by Sara Rider
“Nah, I’m thinking ice cream. And probably some awful flavor like rum raisin that defeats the entire purpose of eating ice cream,” Alyssa, their center mid, added unhelpfully.
“I don’t have a date and I don’t eat sweets during the season,” Lainey explained calmly. Besides, she always chose vanilla. Not that she had allowed herself to eat ice cream in at least three years. Or was it five? “Now back to the game. We need to work on—”
“Seriously?” Jaime asked, eyes wide with shock. “No sweets at all? Not even chocolate? What about salty snacks?”
Lainey rationalized that getting ribbed over her nonexistent sex life and eating habits was a step up from being ridiculed for her wretched media promo spots, so she answered honestly. “No treats of any kind. Our diets are a key part of our livelihood. In fact, Coach mentioned that the staff nutritionist for the Surge is willing to do a pro bono consult for us next week. It would probably help if we all kept a written record of our eating habits over the next few days—”
“Oh man. I couldn’t live without chocolate,” Jaime groaned.
“Mmm. Definitely chocolate,” Alyssa agreed. “I would do another hour of wind sprints for unlimited chocolate. And wine.”
“Beer!” Lynn added. “Thirty laps around the field for an endless supply of beer.”
Before Lainey could reel them back in, the room erupted in a cacophony of favorite vices and worst punishments.
“Hang on a sec!” Jaime shouted, slowly climbing to her feet atop the bench. “Lukas is right. We need to bond as a team. Become a true, impenetrable unit.”
That caught Lainey off guard. In the two short weeks the Falcons had been together, she and her Canadian assistant captain had never agreed on anything. Finally, Lainey hoped, they might get somewhere.
“Which is why,” Jaime continued emphatically, “it’s imperative we hit up the Stinging Kiss tonight, that new Martini bar in Belltown. Sweet, salty, alcohol—martinis will unite us!”
While her teammates cheered, Lainey returned to her locker and continued banging her head.
GABE WAS TOO OLD for this shit. Too many girls barely older than his kid sister were parading in front of him in outfits so glittery his eyes hurt. Johnny was soaking up the attention, though, dancing up a storm with every wide-eyed beauty who looked his way. Christ, the nineteen-year-old wasn’t even legally allowed in the place, but the owner of the Stinging Kiss was willing to look the other way if it generated some hype for the new club. And Gabe was reluctantly willing to overlook the nasty mixed drinks that kept being delivered on the house as long as the owner followed through on his promise to make a generous donation to the Gabriel Havelak Pro-Stars Soccer Camp.
He took a sip of the most recent concoction set in front of him, then spit it out all over his lap. Melon? What the hell was that flavor doing in a drink? Seriously, can’t a guy just get a beer?
Another hour and he could go home, having fulfilled his end of the bargain. He’d convinced a bunch of his teammates to come along and, to his surprise, the entire Falcons team happened to show up as well. Sitting on one of the uncomfortable white plastic stools, Gabe scanned their private corner of the club for the person he was most interested to see but had yet to set eyes on. She had to be there, though, since the rest of her teammates were accounted for. Where was she hiding? Since the disastrous press conference, he couldn’t get Lainey Lukas out of his head. Something about the fiery determination in her pretty brown eyes, even as she wielded a death stare in his direction, intrigued him like no other woman had before.
“Tequila!”
Gabe’s surveying was interrupted by Jaime Chen carrying an impossible amount of shot glasses in her hands. By the time she made her way over to him, their respective teammates lounging in the far corner of the club had divested her of all the shots. Gabe shrugged good-naturedly, secretly glad that he wouldn’t be forced to imbibe the vile liquid. He was long past admitting that tequila hangovers weren’t befitting of a guy his age.
“You wish, old man,” Jaime yelled over the throbbing bass, then pulled out two shot glasses tucked into her ample cleavage. “Drink up!”
Gross as it was, Gabe had no choice but to take the shot when presented to him in such an awesome fashion. He clinked glasses with her and downed the amber liquid. It was smoother than expected. Jaime obviously knew her tequila.
