count as one.”

  “Yeah, we had the same at the Suns,” I assured him.

  We thanked the waitress as she put our two coffees in front of us and two apple muffins.

  The Russian shrugged. “I took a gamble. If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat it.”

  “You know a muffin is pretty much the same as a cupcake, don’t you? It’s just clever marketing… you’re not going to eat a cupcake for breakfast, but you’ll eat a muffin if it’s marketed as breakfast food,” I said.

  “I disagree,” The Russian said. “A muffin is bread based, a cupcake is cake based. Well that’s what I’m telling myself, but if you don’t want yours…” he reached for it but I was quicker.

  “I can probably manage half,” I assured him, clutching the muffin. “So our bet, if I win, you have to accompany me to the Suns’ Gala Ball and Auction night this Sunday.”

  I was watching him carefully and he didn’t react at all; no shock, no pleasure, no fear, no panic, nothing. Or he didn’t think he was going to lose, so wasn’t worried.

  “You’re on,” he said. He reached for his wallet and pulled out his Archer’s membership card. It was dated five years back. He showed me and smiled. “Beat that, Brooker,” he said, using my surname.

  I gave him a smug look and reached for my purse. I pulled out my membership card and placed it on the table between us. “Read that and weep, buddy,” I said. The Russian didn’t know that everyone on our basketball team had automatic membership with their contract. But I had joined even earlier than that, in the last few years of school when I was training to break into the big league – seven years ago.

  His face dropped as he looked at my membership card.

  “Right,” he said, “suit or black tie?”

  I grinned at him. “Black tie. Got one?”

  “Naturally,” he said, like he was always swanning around the house in formal wear. “Better text me your address and what time to pick you up.” He reached for my phone and put his number in. I have his number!

  “You’re picking me up?” I asked, taking a bite of the muffin even thought my stomach was flipping with excitement.

  He frowned at me. “Of course. You’re a chick, you’ll need every last minute to get ready, won’t you?”

  I sighed. “Thanks.”

  The Russian laughed. “I’m not saying you’ll need it, but I’ve never known a girl who can be ready to go anywhere in less than fifteen minutes.”

  “Well, you have now,” I said. “Fussing is not my thing. But it would be nice to be picked up, thanks. So…”

  “So?” he asked as we drank our coffees.

  “Do you think you should tell me your name? I may have to introduce you to a few people at our table on Sunday night,” I said. I held my breath and hoped it wasn’t going to be something totally unsexy like Boris, hence The Russian nickname.

  He nodded. “I put my phone number under my name in your phone.”

  I grabbed the phone and opened my contacts list. The second name in the ‘A’s was new.

  “Alex!” I said.

  He nodded again.

  Alex … I repeated it in my head; it suited him. The Russian’s name was Alex and I had locked him in to take me to the Suns’ Ball.

  “It suits you … nice name,” I said, and he shrugged.

  “Thanks, Brooker.”

  “Um, you know my name is Carla, don’t you?” I teased him.

  “Every time I’ve seen your name it’s written as Brooker, Carla, so I did wonder,” he said, with the hint of amusement on his face.

  “Nice to know you’re following the stats pages. Is that a hobby or passion?”

  “I like numbers,” he said, “they’re logical.”

  “I like words,” I said, sitting back after taking the last sip of my coffee.

  “Here’s some words for you,” he said, “pick you up Sunday, looking forward to it.”

  I gave him a stupid grin like he had made my week – I was so transparent. Danger, Will Robinson, I was falling heavily in ‘like’ with my Sunday handbag.

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday night was club dinner night with my Suns’ team—my soon-to-be old team—and even though I had to stop playing mid-season for the Santa Ana Suns, I was still included in club night. My two besties—Steffi who played shooting guard and Aimee who played center—always kept a space for me next to them. I missed them; I missed playing, the discipline, the excitement, the routine ... the only thing I didn’t miss were the injuries.

  Aimee was an Amazon, one of the tallest in the team; I swear she could look The Russian in the eye. You expected her to be tough with her size, but she was a big sook; she cried over sad commercials! She was exotically beautiful – her mother was originally from Jamaica and her father from Sweden! Steffi, on the other hand, was a shorty, the shortest on the team at five-foot-eleven and she was thin like me. But unlike me—I seemed to sport a tan easily—Steffi was almost translucent ... I secretly thought she was a vampire, and she was a little too keen on that idea for my liking. I hadn’t started wearing neck scarves around her yet, but I was
considering it. Me, I was somewhere between the two of them. One thing we had in common was that we could all pack away a fair quantity of pasta, particularly during the season.

  “What are you wearing to the Ball?” Aimee asked but didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ve bought an off-the-shelf, slinky red number ... I won’t be able to eat on the night, or I’ll bust out of it.”

  “I’m going nude,” Steffi said, and Aimee and I gasped. She rolled her eyes. “Not nude with nothing on, nude in color. It’s in, apparently. I have a fitted bodice and flowing skirt ... it’s very romantic.”

  “Is Wilson coming?” I asked after her boyfriend.

  “He wouldn’t miss it. He says my cooking is so bad that at least at the Ball he can get a decent feed,” she said, with a smirk.

  “I’m bringing my cousin Roy,” Aimee rolled her eyes. “He’s visiting from Jersey City but I reckon he’s come knowing the Gala Ball is on and he wants to meet girls ... he’s been checking everyone out online. I think he’s a bit keen on you,” she said with a look in my direction. “Anyway, saves me finding a date, he’s not bad on the eye and he’s worth a fortune ... could be worse.”

  “I’m bringing someone,” I said. I took a deep breath and smiled.

  “Hold up, girlfriend,” Aimee said, “is this big news?”

  I nodded. “This is huge news.”

  A couple of the girls stopped talking around us and tuned in. I held the floor.

  “It’s not a date,” I said, “so no one rush out and buy a hat for a wedding, we’re just friends. I’m bringing ...”

  Steffi drummed on the table, preparing for my announcement.

  “The Russian!” I said.

  “Fuck me, no!” Aimee said.

  “The Russian as in the gorgeous, huge, Saints player, the guy on the Timex billboard?” Steffi’s mouth dropped open.

  I nodded enthusiastically. “That Russian.”

  “How did you meet him?” Lia—six seats away from me—leaned over and asked. She must have bionic hearing.

  “Are any other members of the team free? I need a date,” Karley asked. “Can you ask?”