Once Upon a Player

by Christina Phillips

  “Good.” There’s an undercurrent of possession in the word, which shouldn’t thrill me so much. But tonight is all about the fantasy, as one night together may be all we ever have.

  This isn’t going to be a one-night stand.

  Except it might be, and I’m big enough to face that.

  Riiight…

  And then I catch sight of the car. It’s a black sedan, nothing like I’d ever expect him to drive. A middle-aged guy gets out from the driver’s seat and opens the rear door.

  A chauffeur?

  “Thanks, Chad,” Lucas says, before looking at me. “Parking’s a nightmare. I asked Chad to drive tonight. Plus, this car’s less conspicuous.”

  “Where are we going, then?” Even if I wouldn’t say no to going straight back to his place, I want this night to last for as long as possible, just in case we don’t get another.

  “Overton’s, at the Eagle Tower.”

  “Nice.” I thank Chad as I get in the car and am relieved Lucas can’t see my ridiculous grin. Eagle Tower is one of the tallest buildings in London, and Overton’s is located on the thirty-ninth floor. Not only is the food meant to be out of this world, with starred catering for special dietary requirements, it’s practically impossible to get a reservation, as Dad’s been trying to book for ages. Obviously, if you’re a world-famous footballer, the usual rules don’t apply.

  The inside of the car is nothing like any sedan I’ve been in before. It has a mini-bar, the windows are tinted, and there’s even a glass partition between us and Chad for privacy. Lucas sure knows how to spoil a girl.

  He slides in beside me, and Chad reverses off the drive. “I’ve not been there before.” Lucas links his fingers through mine, and delicious shivers dance up my arm. “Have you?”

  “Hardly. I thought you had to be foreign royalty to get a table.”

  “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” I don’t want him thinking I’m not completely stoked at the notion of going somewhere so lavish. “I’ve seen it reviewed in magazines. It looks fabulous.”

  “Hope so. I wanted to take you somewhere different.”

  Warmth floods through me, and I’m sure I’m glowing again, but this time I don’t care. Lucas goes to all the best places, and the fact he picked an A-list venue for our date—a restaurant he’s never been to before—is somehow significant.

  So much for pretending I’m fine if this is nothing but a one-night stand.

  Something occurs to me that isn’t quite so great. “If lots of celebrities go there, won’t there be heaps of photographers?” I might’ve got over myself enough to start dating again, and a player at that, but when Lucas and I part ways the potential for it going public is a million times huger than anything that happened with Geoff.

  This is nothing like the thing I had with Geoff. For a start, I’m not expecting this to last forever, and for another…

  Lucas has way too much class to ever treat me the way my spineless, sucker-upper, arse-kissing ex did.

  Lucas’s fingers tighten around mine. “Is that a problem? Sooner or later someone’s going to see us together and publish a photo. We don’t even have to be anywhere high profile. Could be as low-key as walking in the park.”

  The horror of my privacy being ripped apart, leaving me vulnerable for the world to laugh at, topples off my radar as his words penetrate.

  Sooner or later? That’s not a comment you make if all you’re looking for is a one-night stand.

  It’s just a common phrase. Not something to get so excited about. Not that I am.

  Much.

  I hitch in a breath. I totally missed what he just said. “Sorry?”

  His expression turns wary. “I said, crazy as it sounds, we’re less likely to be noticed at Overton’s than somewhere else. They’ve got great security.”

  “Oh, it’s fine.” I give a little dismissive wave of my hand, as though I wasn’t on the verge of freaking out a few seconds ago. “What’re the chances, anyway? You must go out heaps of times when you’re not stalked by the press.”

  He sighs. “Not as often as I’d like.”

  My smile slowly fades as I gaze at the brooding expression on his face and realize he’s not joking. He first hit the headlines eight years ago, as a ridiculously hot seventeen-year-old, and although it was a couple of years before I fangirled over his posters, he literally starred in every online teen site, every week, for years. And then he graduated to the adult gossip channels.

  It’s a good job he loves all the attention.

  I sneak another peek at him. He does love it, doesn’t he? He always looks as though he’s having the time of his life when cameras catch him in action off the pitch.

  But tension ripples from him, and I catch him touching his earring for a brief second. His gesture is strangely familiar, but how can it be? He’s never done that before. Wait, yes, he has. The night I met his brother. It’s as though Lucas isn’t always as super confident as he appears. As though his self-assured, professional face is just a mask.

  That’s crazy. But even if it’s true, why would he feel that way with his own brother?

  From the time we’ve spent together, I already know there’s a lot more to him than Mediterranean blue eyes, dimples, and headline-grabbing sound bites. Before I can stop myself, I lean toward him and gently bump my arm against his.

  “Do you sometimes wish it’d all just go away?”

  He switches on his famous smile, and an odd little pain drives through my chest. He’s going to laugh at me, tell me of course he doesn’t, that he lives for the limelight.

