by Ally Adams
“Seriously, for us? Wow, must be a slow media night,” he said and shrugged.
That was it? Totally unphased. I breathed a sigh of relief. The Russian pulled the car into a parking space and I could see several of my teammates heading inside with their dates on their arms. The coach had stopped for an interview in the doorway – she looked very glamorous; it was weird seeing everyone dressed up when we were more used to seeing each other in sports kit and gym gear.
The Russian was around my side of the car before I had barely reached for the door handle. He opened my door, extended his hand and I took it as he helped me from the car. I grabbed my clutch bag and squinted as the flashes went off. He closed the door and locked it behind us. The Russian hooked his arm and I slipped mine in.
“You look beautiful,” he said, again. “Ready?”
I nodded and smiled at him. “Thank you again for coming with me,” I said, while I had the chance. If nothing else happened, this would be a memory I would never forget and The Russian would have helped make magical a night that might have been terribly depressing.
“The pleasure is mine,” he said, as he looked me over.
So sweet, so smooth. Let the night begin.
Chapter 9
We hadn’t gotten a few feet away from The Russian’s car when the media circus began.
“Russian, Carla, over here,” a photographer called out and then more and more requests to look this way or that. It was lucky we came early because it took us close to fifteen minutes to make it to the door. We both blinked to clear the bulbs from our eyes and then once inside it was magical – we were inundated with my teammates and their partners wanting to say hello, telling me they missed me and wanting to meet The Russian, too, of course, especially the guys so they could talk sports.
We didn’t have much time to catch up with everyone before the announcement came to find our tables. Aimee waved me over, we were on the same table as she was. I don’t know how she had pulled that off because usually the marketing team made sure every table had a Suns player on it and we were all well circulated; she must have had some dirt on Maria our Marketing Manager. On the way to our table, I stopped to introduce The Russian to my other best friend, Steffi, and her boyfriend Wilson. We promised to catch up with them later.
Aimee rose and gave me a hug and then shook hands with the Russian, who was to sit between the two of us. I could see him studying her with her exotic looks – a Jamaican mom and Swedish father make for a beautiful mix. Plus, they were eye to eye in height ... I bet that didn’t happen much for either of them. Just as I thought that, The Russian confirmed it.
“Wow, I don’t meet many people that can look me in the eye,” he said, giving her one of his sexy smiles. I was so busy showing him off I was prepared to lose a few of those smiles to close friends. Aimee’s cousin leaned over and shook hands.
“Roy,” he said introducing himself.
“Roy’s very upset you’re here Alex,” Aimee said to The Russian, “he was hoping to meet a single Carla.”
Roy nodded. “But lovely to meet you regardless.”
I was holding my breath, dreading The Russian’s response ... that ‘we weren’t officially partners’, or ‘you go for it Roy’ but something else wonderful happened ... I think he growled. I can’t be sure but he stiffened and made this guttural sort of noise that I think only I heard, like a territorial lion. So sexy.
“Good to meet you Roy, and yeah sorry but Brooker’s out of action, to use a sporting term.”
“Lucky there’s other single Suns,” I said, sweetly. I wasn’t used to attracting the interest of two men – hell, my last date that I had brought to the Ball hadn’t even been interested in me, but let’s not go there again. It was so exciting to be with a man who made me feel protected and feminine and desirable. Even if it was just for one night, it was worth it ... worth any potential pain, I think.
The meal was being served and straight after I would have to make my speech; then there would be the chance to socialize and dance, followed by dessert. After that the club would announce the results of the silent auction—it was where all our sponsors donated big prizes for free and any money made went back to the club—it was one of our biggest fundraising events, especially since a lot of our wealthy sponsors were with us that night and often spent up after a few drinks.
The Russian and Aimee were chatting about the benefits of having parents from different cultures and where they could go on their respective passports, while I was running through my speech in my head. Then the meal appeared and was alternated for every second person, which was often the case in set menus, and they placed an entree of scallops with shrimp, served with noodles and what looked like a light soy dressing in front of me. The waiter put a chickpea, zucchini and ricotta green salad in front of The Russian. Sasha had warned me not to get between The Russian and his food; he was a big boy who needed to eat and I knew the green salad was not going to excite him ... besides, I wanted it.
“Swap?” I asked him.
I barely got the word out before he’d happily agreed and swapped our plates. Guess he was keen on that idea. I didn’t even have to ask him when the main course arrived; I swapped the steak placed in front of me for the chicken dish placed in front of The Russian.
“You know me so well already,” he said.
“What I really want to know is how you get to the coffee van first,” I said. “I probably should have asked you that before I swapped plates.”
The Russian narrowed his eyes at me and gave me a cheeky grin. He leaned closer. “Tell Sasha she’s going to have to work harder to get that information,” he said, as if it was some sort of girl conspiracy.
“I’m just starting,” I said. “I thought I’d open with the obvious question in case you coughed up the answer, but I’m not a journalist for nothing. I will find out.”
He scoffed. “My sources are loyal, and I won’t be spilling. But I look forward to the interrogation.”
