Team Lucas (The Saints Team #1)

by Ally Adams

  “Twenty-one and I’m in my final year of a physical therapy degree,” I said, trying to gain some ground.

  He made a sort of snorting sound and then launched into a description of his house.

  “It has three levels. My best friend Jase and his fiancée, Sarah, live on the third level, I have level one and two, and you have the guest wing. There’s eight bedrooms, five baths, gourmet kitchen, media room, wine cellar, all the usual shit,” he said.

  Lucas was seriously out of touch if he thought that was the usual shit. My whole apartment would fit in his foyer.

  “There’s room for four cars undercover so you can park yours next to your wing. Just don’t go near my garage. No point giving you the tour, as you won’t be on my side of the house.”

  I almost stood and saluted but he beat me to it, standing and rummaging in his pockets. He pulled out a set of keys and said, “This way.”

  James and I followed Lucas across the hallway and out a side door, where he unlocked a shared door to another wing of the house.

  Lucas slid the door open and indicated for me to enter. “This is your accommodation—it has a separate entrance on the other side or you can use this joint entrance in the hall. No parties and if I’m having a party, stay the fuck away.”

  James looked at me apologetically as we wandered through the guest wing of the house.

  The ‘pad’ was fantastic—all white again; my goth client would die in here with the lack of black. There was a large living room and the same floor to ceiling panoramic beach view that I saw from Lucas’s side of the house. The kitchen was modern and huge, in case I wanted to heat up a tin of something; the two bedrooms were pristine and the main room featured a plush white queen bed. I had to stop myself from running and jumping on it. The pad had the dreamiest bathroom I’ve ever seen. I could live in that bathroom alone.

  Then I heard the words coming out of my mouth but I’m sure I wasn’t saying them.

  “No-one told me I’d be required to stay here.” Who am I? What the hell!

  Lucas looked to James and raised his hands in surprise.

  “We prefer it—living here allows you to do random testing at any hour. It’s in your contract,” James said in a quiet voice.

  “Ah, the contract I haven’t seen.” I’d get my boss for that later. “Anything else in there you want to flag now?” I looked from James to Lucas.

  “Well you’re not required to service me if that’s what you’re worried about.” Lucas smirked, and his pale blue eyes looked me up and down.

  I wheeled round to face him front on and stood with my hands on my hips. “You’re not used to talking to women as equals, are you?” I asked, “because you’re rude and disrespectful.”

  He looked surprised and for a moment I saw a flash of what might have been shame—was this a pre-Lucas, before he became an international soccer star and the world courted him? Just as quickly the look left his face and the scowl returned. But I kept going. “I didn’t even know who you were until yesterday, so get over yourself.”

  He laughed. “What, do you live under a rock?”

  He’d seen my apartment obviously.

  I put out my hand for the keys and he handed them over. Our skin didn’t touch—he dropped them in my palm as though we were avoiding boy and girl germs.

  “Thank you,” I said because I was well brought up and it was instinctive. I was still the laughing stock of my jogging group after a flasher asked me did I want a bit of him and I said ‘no thank you’.

  “Two weeks to beat,” Lucas said, blocking the doorway.

  “Beat what?” I asked, checking out his silhouette; the man had style.

  “That’s the longest anyone has lasted.” He scowled.

  “What’s the shortest? I might break that record?”

  He made that grunting noise again and turned to lead the way back out of the pad. We followed; James obstructed my view of Lucas’s cute ass which was probably a good thing. I’d love to jab a needle into that. Lucas walked through to the front door and opened it for us.

  “From tomorrow then,” he said.

  At the front door, James turned to his contracted star and the men shook hands. “Well I’ll talk with you soon, Luke, call me if any dramas and don’t forget the magazine shoot in the morning, at nine.”

  “Sure, thanks James. Bye Minder,” Lucas said.

  “Mia,” I reminded him.

  “Mia the minder. Marvelous,” he said in his posh accent and with that he closed the door.