  And then he hesitates, and although he’s still smiling, it’s different to his camera-ready beam. “It comes with the job. I didn’t realize it’d be so full-on, but…” he shrugs, “that’s the price, I guess.”

  I totally melt. This is something he’s not shared in interviews before. It’s special and private, just between the two of us.

  Geoff used to crave the limelight and was always insanely jealous of any of his teammates that he believed were getting more attention than him, whether that was a better sponsorship deal, face time on TV, or minutes on the pitch.

  Not that he needs to worry about getting enough minutes on the pitch anymore, and why am I even thinking about him? Lucas is a million times better than Geoff could ever hope to be, and I’m not talking about their prowess with a football.

  …

  Lucas

  I’ve never told a girl I dated that before, and Violet doesn’t laugh or make a flippant response along the lines of the benefits are worth it. Because sure, the benefits are great, the lifestyle’s fantastic, but after eight years, I’d love to have the career without the intense scrutiny into my personal life.

  But that’s not going to happen until I give up playing professional football, and after the bloody wonderful news I got today, that’s not going to happen any time soon.

  Thank you, universe.

  “It must be hard, always having a camera shoved in your face. And you’re always so…” She exhales as though she’s trying to come up with the right word, and I grin because she is so fucking gorgeous and isn’t out with me tonight because she wants to get her face on the internet. “Polite.”

  I laugh. “You should be inside my head. On second thought, maybe not.”

  “Well, it just proves you have the self-control not to let what you’re really thinking show. I mean, look at some of them. So far up themselves they think the world revolves around them. Some of them really need a good kick up the backside.”

  “And I’m not in this category, right?”

  “You definitely aren’t. You couldn’t be, even if you tried.”

  “You give the weirdest compliments.”

  “I wasn’t trying to compliment you.”

  I snort with laughter, and she gives me the wickedest smile ever. Christ, I want to kiss her, but I know better than to mess up a girl’s perfectly applied makeup at t
he start of the evening.

  I doubt I’ll get the chance to mess it up later, either, since Violet didn’t hint she wanted to stay the night with me when I asked her out. Ironic that the one girl I’ve really wanted in years wants to keep me at arm’s length.

  No strings.

  That’s what I promised her, and I’ll keep it if it kills me.

  Chad pulls up outside Eagle Tower, and Violet leans over me, craning her neck to see the glittering building.

  Don’t ogle her cleavage. Although it’s hard not to when she’s halfway across my lap. I drag in a martyred breath and shift my mesmerized gaze from her beautiful breasts, although there’s nothing I can do about her scent, which is playing havoc with my dick.

  I keep hold of Violet’s hand as we get out of the car and make our way toward the entrance for Overton’s. It doesn’t take long for the security to check our reservation and let us through the red velvet rope.

  She lets out a soft gasp as we enter the glass lift on the outside of the building and clutches my hand tight as we shoot up thirty-nine floors within seconds. “Wow,” she mouths at me, so the attendant can’t hear. “Epic.”

  The doors open to the bar area, which is grand and spacious like a thousand other bars, except for the spectacular views of the city skyline and the iconic Gherkin through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Violet appears impressed as she glances around, so if the food lives up to the views, tonight should be good.

  “Cocktail?”

  “I’d love one.”

  I grab a drinks menu, and we scrutinize it together. Over the years I’ve tried just about every alcoholic combination known to humankind and have the scars to prove it. Now when I’m out with the lads, I tend to go back to my roots and stick with beer, unless it’s a special occasion when I break out the champagne.

  Tonight is not a beer night.

  “Champagne cocktail?” I suggest.

  “That sounds good.”

  I order our drinks, and we stroll to the outside terrace. The tables are all taken, so we stand by the glass wall, and Violet rests her hand against the safety rail. “This view is amazing.”

  “Sure is.” Not that I’m admiring the London skyline. Violet’s gorgeous hair falls over her shoulders, and tiny glittery flowers are twisted through her curls. Her lashes are longer than usual, her eyes are smoky, and her lips…

  Her lips are going to haunt my dreams tonight.

  Our cocktails arrive, and we clink glasses. Violet downs half of hers in one long gulp. I stare, entranced, as her lashes sweep over her eyes. She’s clearly relishing every bubble. Her tongue slides over her bright, glossy lips, collecting any stray drop, and my no strings vow mocks me from afar.

  Strings, like rules, are meant to be broken…

  Chapter Twelve

  Lucas

  “This is seriously sublime.” Violet gives an irresistible smile before tasting her salmon. I don’t remember the last time a girl was so artlessly enthusiastic over something so simple. Except Violet doesn’t inhabit the same circles I do, where everyone takes the A-list life for granted.

  She’s like a breath of fresh air, and damn if she isn’t more addictive than any champagne I’ve tasted.

  “My dad’s going to be so jealous when I tell him I’ve been here.” She shakes her head as our second course arrives. “It’s just as well they’re away this weekend, otherwise he’d expect me to take them home a doggy bag.”