I gave him a smile and then I had time to dart to the ladies and make sure my nose wasn’t shiny and I didn’t have spinach on my teeth before my speech. As I came out of the cubicle, Lia, one of my Suns’ teammates was there washing her hands.
“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” she said.
“Who?” I asked, which just went to show my head had moved to speech phase.
“Your date!” she almost squealed.
“Isn’t he?” I said, nodding enthusiastically. “I know most guys look good in a tux but talk about taking my breath away.”
“Not fair to the others,” Lia agreed.
We stopped talking for a moment while we both touched up our lipstick.
“Love your dress Lia, you look gorgeous,” I said, admiring her black shimmy cocktail dress.
“You too, that is a classic,” she admired Sasha’s work. We heard the sound of the master of ceremonies, Jenna, and we hurried out back to our seats with a promise to catch up later.
The Russian half stood and pulled out my chair for me. So gallant.
“Ready Brooker?” he asked me all business like.
“Ready Russian,” I confirmed with a nod.
“Go get them kid,” he said, as Jenna called me up. She kept talking as I walked up to the stage; I was praying and hoping that I wouldn’t fall over or get tongue tied.
“As you know our current Best & Fairest champion Carla Brooker will be retiring at the end of the season, and we are delighted to welcome her tonight to offer the opening address and talk about the Suns and the importance of our club.”
I got a rousing welcome, the flashes went off again and I got a loud whistle.
“Thank you for that Aimee,” I said, and everyone laughed. I took a deep breath and looked out over the crowd of five-hundred strong and some media and photographers at the back of the room. It wasn’t the first time I had got up to speak, I had done it many times, but it was still scary.
“I would like to start by thanking everyone for their
messages of support since my injury, it meant a lot, and a special vote of thanks to my date tonight for his support ... you may know him as The Russian.”
The Russian gave me a smile and nod—big ham, he was accustomed to being in the limelight—and he got a huge cheer and a lot more whistles.
I continued. “You know you are at a female Ball when the men get more whistles than the girls.” Everyone laughed again, I was on a roll thus far. I spoke of the season, the team, the pride in winning last year’s Best and Fairest, and thanked our sponsors and patrons present for all they did for keeping our team alive. I called on them again to help us this year. Then I introduced the coach to say a few words and waited while she came up to the stage. She was there in no time—it happens when your legs are that long—and we gave each other a hug as we passed on the stairs off the stage. The Russian rose and helped me down the stairs in my dress and high heels—so charming—and we sat and listened to the coach. She praised my efforts and contribution to the club over the years and I struggled not to cry, again. Then our M.C., Jenna, reminded everyone to bid on the silent auctions and dobbed me in again ... it felt like the Carla show, enough already!
“I’m excited to announce that the physio has given Carla the all-clear to play in our last match of the season before the finals, assuming we make the finals of course ...but let’s assume that’s a given,” Jenna said, and everyone gave me a roaring clap again. I felt tears welling in my eyes and I really didn’t want to cry, my mascara would run!
Jenna continued. “So this will be a special match, because Carla has also advised it will be her last match for the Suns and she will be retiring before the finals series.”
An audible moan rose from the crowd, which was kind of funny.
The Russian whispered in my ear. “You didn’t tell me that, congrats.”
I turned to smile at him. “Thanks ... one more game. Weird, huh?”
“For sure. But not if you’re busy and still involved in the sport, right?” he assured me.
“Right,” I nodded.
Jenna continued. “Given it is Carla’s swansong, one of the prizes in our silent auction is the ultimate home game experience – 10 VIP seats front row courtside at Carla’s last game, VIP catering before, during and after the match and an open bar of course. Plus, there are a dozen more great lots to bid on, so enjoy some dancing and bidding and we’ll be back here in thirty minutes for dessert and the auction results.”
The coach came over to my table to meet The Russian and then we had a quick chat; The Russian wasn’t short of company, everyone wanted to talk with him. When the coach left, I turned to face him and he gave me a smile that would melt any female with a pulse.
“Well done, Brooker,” he said.
“I’m so glad that’s over,” I sighed. “Dance?”
The dance floor was already full and I wanted to see The Russian’s moves.
“I’m waiting for the right song,” he said, “can’t just dance to anything.”
“Oh, of course,” I said.
“Come on,” he took my elbow and led me away from the table. “I’d better make a bid on the silent auction to help the club.”
“I think you’ve already done your bit for the club,” I teased him, “I know one Suns’ player who is pretty happy.”
“That so?” he teased and took my hand; I swear I was floating. He did this thing where he rubbed his thumb over my skin – I could barely concentrate it was so distracting.
I felt like every eye in the room was watching us, and as we arrived at the long table of auction items, The Russian put his arm around my waist and I was right up against him as we read the auction sheets.
“Got a dog?” I asked.
“My folks have ... Brodie is his name,” he said looking at the sheet I was pointing to.
“A year’s dog grooming ... Brodie will love you,” I suggested.
“Brodie will eat me if I do that to him,” The Russian said, as we moved along the line and moved past people bidding. “Here’s one ... a couple portrait ... what about a nude drawing of the two of us?”