  Chapter 4

  My best friend Alice screamed down the phone line like a teenager at a One Direction concert.

  “Lucas Ainswright, you are kidding me? And you’re living there, under his roof... living with Lucas Ainswright.”

  “So you know who he is?” I asked.

  “Hell yeah. Oh Mia, this is good, so good. You might get invited to his parties and you can take me and I can meet the World Cup team and the Saints and I might become a wife or a girlfriend—a WAG—and OMG.”

  That was the good thing about Alice, she had vision.

  “Ali…” I called her by her nickname, “he made it pretty clear to me today that if he was having a party to stay clear. My role is to swab his mouth or collect his pee.”

  “You lucky thing,” she sighed.

  “Really?” I sometimes wondered if Alice was on drugs. “I know he’s gorgeous but...”

  “Can I come over when you move in?” she interrupted me.

  “Of course. We can sit on the couch and star spot as the celebs and players rock up his driveway.”

  “This is the most exciting thing to happen ever,” Alice said again. “Even more exciting than when we performed that Britney Spears melody and won the shopping trip to Hong Kong.”

  “Nuh,” I disagreed, “that trip beats Lucas Ainswright hands down.”

  *****

  I had narrowed my packing down to one suitcase of clothes, one smaller bag of shoes and my beauty kit. I could always come home for more; it’s not like I was moving interstate, just leaving my cozy—okay one-room-for-everything—student accommodation.

  I dressed in my sports gear—running shorts, singlet and runners with my hair tied up—and as soon as I was unpacked at my new ‘digs’, which would take all of fifteen minutes, I was going to go for a run along the beach out the front and check out the area. It’s not every day you get paid to live in a beachside pad and get to run by the ocean. I was even prepared to put up with the obnoxious Lucas Ainswright for the privilege. Going back to my student accommodation after this was going to suck big time.

  I drove down the very expensive, upmarket street to my new digs, was permitted entry into the gated community and turned my silver VW Golf into the driveway of Lucas’s three story mansion. I parked in the undercover spot nearest to my guest wing and noticed Lucas’s white Lamborghini was not in the garage. A navy blue 4WD was in the spot next to where the Lamborghini sat last visit. Hmm, was he a two car guy because I didn’t remember seeing the 4WD yesterday, or was it his girlfriend’s car? I shrugged; who cared. Then I remembered his manager mentioned Lucas had a photoshoot this morning… I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that studio.

  I turned off the ignition, and exiting, pulled my two bags out of the trunk of my VW. Yeah it was about a twentieth of the price of the Lamborghini but even if I had half a million dollars to spend on a car I wouldn’t buy a Lamborghini. I would buy... my dream was interrupted by Lucas’s front door opening. The man who stepped out was a giant—fair hair, blue eyes, and if Lucas was six-foot-three, then this man was six-foot-five, and way too cute for his own safety.

  “Let me help you.” He headed towards my car and with those long legs, arrived in about four steps. “You must be the... minder?” he said with an accent which I guessed was German. He looked very Aryan.

  I smiled and put my bags down.

  “I’m Mia.” I put special emphasis on my name...
Mia, not minder. Good grief.

  “Mia you are,” he agreed, as though christening me. He reached out his hand and we shook. My hand was lost in his.

  “And you are?” I asked. Of course if I had studied the team I would have recognized him.

  “Niklas, but everyone calls me Nik. I’m one of the Saints, with Lucas.”

  “Saint Nicholas, I think I remember him from my Catholic school upbringing. Wasn’t he the patron saint of good soccer players?”

  Nik laughed. “No, that was Saint Luke.”

  “Nah, I don’t think so,” I teased Nik.

  Alice would die if she was here. Nik was rugged and she had a thing for tall men. At six-foot-five, he was a gold medal Olympian in the tall stakes.

  He released my hand.

  “That’s a good German car, Mia,” he said admiring my VW.

  “I love it,” I agreed, smiling fondly at my car.

  “Allow me.” Nik picked up all three bags and could have carried me as well but refrained. He stopped and saw my massage table in the car trunk.

