by Sara Rider
“Because we’re your best players, and no one in Seattle would forgive you if you traded us over something so silly,” Lainey said assuredly. Gabe smiled, appreciating that she included him in that assessment.
“Listen, young lady. I’m rich enough to not care what anyone thinks,” Carson responded.
“But you just said your reputation—”
Gabe cut her off with a discreet touch to her elbow. Pointing out the circle of contradictions Carson was spinning wouldn’t do them any good.
“Tell me how you plan to fix this,” Carson said. Gabe’s agent, Bill Smith, tried to jump in, but Carson cut him off. “No. These two screwed up, and these two will figure out how to fix this or they’ll be riding the benches so hard they’ll be pulling splinters out of their asses for the next three months.”
“I’ve been planning to make my annual donation to the Hearts and Hands Charity Gala. I’d be happy to triple my usual amount if it helps with publicity,” Gabe said with an easygoing smile. The Hearts and Hands charity was Carson’s pet project that was kept up with the sole purpose of distracting the rest of Seattle from his offspring’s growing list of criminal convictions.
“Still not enough. What are you going to do about that video?”
“We’ll issue a joint public apology immediately and make an appearance at the Hearts and Hands charity gala.” Negative publicity was nothing new to Gabe, and he knew exactly how to work his way out of it. He’d been down this road many times before in his younger partying years. Being benched was almost as bad as being traded, but he was willing to bet Carson was bluffing, and since Gabe had actually planned on attending the gala regardless, he figured it’d be the perfect opportunity to finagle a date with the frustrating but intriguing Lainey Lukas.
Carson clasped his hands together and rested his chin against them. “As captains of your respective teams that are both owned by Chester Pharmacies, your presence at my gala is greatly important. But that’s not enough to make up for your actions. You’re only thinking about damage control. We need a more proactive approach to remind Seattle that our soccer stars are local heroes, and that Chester Pharmacies is a good, upstanding company . . . Ahem. What was that, Ms. Lukas?”
Lainey looked momentarily surprised that Carson noticed her muttering.
“I said we should just go through with the stupid bet. It’s the first bit of real publicity the Falcons have gotten.” Everyone in the room turned in her direction. Carson prompted her to continue with a subtle head tilt. “A battle of the sexes to let the public determine the better team. Falcons get publicity, maybe even a television sponsor, and Havelak gets, well, he gets whatever the hell he’s getting out of this whole thing.”
A dissenting uproar rose among the suits in the room. Carson silenced them with a wave of his hand.
“Can I make money off this?” he asked in the direction of his lawyers sitting in the corner.
They nodded in unison, like a set of pinstripe automatons. Chester pressed his fingers together and gave his final summation. “I like it. Publicity, charity, money. Channel 7 said they needed more excitement before they sign on as sponsors. This could work.”
Bill Smith finally piped up. “My client’s contract stipulates he is to attend three charity events on behalf of the Surge franchises, make six promotional appearances, and film one series of television advertisements in conjunction with Channel 7 Sports. Any additional appearances would require a fee based on the 2011 collective agreement scale, which, by my calculations, would be one hundred fifty dollars per hour. Now, if we estimate the time associated with this event by that scale, then—”
Chester cut him off while sending Gabe a long look. “What do you want, Havelak?”
It was just the moment he was waiting for. “I’m willing to do this pro bono if you agree to give the Surge back its practice space. I want off Cricket Field.”
Lainey bristled beside him.
Chester let out a deep belly laugh. “Still worried about the curse, huh? Look, I don’t give a rat’s ass about who practices where. The AWSL negotiations insisted we give the Falcons adequate practice space. If you don’t like the situation, then be a man about it, Havelak. Ask Ms. Lukas yourself if she’s willing to trade practice space. We’ll leave it up to the lady to decide.”
Before he could even twist his head in her direction, Lainey spit out her reply. “No way in hell.” She crossed her arms and glared at Gabe with a look that said she’d love nothing more than for him to challenge her.
