Team Russian (Saints Team Series Book 4)

by Ally Adams

  The room went ballistic with people gasping and cheering. Jenna accepted a piece of paper from Maria and read it out.

  “That brings our fundraising efforts from tonight’s silent auction to $65,000.” Again the cheering continued. “And the VIP lot was bought by Alex Renwick. Where are you Alex?”

  Everyone looked around except for a few who recognized or remembered The Russian’s real name. I caught Jenna’s eye and nodded to The Russian.

  “Or you might know him as The Russian.” Maria came over and gave him his prize voucher. The Russian was trying to keep a low profile behind me; he thanked her and tucked it inside his tuxedo.

  “Enjoy your dessert and more dancing,” Jenna called over the crowd noise, and left the stage.

  I swung around to face The Russian with a big grin on my face.

  “Do you even have ten friends?” I teased him.

  The Russian laughed. “I’m sure I can rustle up enough people to fill the seats or rent some friends.”

  I touched his face. “Thank you. It’s turned out to be a very expensive night for you.”

  “You’re welcome Brooker,” he said, taking my hand from his cheek and kissing inside my palm. I was so gone. It was nearing midnight and The Russian had put in a valiant effort.

  “Want to get out of here?” I asked.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

  “I’m good to go.”

  He rose and I grabbed my clutch bag, and we said goodbye to the people remaining at our table. I waved to a few of my friends, including Aimee who was on the dance floor with some of the girls.

  We got outside and The Russian opened the car door for me and I slipped in. He came around to his side, slid in and started the car. We turned out of the grounds, still subject to a barrage of flashes, and headed to my house.

  Here came the sticky bit – to invite him in and risk rejection or not to invite him in. Don’t get me wrong I wanted to bed The Russian more than I wanted oxygen at the moment, but I’d never slept with a guy on the first date and technically it was a first date.

  If I never saw him again, then I wanted to have sex – it would top off the perfect night and be a night I’d never forget. I was going to be in pain anyway that it had just been that one night, so might as well go the full morose than the half morose. However, if there was a chance he might ask me out again, then I didn’t want to have sex because I wanted us to build to that. I wanted a relationship, not a fling. So tough.

  “You’re quiet, are you okay?” he asked.

  I looked over at the gorgeous man driving me home.

  “Is that your way of asking what I’m thinking?” I eyed him suspiciously.

  He gave me a smile.

  “Okay, caught out. What are you thinking?” he asked.

  I sighed. “I’m thinking I had the most perfect night ever and thank you for making it so, and not a tearful night as I expected.”

  He gave me a smile. “It was fun ... your friends are great girls, especially Aimee, she’s direct isn’t she?”

  “Oh God, what did she ask you?”

  “I can’t repeat it,” he teased. “It’s all good, she’s a bit of fun and so was your coach ... an impressive lady.” He pulled up outside my apartment block and turned the car off. Well, that answered that question. Again he was at my door offering his hand before I got out. So charming.

  “I’ll see you to your door,” he said, not being presumptuous.

  “You’re welcome to come in for tea or coffee if you like,” I offered. So awkward.

  “Sure, that would be good,” he said.

  I think I heard the load falling off my shoulders. I opened the door and saw Josh had left a lamp on in the corner; he’d made a point of saying he was staying out for the night. The Russian removed his jacket and undid his bow tie.

  Just as I moved to the kitchen to put on the kettle, his phone rang. I heard him groan and turned to see him look at the screen and frown.

  “Sorry Brooker, got to take this,” he said, with a sigh.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Mm, ex-girlfriend, new girlfriend?

  “Nikki,” he said, in a not-very-happy voice. I listened in. Nikki was the middle sister from memory.

  “Can’t you call Mom or Dad? ... Well, what about Ana, where’s she? Get her to pick you up? ... Nikki, there’s such a thing as a taxi ... fine, where are you? Stay there. Don’t leave, don’t talk to strangers, and don’t talk to anyone male. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  He hung up and came over to the bench where I stood.