“The world’s not ready for that,” I assured him. “Ooh, a signed shirt from Saints’ Captain Lucas Ainswright! Did you know he was donating that?”
“No. I should bid and get it back for him,” The Russian joked, “give it to him for Christmas.”
We continued along the line and then my physio Carlo came over for a quick chat. I introduced The Russian and then let him keep looking while Carlo and I had a brief chat. The Russian look towards me and Carlo a few times ... funny, like he was sussing out if Carlo was any competition, so I excused myself and caught up with The Russian again as he put a pen back in his suit.
“What did you bid on?” I asked him suspiciously.
“Never you mind, but I had better win it. I’m very competitive,” he said.
“Me too, funny that given we’re both playing professional sport,” I reminded him.
Then Eric Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight came on and The Russian sighed. “Great song, would you care to dance, Brooker?”
“I would, thank you, Russian,” I said, a silly grin on my face, and he led me to the dance floor. I was not sure technically that you could call it dancing, but he pulled me close and we moved. I had one hand on his shoulder and the other under his jacket, on his hip. He wrapped his fingers around my hand pressed to his shoulder and held me tightly, his face nestled into my hair. I tried to remember every detail of that perfect moment and when I looked at The Russian’s lowered head, he had his eyes closed. Was he thinking it was perfect too? Or was he thinking of someone else? He opened his eyes momentarily and caught me looking at him.
“I’m not thinking about anything,” he said.
I laughed. “What? How did you know I was even thinking that?”
“You’re a chick. I grew up with four of them ... aren’t you always thinking ‘what are we thinking’?”
I looked a bit sheepish and shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Mm,” he said, “if you must know, I was thinking you smell and feel good.”
“Really?” I said. Yep, that was the best I could come up with after that compliment, sad wasn’t it?
“Really Brooker, now be quiet, I’m dancing here,” he said, and closed his eyes again.
“Okay, sorry,” I whispered, and closed my eyes, but not for long. I wanted to see him as well as feel him; I kept my eyes open and kept catching the eyes of my friends with their encouraging looks. I was in heaven. The lyrics were so beautiful too that I was hoping he had picked it for that reason ... maybe just a little anyway.
Damn Eric Clapton, he finished too soon and damn that DJ who then invited us to take our seats for dessert and the results of the silent auction. This time they placed the fruit salad in front of me and sticky date pudding in front of The Russian. I didn’t know if he had a sweet tooth, but I wanted his and reading my mind—or from the experience of growing up with four females—he swapped our bowls and I grinned my thanks.
The Russian shook his head. “The sacrifices I make for you, Brooker.”
“You’re the best for sure,” I said, taking a large bite of dessert and groaning.
“Well, don’t rub it in,” he said.
I put a taste on my spoon and offered it to him. I saw some flashes go ... seriously, now I was being snapped feeding him dessert? He was pretty cute though when he let me feed him.
Jenna, our master of ceremonies, called for our attention and began reading out the highest bid for each prize, and then the winner.
“The winner of the year’s worth of dog grooming with a value of $1200, is a bid for $3000 from Allen Stapelton,” Jenna announced. “Where are you, Allen?”
Allen waved from a table near the door and one of our marketing team ran over with his prize certificate.
“Give Allen a big round of applause, and thank you to Furry Friend’s Dog Grooming and Allen for the donation to our club.”
I turned to look
at The Russian who sat behind me as we faced the stage. He leaned forward and I whispered in his ear. “I’m telling you, Brodie would have been the better for that,” I said, and The Russian grinned. “Promise me you didn’t bid on the portrait drawing on the basis it was nude?” I grimaced.
The Russian shook his head. “I can’t promise anything ... sorry, but if it comes through, I expect your one hundred percent support and participation.”
I gave a concerned moan and turned back around to face Jenna on the stage. I was so conscious of The Russian behind me; I wanted to lean into him, or for him to put his hands on me, but he didn’t. I could barely concentrate for sensing his presence and feeling his warm breath on my neck.
Jenna announced the winner of the Lucas Ainswright signed Saints’ shirt with a bid of $500, and the winner of a $4000 bid for a VIP pamper weekend. Now that one I would have been prepared to share with The Russian, the caring-sharing girl I am.
Jenna worked through the other prizes – dinner for two, a trip to Hawaii for a family which went for $8000 to one of our sponsors, a Suns framed and signed winning grand final photo, a month worth of physio from Carlo, until she came to the last lot. I began to wonder if The Russian had actually won his bid since he wouldn’t tell me which one he had bid for, and now we were at the end of the auction.
“Now for our major auction item,” Jenna continued. “Ten VIP seats front row courtside at our end-of-season game and now tribute game featuring Suns’ star Carla Brooker, along with VIP catering before, during and after the match and an open bar. Valued at $4000, we have a winning bid of ...” Jenna stopped and gasped. She showed the envelope to Maria our Marketing Manager who read it and nodded, a look of shock on her face.
Jenna cleared her throat and returned to the microphone. “Sorry for that, I just had to check I wasn’t seeing too many zeroes. Valued at $4000, the winning bid for the VIP package is TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS!” she yelled it out.