“Hey! Where are the limes?” Zazu pouted from a few seats down, his shot glass still full to the brim.
Jaime sashayed over to the aging Brazilian star and plopped into his lap. “No need. This is top-shelf.” When he pouted some more, she pulled a lime wedge from her well-displayed cleavage and shoved it in his mouth. At that moment, a dizzying beat flooded the room and Jaime jumped up from a stunned Zazu’s lap and headed to the dance floor.
Zazu leaned over to Gabe and loudly asked, “How does she afford to buy all these rounds? They don’t make a lot of money in the AWSL.”
Zazu must have been talking louder than he realized because Jaime turned around and called out, “Because I put it on your tab, sucka!” before disappearing into the crowd of dancers.
After a few minutes of gut-busting laughter at Zazu’s expense, Gabe realized this was probably the highlight of the evening, and he was more than ready to call it a night. Hopefully the club owner wouldn’t notice his early escape, or at least wouldn’t hold it against him, since he managed to drag along a decent entourage. He stood up and downed the remaining dregs of his drink, then promptly spit it back in the glass. Ugh. Melon.
He’d made it about ten feet from the back exit when a commotion near the dance floor stopped Gabe in his tracks. He knew he should keep walking, but curiosity got the better of him. He turned around to find Lainey, looking like the ultimate girl next door in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, arguing with Jaime Chen. What was it about this woman that fascinated him so much? He watched in awe for a few seconds, captivated by the way her lush lips curled into a snarl.
“No, Jaime. I do not want a shot called the Leg Spreader. I said I’m fine with water!”
This was not good. He’d promised the owner to bring a certain kind of attention to the Stinging Kiss and a catfight wasn’t what he had in mind. He knew things were about to escalate when Lukas leaned over so she was nose to nose with the much shorter Chen, who responded by cracking her knuckles.
Gabe snatched two tumblers from a passing waitress’s tray in exchange for a wink and a generous tip. It took only a couple of steps to shift into gear, turning on his most persuasive smile and a healthy dose of “Hometown Hero” charm.
He tapped Lukas’s shoulder, hoping to defuse the crackling tension.
“What? What could you of all people possibly want right now?”
Gabe widened his smile to cover his shock at the venom in Lainey’s voice. Apparently she still wasn’t over that whole press conference incident. “You look like you could use a drink.” She accepted the tumbler he thrust in her direction but made no motion to move it toward her lips.
“Thanks,” she intoned before turning back to Chen.
“I was hoping you would sign an autograph for me,” Gabe said hurriedly. It was the first thing that came to his mind.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“No. For my kid sister, Tessa, actually,” Gabe improvised. “She’s a big fan and it’d mean a lot to her. She has dreams of playing in the AWSL one day.”
Lukas stepped well into his comfort zone, getting right up into his face. “Maybe you should quit trying to sabotage the Falcons if you really care about your sister’s dreams.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. I sent you an apology.” Lukas made a skeptical face. “The flowers . . . ?”
Her eyes went wide and buggy, which Gabe hoped was a sign of appreciation. All women appreciate flowers, right? As an apology gift, they’d never failed him before.
“You sent t
hose to me? I had to blow my nose on my sleeve a hundred times during the first half and I flubbed a free kick because I couldn’t stop sneezing, thanks to you! Are you so insecure about the Surge that you had to massacre my sinuses before the Falcons’ first game?”
“Oh shit, I didn’t mean—”
“Locker rooms are supposed to be off-limits! Would you have sent flowers to a male athlete’s locker room right before a game?”
Sweat seeped into his Armani shirt collar. Why was it so difficult to impress her? He’d never met a woman more immune to his charm. The club had gone ominously silent, with all attention on Gabe and Lukas. Chen no longer looked like she wanted to fight her captain. Instead, she had her hand perched supportively on Lukas’s shoulder. “No, it’s—”
“Then what? You think that just because you have some magical penis that you’re automatically better than us?” She slapped a palm to her forehead. “Oh my god. You really believe that, don’t you? That’s what this is all about. You think men are better athletes than women.”