  “You do massage?” he asked, his eyes wide with promise.

  “I’m in my last year of studying sports physiotherapy,” I said.

  “That is very handy,” he said, “very handy. Do you want that inside too?” He nodded to the table.

  “Yes, but I can come back for it.”

  He put down one of my bags, easily tucked the table under one arm and carried the other three bags in one hand. The man was a fabulous porter; his powerful legs were made for motion and his arms had lifted a weight or two in their time. Clearly there were going to be many perks in this job—Nik was one, but Lucas Ainswright wasn’t.

  He stood at the front door waiting with the luggage and I raced into action to let him in. I turned the key in the lock. I didn’t think to ask if there was an alarm but nothing went off.

  “Thank you, Nik, that’s very kind.” I held the door open for him.

  “It is no trouble at all. Where is Luke? Why is he not here to help?”

  “I wasn’t expecting him. But he told you I was moving in?” I asked, surprised.

  “Ah yes, we’ve all met Luke’s minders but you are one of the most attractive yet.” He smiled and carried the bags in.

  Sigh, charming man, he was my favorite already.

  “Please, place them anywhere,” I said, but I noticed he walked straight into the main bedroom and put them down... like he knew the way... hmm.

  “Thank you,” I said, when he came out. “I’d offer you a drink but I haven’t bought anything yet.”

  “Luke will have filled the fridge for you.” He strode into the kitchen and opened it. I’ve never seen so much bottled water and fruit in my life. Did he think I was a fruit bat?

  “See?” He turned to look at me. “He always does that.”

  “So, just how many minders has Lucas had?” I asked, leaning against the kitchen bench.

  “Ah, poor Luke. Let’s see—two men who didn’t last long, then there was Mrs. Compton who was in her sixties and tough, very tough, like a prison warden, but he got the better of her. Then he had a very attractive minder but she was scared of him, but hey, good luck.”

  I suspect Nik knew that very attractive minder rather well given his knowledge of the guest suite.

  “Well thanks, I appreciate...” I stopped mid-sentence on hearing a loud yell at my new front door. I winced and turned around.

  Lucas filled the doorway looking every bit the model in a dark suit, crisp white business shirt opened at the neck and highly-polished black shoes. He was breathtaking in a suit. His light brown hair flopped over his forehead and his blue eyes glared at me as if I was the enemy.

  “Hello Minder.” He smirked.

  “Mia,” I reminded him. I crossed my arms across my chest. “But if you insist on calling me Minder, I’ll choose a new name for you, Lupus, I mean Lucas.”

  I didn’t think he’d be able to look any more sour, but being called after a skin disease seemed to achieve that.

  Nik stepped around from the kitchen.

  “Hey Luke,” he greeted him.

  “Hey Nik, I thought that was your car,” Lucas’s face lit up.

  “Nice suit. From the shoot?” Nik asked.

  “Yeah, they gave me this one. Coming in?”

  “On my way, just helping Mia move in,” he said with a smile in my direction. He managed to remember my name. “Coming over for a coffee?” He was inviting me to Lucas’s place! Oh, so polite. I looked at Lucas who looked far from pleased by the invitation and I mustered a prize smug look for him.

  I returned my gaze to Nik. “Thank you, Nik,” I said sweetly, “but I’m off for a run.” I turned back to Lucas. “And on my return I need to see you for just five minutes.”

  “Swab time,” Nik piped up. Nothing was sacred.

  “Whatever.” Lucas turned to leave. Nik gave me a look that reminded me he knew where the bedroom was and I waved as I watched him go.

  Yep, the scenery here was fantastic and the ocean views weren’t bad either.

  Chapter 5

  I ran for thirty minutes and thought about life which I often did when running. When did Lucas become such a prat or was he always a prat? Before moving in, I did some online research on him; he’d gone to a prestigious British primary school, then boarded at one of the best private middle and high schools in the US, before winning a US soccer scholarship to a swanky college, where no doubt he ponced around with his upper class accent. Then he got signed to a European team, and within two years was commanding top dollars and got World Cup placement. Then he came back here, signed a huge contract with the Saints, picked up the captaincy and of course all the sponsorship endorsements. His stats were pretty impressive too—he owned the field; the guy could play.