  “So, you best be going,” I said.

  “Sorry, Brooker. That’s my sister. Long story, but she’s somewhere where she shouldn’t be and now she’s freaking out because her friends have left ... and so on ...” he sighed.

  “It’s all good. I remember doing something similar ... you’re a good brother,” I teased.

  “Walk me out?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  We got halfway down the stairs when The Russian stopped and turned. Standing one step above him, my face was aligned with his. What a beautiful face, I could kiss it all night.

  “Sorry the night ended like that,” he said, as I studied his beautiful face to memory in case this was the last time I saw it close-up.

  “Don’t be. It was a great night,” I said.

  He placed his hands on my waist.

  “What time is your job interview tomorrow?”

  “Ah, nice of you to remember,” I said. “Ten o’clock.”

  “Call me after and tell me how you think it went, yeah?” he asked.

  “Sure, thanks,” I said. Yes! A chance for another contact ... I was building this house of love slowly, contact by contact.

  I placed my hands on his shoulders since I could reach them comfortably from my higher step. “Go rescue your sister, you good guy.”

  “Yeah, I bet you’re probably thinking I’m pretty perfect right now,” he said, with the hint of a grin.

  “Yeah, too good to be true really,” I agreed. “I look forward to you falling off that pedestal.”

  He laughed. “Now go inside so I can hear you lock the door, and call me tomorrow after the interview.” The Russian ordered me.

  “Yes Sir, I will,” I snapped at it. “Thank you again.”

  I went to move away and he pulled me back. He looked at me for what seemed like an eternity, then pressed his lips quickly to mine.

  “Goodnight,” he said, and gently pushed me towards the door.

  I went back up the stairs, opened the door, and with one final look his way, I went inside locking the door.

  Holy mother of all things good, I was going to self-combust. And if my father knew I’d used that term I’d be on my knees saying ‘Hail Marys’ until I died an old spinster.

  *****

  I washed off my make-up and crawled into bed. It was close to two a.m. I grabbed my iPad and looked at the social media which was going crazy with stories about us. I swear they had made a mountain out of it – there were photos of The Russian helping me out of the car, the two of us posing near the entrance to the Ball, looking at the auction items together, and shots where I hadn’t even seen a flash going off, including the two of us dancing close and me feeding The Russian dessert. We were being called the “IT” couple and there were plenty of out-there headlines including a play on The Russian and American relationship “No Cold War Here”; or “When Sports Collide”, “Saints Preserve Us”, “Sun shines on Saint”, and on it went.

  On other sites there was plenty of talk about Sasha’s gown and its design with photos of me wearing it, with and without The Russian. I was so glad she’d had hits from it. I put the iPad down and snuggled into my sheets. I knew it would be impossibly hard to get to sleep, but I was happy to lie in bed and dream of the manliness of The Russian. What a package, and I had ‘permission’ to call him tomorrow. I knew what euphoria felt like.

  Chapter 10

  I didn’t fee
l tired the next morning; I was still running on excitement and adrenaline. I wanted The Russian, I wanted this job so badly, I wanted it all! Before I left home for my job interview—at about nine o’clock—when I knew Sasha would be in the Saints’ office, I gave her a quick call.

  “Well, hello belle of the ball,” she answered, and I laughed.

  “Hello to the hottest dressmaker on the west coast,” I said, and she laughed. “Hey, just a quick call to thank you again for making me the most amazing dress, I felt just beautiful in it.”

  “Hey, my pleasure, you were a beautiful model and thank you for all the promotion, my website has had so many hits and I’ve been returning email queries already.”

  “That’s brilliant. On the downside, I haven’t cracked the coffee lady secret yet, but I’m not giving up.”

  “I think you’ve cracked The Russian though,” Sasha said.

  “Really?” I said, my voice sounding way too thrilled. “What makes you say that?”

  Sasha lowered her voice. “Well, this morning he came in and I said you two looked beautiful together and asked did he have a good night, and he gave me this sort of satisfied smirk that said volumes.”