Gabe hesitated. He knew he shouldn’t answer that question, no matter how much Lukas’s expression dared him. But at that moment the stupid male part of his brain clicked on. The same part that convinced him he could disassemble electronics without destroying them, and drive anywhere in the continental United States without a map. The part that compelled him to truthfully answer questions like “Do I look fat in this?”
“Well, it’s just a simple fact of biology that men are stronger and faster . . .”
He really should have bit his tongue.
“You think you could outrun Chen, a world-class sprinter? She’s one of only a handful of athletes to medal in two sports at the same Olympics. You think that fancy Nike contract of yours is going to come with turbo boosters?”
Jaime looked shocked at Lukas’s praise but quickly raised her eyebrows in a cocky display of agreement, egging on Gabe to answer. How the heck did he just become enemy number one? Chen and Lukas were supposed to be one of the greatest rivalries in women’s soccer, but all it took was one honest comment from him to unite them.
“I could outrun her any day!” Zazu shouted, coming to Gabe’s side. The club was dividing up like West Side Story. Women were gravitating to Lukas’s side, and the male patrons were trickling toward Gabe’s.
“Not helping, buddy,” Gabe cautioned. Provoked women were as dangerous as any wild beast. They needed to step away calmly without making eye contact. He tried to telegraph this to Zazu while keeping his glance focused on his shoes.
“Oh yeah?” Chen challenged.
“Yeah,” Zazu responded foolishly while Gabe mentally face-palmed himself and kissed his plans of an early evening good-bye. “We kick harder, run faster, and play tougher than you ever will.”
“You couldn’t get a penalty shot past me if I were wearing a blindfold,” Lynn Dunkers yelled.
“Come on, Lynn, that’s not fair,” Lukas interjected calmly, giving Gabe the faint hope everyone might get out of this alive. “Zazu would have to able to shoot on target first, and everyone knows that’s pretty much impossible these days.”
Even Gabe flinched. As much as Zazu probably deserved being taken down a peg or two, the bro code kicked in, compelling Gabe to defend his teammates. “Well, there’s an easy way to prove it.”
“What’s that?” She stepped even closer to him, arms akimbo. Even in sensible ballet flats, Lukas was tall enough to easily look Gabe in the eye. He almost gulped, but his manly pride was on the line. This woman had rejected his flowers, insulted his manhood, and belittled his friends in public. He’d never live it down if he cowered now.
“We meet on the field. Head-to-head.”
“Count us in if that’s all it takes to show the world that you’re just an insecure caveman who thinks women belong in the kitchen. Anything you can do, we can do. And better.”
“Ha! Everyone knows that men are better chefs, yo. The only thing you’re good for is looking damn fine. Am I right, Gabe?”
Gabe bypassed Johnny’s high five–awaiting palm, smacking him on the side of the head instead.
Not that it mattered to Lukas. The damage was done. She stepped closer to Gabe and dumped her drink over his head. “Anytime, anyplace. We’ll run faster, kick harder, pass sharper, and do anything better.” A pregnant hush fell over the club as everyone awaited Gabe’s reaction.
Well, there was really only one way to prove he considered women his equal. He wiped the sticky liquid from his eyes, then raised his glass in a salute to Lainey and tipped the contents onto her shiny brown hair.
“You didn’t,” she hissed as the dark liquid dripped down her face.
“Sure did, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want to give you the impression that I don’t consider you my equal.”
Gabe couldn’t help but let his gaze drift to her chest. The wet material clung in a perfect outline of her pert breasts. Everything about this woman turned him on. The closer she got, the more his desire flared. He tried desperately to think of something that would keep the evidence from rising in his pants, but it seemed like little Gabe was just as resistant to his will as Lukas was.
Too late. The Mars rover had just made contact.
Lukas’s eyes widened. Her body went rigid and she stumbled on the next round of insults she had loaded. Isn’t this interesting? It seemed Lukas had a weakness after all, one that Gabe was more than willing to exploit. He slipped his hand to the nape of her neck and brushed his cheek against hers.