  In the space of a few years he’d become a huge name worth millions, adored by many, and his very British businessman father and homemaker mother were left behind somewhere in the wake, trying to keep some realism in his life. Meanwhile Mr. Party-hard was living it up, sexing it up by the look of the women hanging off his arm in some of the photos and snorting it up. Yep, it was going to be a real treat and I would earn every cent over the next few weeks. Still, it was good for my career and the bonuses would pay my car off if I could score them.

  When I got back, Nik and his 4WD were gone. I went to my room, sniffed under my arms and decided I wouldn’t offend and grabbed my testing kit. Let’s get this over with. I went around to the front door rather than the adjoining door and tapped lightly. The door swung open and Lucas stood there in his jeans with no shirt on. I forgot to look at his face for a moment then waved my kit at him. He stepped aside and let me in. I followed him up the stairs—yes, thank you God for that marvelous piece of ass work in front of me. I moved to the kitchen bench, put my swab kit down and opened it.

  “Want to lock this in for a set time each day?” he asked.

  “Nope,” I answered.

  He put his hands on his hips and glared at me. “Oh that’s right, wouldn’t want me to trick the system.”

  I nodded. He could get testy about it all he liked but that was pretty much it. I’ve had patients who’ll store someone else’s urine in the bathroom and replace it or work around my testing schedule knowing how long they’ve got to come down or get high for that matter, even though most tests could read a couple of days’ usage. Not Lukey, not on my watch—I was going to keep him on his toes.

  “I’m not going to test you the same way every time either,” I warned him.

  He dropped his eyes and looked away, reining in his anger.

  “It’s not personal,” I told him.

  “Yeah? How many times have you opened your mouth, pissed in a cup or given blood to someone? Trust me, it’s personal,” he said.

  I studied him and overstepped my boundaries, but he was hardly considerate of my feelings or role. “Gee Lucas, it’s like you have it all and the peop
le close to you don’t want you to blow it. Is that such a bad thing?”

  “Thanks Dr. Phil, just get it over with,” he snapped.

  I was planning on doing saliva and urine tests on him, but every now and then I’d get a blood sample—it was more intrusive but the most accurate and I didn’t want to slip up, especially when the fallout could be so public.

  I exhaled and told him to sit. He lowered himself on a stool next to the kitchen counter. It was only way I could reach his mouth without standing on my toes.

  “What are you testing for?” he asked as I pulled out a swab.

  “Just the usuals,” I assured him. “Marijuana, cocaine, crack, heroin, ecstasy, a range of barbiturates, my friend methadone.” I shrugged. He almost smiled but stopped himself. Phew, that was close.

  “You know I’m allowed to drink?” he said.

  “In moderation and preferably not during the season.” I repeated the words on my brief. “Your coach has emailed me the alcohol block out dates.”

  “Fucking great,” he said and made a grunting noise. He folded his arms across his naked chest.

  “Saliva test today,” I told him and pulled out a swab that looked like a toothbrush but with a pad at the end instead of bristles. Lucas was no stranger to it.

  “Have you had anything in your mouth in the last ten minutes?” I asked.

  “Like pussy,” he said trying to shock me and take some control.

  I winced. “Yes, like that. Or food, drink, gum, a cigarette?”

  He shook his head.

  I pulled the tester out of the foil and stood by his leg. Sitting down his face was at the same level as mine and I could read he was uncomfortable. Good, welcome to my world.

  “Open, please,” I said.

  He hesitated for just a moment then opened his mouth and looked away from me. I could almost swear that Lucas was embarrassed. I swept the inside of his mouth, across the inside of his cheek, gums and over his tongue being careful not to gag him. Not once did he make eye contact with me. He glared at the wall as though he was going to pummel it.