“Tough luck, Havelak. Bill and I will work out the details, but get one thing straight”—Chester pointed a long, fat finger at Gabe—“you will go through with this competition.”
LAINEY WAS ALMOST SHAKING as she walked out of Carson Chester’s office right after she and Gabe were abruptly dismissed so the gaggle of PR dudes could take over the planning. Never in her life had she been chastised like that! She was a good girl. A hardworking girl. Not the kind of person who got summoned to the principal’s office. She scowled at Gabe, wanting to blame him, but she’d tossed the first drink and she knew damn well she was just as guilty. Maybe more. Probably more. And then the bastard even tried to take the blame for it all. Dammit! Couldn’t he just do her a favor for once and let her hate him?
Since she couldn’t rightfully be pissed at Gabe, she directed her frustration at Carson Chester instead.
“What a douche-canoe.”
“Yeah, Carson Chester is a total douche-kayak,” Gabe responded with his easy smile. “Complete with the stupid little rubber skirt.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the insult. Lainey was starting to understand why women fawned over Gabe. He had a rock-solid body with dreamy eyes, but those ears made him just goofy-looking enough to give him a hint of attainability and a whole lot of charm. And he always seemed like he was in a good mood, even when he was pissing her off. Which he did, a lot. She could barely sleep last night after those sparks flew between them at the club. She was certain there was no way a playboy like Havelak was actually interested in her, and in no way was she interested in him. It must’ve been just a little misplaced passion from their standoff. And there was no time to waste on pointless distractions like a man. That was way down on her list of things to do after winning the season. Behind learning to cross-stitch and getting her legs waxed.
“A douche-tugboat,” Lainey countered. “Hauling a load of garbage behind him.”
Gabe stroked his chin, as though deep in thought. “A douche–cruise liner. Weighed down with tons and tons of shit.”
“A douche-Titanic!” Lainey said, unable to resist even the silliest competition with Gabe. “Who ought to ram himself headfirst into an iceberg and sink into an abyss.”
“All right, all right, you win this time. But you won’t be so lucky on the field.”
“I don’t need luck. I’m the best.” Lainey walked down the long hall toward the elevators and pressed the call button.
“Ha! We’ll see,” Gabe said, trailing behind her as she stepped into the elevator. “Of course, it’s all just a good-natured competition in the name of charity.”
It had taken all her resolve not to roll her eyes. It was so easy for rich people to throw around money. Sure, it was a good thing if it went to a real cause, but Lainey doubted that Gabe, a man who seemed to spend most of his off-field hours partying with a rotating gaggle of women, had ever done anything that wasn’t self-serving.
“Right. Charity,” Lainey intoned while pushing the ground-floor button. The doors to the elevator closed, trapping her and Gabe in the small space for the next twenty-six floors.
“Are you suggesting we make this more interesting?” he asked, stepping closer to her.
Lainey’s pulse picked up, which, she rationalized, had everything to do with the excitement of competition and nothing at all to do with how he smelled like a cedar forest after a fresh rain
fall. “Why not?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Our salaries are crap, and we didn’t get any new gear when we signed onto the Falcons. Some of the players can’t even afford to buy a spare pair of cleats. How about you pull in a favor with some of those companies you endorse and outfit our team with new gear if we win?”
“You want new cleats?” Of course he looked amused. He probably never had to play in cleats wrapped in duct tape in his life.
“Not just cleats. Have you seen how expensive good sports bras are? I’m talking full-on training gear. High-tech yoga pants, sweatshirts, shin guards, soccer shorts. All of it. If I’m going to kick your butt, I may as well get something out of it.”
Gabe braced one arm against the wall above Lainey’s head and leaned in until their noses were almost touching. She held herself ramrod straight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had any kind of effect on her.