  “That’s it?” I asked, disappointed.

  “Are you kidding? That’s huge for grumpy bum ... the few other times I’ve caught him out with dates and asked him about it, he snapped and shut me down immediately like the whole thing was stupid. Not this time ... he looked, well, happy.”

  “Oh, well that’s good,” I brightened. “Anyway, got to run, but I just wanted to say thank you again. See you at the game.”

  “Look forward to it and don’t give up on the coffee secret,” she said.

  “Never,” I assured her and hung up. Hmm, so The Russian smiled – big deal ... well maybe it was, I’m running with it.

  Forty-five minutes later, I took a deep breath and entered the cable television station foyer taking in the photos of their stars on the wall; I could be right at home there ... please! I greeted the receptionist and asked for Deidre Carmichael in relation to a meeting with Karen Meares –then I felt nervous having said it out loud. She indicated that I should take a seat while she rang through to let them know I was here. I felt my phone buzz with a text and took the opportunity to put it on silence. It was from The Russian wishing me good luck – so adorable. If I hadn’t been so nervous I would have been swooning ... fine, I was still swooning.

  “I loved your dress at the Suns’ Ball,” the receptionist said to me, “I loved your date, too.”

  I gave her a ‘couldn't-agree-more’ smile. “It was a brilliant night and thanks, Sasha Saxon made the dress, the date I picked up from the Saints.”

  She laughed. “Stunning, both of them. He’s the guy on the watch billboard isn’t he?”

  “That’s him,” I agreed. I would have loved to have that billboard as wallpaper in my bedroom. I didn’t say that out loud did I? No, phew, thank goodness for that. Mm, therein lay my future if I partnered up with The Russian – women would be ogling him everywhere we went. It was a burden I would have to bear.

  The door behind the receptionist opened and a more mature woman stepped out and called my name. She invited me to come through and I thanked the receptionist as I departed. She introduced herself as Deidre and we walked up a long hallway where both sides of the wall were covered with framed photographs of every celebrity that had ever worked at the station, from sport to weather to soapie stars. Luckily, Deidre walked in front of me so I could get my head in the right space for the interview instead of making small talk. She showed me into a boardroom where I could look down on the journalists and a bank of television screens below.

  “Would you like a glass of water?” she asked.

  “That would be appreciated, thank you,” I said.

  Deidre disappeared and returned within a few minutes with a jug and three glasses. I poured and waited and then Karen entered with a middle-aged, slightly overweight man. I rose and shook her hand.

  “Good to meet you Carla, and this is the Head of Cable Sport, Gerard Threlfall.”

  We shook hands and I wondered if Gerard was a journalist or from a sports background; clearly he worked too much and didn’t participate in sport enough.

  “Well, you know how to make an impact at a Ball night,” Karen said.

  I gave her a smile, but kept professional – I didn’t want to be too girly. “It was a great night,” I agreed, “I’ll miss being part of the team.”

  “Aimee Nilsson has had a great year,” Gerard said, referring to my best friend.

  “She has, so has Lia Cartwright,” I said, and we talked a bit about the Suns. Then Karen took over and the next hour flew as they asked about my interests, passions and future plans. They had seen my pieces on camera from The Saints games and knew of my work with The Sports Daily. Karen liked my sporting pedigree as she put it, and Gerard said the publicity I had been getting wouldn’t hurt the ratings either if people tuned in to check me out. I didn’t want to get any favoritism based on a relationship that might not happen, but I guess profile-boosting and publicity was all part of the media game, sadly.

  I thanked them for the opportunity to be considered and was back in the parking lot feeling exhausted but satisfied I had given it my best. I decided to drive back to my favorite coffee shop and call The Russian from there, rather than sit in the parking lot on the phone. I couldn’t wait to hear his voice. That would be our last contact though ... I was hoping he would ask me out or make the next move. I hoped he wouldn’t just say ‘well good luck’ and that’d be that.