“It’s on now,” he whispered. “No turning back. I’m going to show you exactly what a real man is capable of.”
6
www.youtube.com/watchlukashavelakfight
Lukas and Havelak Epic Club Brawl
Posted by stlscrfan_42
1,091,458 views 1 day ago
GABE HAD BEEN A nervous wreck from the moment he got the call to show up for an eleven a.m. meeting with the Surge’s owner that morning. The players usually only saw Carson Chester once a year at the formal party he threw to kick off each season. When Gabe stepped into the plush office with floor-to-ceiling windows and saw his agent, his GM, and a dozen other suits sitting in the leather chairs, his heart dropped into his stomach.
He was being traded.
That was the only explanation for the impromptu meeting. The powers that be finally decided that his graying hair and bum knee, which was one bad twist away from major surgery, were no longer worth his salary. The thought gave him chills. Even Gabe had to admit a trade made sense with the new salary cap rules. He was thirty-three, practically a dinosaur of the soccer world, and the Surge could pick up three up-and-coming stars with his salary.
The thought of moving to a new city and away from his family made him feel like his heart was being ripped out. Soccer was his life, but Seattle was his home. The adventure of pursuing his dreams overseas had been exciting at the beginning of his career, but after a few years of loneliness, he’d wanted to come back here. Now he was once again going to have to make a choice between his home and his career, and this time he had no clue which path to choose.
Carson pointed a stubby finger toward a seat at the end of the long oval conference table. With a quick nod to his agent, sitting along the left side of the table, Gabe dutifully obeyed Carson’s request, holding his breath with every slow step he took. It wasn’t until he settled into the leather chair that he noticed Lainey was sitting stiffly right next to him. The knot in his stomach unclenched a fraction. Why was she here?
She looked like she’d just come from practice, wearing a hoodie, shorts, and flip-flops. Mud was caked on her thighs, stopping abruptly below her knees where her shin pads had protected her pale, muscular calves. Somehow, she managed to look just as sexy in her practice gear as she did last night at the bar. The knot resettled in his stomach.
Carson twisted his computer monitor to face Gabe and
Lainey. “As you all know, Chester Pharmacies is a family company. People throughout this great nation choose us because of our wholesome reputation.”
Gabe knew better than to point out that Carson’s eighteen-year-old son’s recent and highly publicized arrest for solicitation of an underage prostitute with a giant bag of meth didn’t exactly jibe with the image Carson described. He just nodded and bit his tongue.
Lainey, however, did not. “No, sir. I was unaware of Chester Pharmacies’ reputation, other than it sponsors kick-ass soccer teams.”
A bold move, but Carson was one of those old, rich men who liked a little spunk in people. His glimmer of amusement, however, waned quickly. “Regardless, it is unbecoming of my players to demonstrate unsportsmanlike conduct. Especially team captains.” Gabe and Lainey nodded. “So explain this.”
Gabe silently cursed as he watched Carson click play on the video of last night’s confrontation. The picture was grainy, but the audio was excellent. Damn Steve Jobs. When Gabe moved back to Seattle seven years ago, he never had to worry about twerps with iPhones capturing his most cringe-inducing moments on-screen for the world to see.
“It’s my fault,” Gabe said. To his surprise, Lainey uttered the exact same words at the same time. Although he hadn’t started out with the intention of goading her into a fight, if he was being honest with himself, that was exactly what he was doing by the end of the encounter. Besides, he was accustomed to spinning some public bad-boy behavior into a well-crafted media image. The fact is, the media didn’t treat women the same way, and bad press wouldn’t roll off her shoulders the way it did his. “Ms. Lukas isn’t to blame. I started the fight.”
“I dumped the drink on his head first,” she said, looking more proud than remorseful.
“I don’t care who’s at fault. I want someone to explain to me why I shouldn’t trade both of you right now for this.” Carson’s giant nostrils flared with anger.