“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But don’t come crying to me when I show you exactly what I’m capable of. And when I do . . .” He paused dramatically. The shiver that rippled over her and left a trail of goose bumps was totally due to the overactive air-conditioning in the building. Totally. “You’re going to march straight back to Carson Chester’s office and tell him that the Falcons want to switch the rest of their practice times with the Surge.”
Lainey laughed, evaporating the tension. “That’s your bet? Seriously? Why do you care so much about Cricket Field?” With the intensity of his stare, Lainey was prepared for a more tawdry response. Then again, she was wearing her muddy, stinky practice clothes. The guy wasn’t attracted to her; he was just messing with her to get what he wanted. The realization snapped Lainey out of the trance induced by his dreamy blue eyes.
“Cricket Field is cursed. Every time the Surge has practiced there, the team captain suffers a freak, career-ending injury.”
“Let me guess,” Lainey said, brushing her fingertips against the flecks of silver along his temple, trying to give him a taste of his own medicine. His hair was so soft . . . Dammit! She retracted her fingers like they’d just been burned. “You just happened to be the one wearing a C on your jersey?”
“You got it, babe.”
“You do realize curses and superstitions aren’t real.” With an abrupt ding, the elevator opened to the ground floor. “They’re just an excuse for losers.”
Gabe grinned and pulled away, trailing the back of his hand along her cheek. “Then you’ll have no problem accepting the challenge.” He walked out of the elevator, leaving her stunned.
Lainey slapped her hand against the closing door and called out after him. “Hold up, Havelak! New gear for practice space isn’t a fair deal, since it won’t personally cost you anything. I want something else, too.”
He paused, shoulders tightening a fraction. “What’s that?”
“I’m going to enjoy driving your car after the Falcons prove that we’re the superior team. I believe it’s a Porsche. Or is it a Ferrari? You know, the red one with the license plate that reads SCCRGOD.”
She held her right hand out to him. When he turned around, Lainey was pleased as punch that she’d finally gotten him to scowl. With just a brief hesitation, Gabe extended his hand. “Deal.”
“KNOCK, KNOCK!”
Lainey jumped up from the couch and rushed to the door, almost knocking over the side table. Not that it was necessary to provide a proper greeting, since Jaime had taken the liberty of walking right in, followed by Alyssa and Lynn, who were laughing hysterically. They were too engrossed by whatever was amusing them to bother with social niceties.
It took Lainey only a few seconds to recognize the faint, familiar sounds coming from Jaime’s phone.
Her teammates had discovered the YouTube video.
“I still can’t believe you dumped a drink over his head!” Alyssa said between bursts of laughter.
“Or that he dumped one on you,” Jaime added.
Lainey groaned. “Does everyone know about that video?”
“Not yet.” Jaime tapped rapidly on her phone, then looked up with a devilish grin. “But now my ninety thousand Twitter followers do.”
It took a few minutes for the next round of giggles to subside. “Why don’t you guys just have a seat while we wait for everyone else to show up?”
“How about you show us where you keep it?” Jaime asked, waggling her eyebrows.
“Keep what?” Lainey said.
“The virgin’s blood you bathe in every night. Are you going to share it with the rest of us?”
Alyssa chimed in to explain, probably sensing Lainey’s utter confusion. “You know, the secret to your mojo? Your unwavering discipline? Your uncanny skill? Didn’t you invite us to your home to finally include us in whatever voodoo you do?”
Lainey rolled her eyes and ushered the women to the couch. “Just sit. Please.” She fretted for another fifteen or so minutes, waiting for the last of the team to arrive, filling glass after glass of water for her guests, who seemed to have no problem making themselves at home. It baffled her how easily they relaxed and laughed with one another. With the exception of the moments on the field where they created magic together, she always felt stiff and awkward around her teammates.
Once everyone had arrived and crowded into her tiny living room, Lainey stepped into the middle of the room. She gulped a breath of air that felt like a rock pushing down her throat and rubbed her sweaty palms against her thighs. “So I’ve asked you all to come today because I need a favor. A big one.” She paused and took in a shaky breath.