  I waited until I had a coffee in front of me before calling him, and then I rang. I think I was holding my breath ... it rang once, twice, three times and he picked up. What a rush ... nerves, excitement, lack of air ...

  “Brooker,” he said, in his sexy baritone voice.

  “Russian, how are you?”

  “Great,” he answered. “Did you get the job?”

  I laughed. “Not that quickly. They said they’d let me know by Wednesday.”

  “Who interviewed you?”

  “Karen Meares and Gerard Threlfall,” I told him. “Know them?”

  “I know Gerard,” he said.

  “And, more importantly, the receptionist bailed me up before I entered the interview to tell me she thought you were stunning. Not handsome, but stunning ... like a sunset,” I teased. I couldn’t help myself, it was a bit of a test. I was hoping he wouldn’t say ‘did she now, what’s her number?’ or ‘I’ll have to drop in’ or something equally as flirty and horrendous. I couldn’t stand a flirty man. But the gorgeous Russian didn’t. Instead he said: “Stunning, well that’s a new one. And what’s the potential sports commentator for cable TV think?”

  I stirred my coffee, grinning from ear to ear like a totally love-smitten teenager.

  “Well, she thought you scrubbed up pretty well,” I said.

  I heard his deep chuckle.

  “Mm, high praise. Hold a sec for me?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I answered. I heard him talking to someone in the background, he must have been in his office. He returned to the phone call.

  “Sorry about that, I’m always in demand,” he sighed.

  “It’s a curse,” I agreed. Please, please, ask me out again. My brain was urgently debating whether to say I should let him go since he was at work or make some other pointless small talk when he took charge.

  “I’m going to the gym tomorrow morning. Going to be there?” he asked. “We could spot each other on the weights.”

  “We could do that if you think you can manage the weights I’m lifting,” I teased him.

  I heard him chuckle again. “I’ll do my best. Six?”

  “See you there at six,” I agreed and hung up.

  I loved my life! How funny it was ... one month before I had been in the throes of depression, unable to play, getting more physio than the entire Suns team, my career crashing down on me and then, two months later, I was
in the running for my dream job and getting another chance to see the man of my dreams.

  You never knew what was around the corner, but it was worth waiting for.

  The next morning I would get to see The Russian lifting weights, his muscles bulging and rippling, his sexy waist and hips bending and stretching, those long legs ... where was I? Oh yes, The Russian looking gorgeous ... and I might even get a coffee and muffin with him afterward if I was lucky.

  Chapter 11

  When I got to the gym at 5.45am the next morning—nothing was going to keep me from that gym—Ken, one of my fans or some might say resident stalker, was there. Ken was harmless I think, and I had had a few over-zealous fans over the years who had found out where I was working out or came to where I was reporting sporting events and just hung around waiting to see me and be acknowledged.

  Luckily, I’d never had a bad experience, but one of my teammates, Latoya, had. She had started talking to a guy online and they had begun exchanging photos. After a few too many drinks one night, they were exchanging raunchier photos and he put them online – my worst nightmare. The police and club lawyers had stepped in and it had been shut down pretty quickly and he was charged. It came out that he had done that to half a dozen other women as well, but Latoya was mortified; it had really taken away her confidence. My stalker, Ken—or I should say fan—was carrying a bit of weight, a smoker, in his mid-forties at a guess, and just a bit odd. He was coming to most of our games and I had once seen him at the Saints’ when I was reporting there, but he usually just said a few words and departed. I gave him a hesitant wave and headed in.

  My eyes swept the gym and, of course, landed straight on The Russian. He was spotting for some other guy; I loved that he never seemed to flirt even though there were girls lifting weights nearby him; he was so solid in every sense of the word – well, from what I’d seen to date that was. He looked up and saw me and smiled; be still my beating heart. I indicated the lockers and went in to put away my car keys, phone and wallet. When I came back he was waiting for me by a set of weights, just doing hand lifts.