“Can’t say yes if you don’t tell us what it is,” Alyssa said with a kind smile.
Lainey nodded, grateful for the encouragement. “After last night’s, uh, incident, Carson Chester threatened to bench Gabe Havelak and me unless we go through with a battle of the sexes. A publicized competition to determine once and for all the superior players.”
Lainey silently reassured herself that everything would work out. After all, she’d called her teammates to gather that evening on a moment’s notice. That they’d all shown up without complaint was another surprise on the growing list of shocking things they’d done in the last twenty-four hours, which included not complaining when Lainey pushed them harder than ever at practice this morning, despite how hungover they all were after yesterday’s debacle.
Not that any of this meant she’d earned their respect.
“This is obviously between you and lover boy. Chester didn’t threaten to superglue the rest of us to the bench, so why are we being dragged into it?” Lynn asked. The imposing redhead was sprawled out with her legs hanging over the armrest of Lainey’s couch. Even though it was a tight squeeze with the full roster of Falcons in the small space, no one dared insist the goalie make room. Rumor had it that Lynn wrestled boa constrictors for money in a traveling circus before getting scouted by her college soccer coach.
“Because it’s not just my spot on the line. Carson Chester is threatening to pull the plug on the entire Falcons franchise if we don’t secure a broadcast deal and sell some more tickets. Sure, most of us would be picked up by other teams next season, but right now we have the chance to go down in history as the first-ever winning team of the American Women’s Soccer League. I believe in every single one of us. We’re the best, and we can win if we get our act together. And crazily enough, our season ticket sales jumped by eight percent this morning after the YouTube video came out. Apparently, a head-to-head battle with the Surge is exactly what we need to get the fans excited about us.” Lainey had almost had a heart attack when Frank called her with the good news that morning. It wasn’t enough, but it sure was a step in the right direction.
“Assuming the Surge don’t kick our butts,” Alyssa said dejectedly.
“Not going to happen,” Lainey said. “We have so much more to lose, so we won’t lose
.”
“How much time is this going to take? Are we being paid extra for it? I’ve got kids to take care of,” Lynn asked.
“We’re not making any extra for this, and we have to find the time to plan the fund-raiser around our work and practice schedules. It won’t be easy. We don’t have the resources, connections, or money that the Surge have. But we do have each other. Nothing is impossible if we work as a team.”
The room quieted to a sober hush, and Lainey’s anxiety grew with each passing second. The niggling concern in the back of her mind shoved its way to the forefront of her thoughts: maybe she just wasn’t cut out to be captain. She couldn’t wrangle the media to save her life, and she sure as heck didn’t know how to rally her team of misfits or make them gel.
Lainey would just have to tell everyone to forget it, that she would deal with the consequences of her own actions.
“All right, I’m in,” Jaime said, nonchalantly playing on her phone.
A wave of relief washed over Lainey as a few more voices joined the choir.
“Oh thank god.” Lainey exhaled her long-held breath. She walked over to the paper chart she had posted to her wall. “Now let me give you the details. The whole thing is based on a series of competitions, each worth a varying number of points. First, we do a skills competition this Saturday. There are ten points up for grabs for each event. There’s a long-distance race, followed by a sprinting competition. Jaime, I think we can leave that one to you to earn us a victory. Then there’s juggling, hardest shot, and finally, a shoot-out with the top five penalty-kick takers from our team, plus Lynn in the net. We can sort out the rest of the details on the morning of the competition. All this takes place at Chester Stadium, with tickets being practically given away for the first event to increase our profile. Sound good?”
When there was no dissent, Lainey scribbled the names of the volunteer competitors in the proper categories and continued. “Next comes the fun part. The PR suits decided to take our disagreement to the letter, so we also have a cook-off on The Graham and Grace Good Morning Show next week, worth ten points. I can’t cook worth a lick, but I have to be there. I need a couple of other volunteers—”