  “It’s good,” I concede. “But not as good as your picnic.” It’s the truth. Not that she seems to think I mean it, by the dramatic roll of her eyes.

  “I might be able to cook, but I’m not a chef. Can you imagine the pressure working in a commercial kitchen?” She gives a big fake shudder and takes a sip of the champagne I ordered with our meal. “Talk about deadline hell.”

  “I don’t have a problem with working under pressure.”

  “That’s just as well, considering what you do for a living.” She takes another longer sip of her drink, and I can’t tear my gaze away. How does she make something as simple as drinking so bloody sexy?

  “I like the adrenaline rush.” Right from the first time I kicked a football, although it was a few more years before I got serious about it. By the time I was eleven, I knew what I wanted to do with my life, but playing sport as a career didn’t even register on my parents’ radar.

  She sighs. “I hope you get the all-clear soon, Lucas. It must be driving you bonkers, not knowing.”

  I’m not supposed to say anything until the official announcement early next week. Obviously, my agent and coach know, but the truth is, the first person I wanted to tell when they gave me the news was Violet.

  It’s not like I’m contractually bound to keep my mouth shut.

  I lean over the table and thread my fingers through hers. “Guess what? The medics gave me the all clear earlier today. I can start training again.”

  Her smile lights up the room. “Oh, that’s fantastic news. I’m so happy for you.”

  “It’s not common knowledge yet. But I wanted you to know.”

  A delicate blush heats her cheeks, which is…fuck, it’s irresistible. Strings? What strings?

  “I won’t tell a soul,” she whispers. “You can trust me.”

  I know I can, and I’m this close to telling her about the transfer, which is now a done deal except for all parties signing on the dotted line. Sod it, I am going to tell her. Who’s gonna know?

  Before I can say anything, she picks up her glass and taps mine. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” I take a mouthful to keep her company, and when she goes to pick up the bottle, I take it from her and refill her glass. I don’t know what distracts me, since the place is packed and people are coming and going all the time, but from the corner of my eye I see a couple ushered to their seats three tables behind Violet.

  Bollocks. It’s Geoffrey Hawthorne-Douglas. I’ve not had a lot to do with him, and it’s not like he’s tried to pick a fight on the few occasions we’ve spoken, but there’s something about the bloke that irritates me.

  He’s the type who can’t take a hint, and if he sees me here I’m willing to bet my transfer fee he’ll stroll over and act like we’re the best of mates.

  I don’t want anyone interrupting my date with Violet, least of all a try-hard like Hawthorne-Douglas, and as I place the bottle back in the cooler, I slide a few inches down my chair.

  Yeah, that’s not going to work. Violet’s already giving me a weird look. I chance a quick glance across the floor, and HD appears focused on his girlfriend.

  Of all the bloody places he could’ve gone.

  “Lucas? Is everything all right?”

  I cut HD from my mind and resume a more natural slouch. “Everything’s great. Anyway, there’s something I—” My second attempt to confide in Violet dies in my throat as, with a sense of resigned inevitability, I see HD leap to his feet, a wide grin on his face as he looks directly at me.

  Bollocksy shit.

  “Don’t look now,” I grind between my teeth, like I’m in a bad gangster movie from the forties. “We have company. I’ll try and get rid of them.”

  She scrunches her nose, but I don’t have time to enjoy it since HD and girlfriend arrive at our table. “Hey, Lucas,” he says, planting one hand on the table like we hang out on a regular basis. “How’s it going, mate? Bet you’re pissed off not being on tour, huh?”

  Although he has his back to Violet, she stiffens as though his bad manners push all her buttons. I’m pissed off myself. He’s behaving as if both girls are invisible.

  “Violet!” gasps his girlfriend, and HD shoots upright as though someone shoved a rocket up his arse. He looks at Violet as though he can’t believe his eyes, before his gaze drops to her cleavage.

  Fucking perv. Except that’s only an automatic thought, because my entire head’s thundering with disbelief.

  They know each other.

  “Monica.” There’s a strangled note in Violet
’s voice as she fiddles with the stem of her glass, and Hawthorne-Douglas is still fucking drooling, the wanker.

  “Eyeballs,” I growl, and he jerks his head up, but doesn’t look at me. He appears mesmerized by Violet’s face, even though she’s still fiercely focused on her glass.

  Jesus Christ, is this the moron she used to date?

  I’d assumed it was just some guy who played football at the weekend, not a pro. Not someone I fucking knew.

  “Wow, well, Violet,” the moron says, giving her a fake grin which she doesn’t return. I don’t know if she even sees it. It’s hard not to punch his damn teeth down his throat. “You look…fantastic.”

  His girlfriend gives an audible sniff of disapproval, and Violet looks up at me. There’s an expression of trapped horror on her face, and I have the murderous urge to rip Hawthorne-fucking-Douglas’s head off.

  Since she appears incapable of replying to the jerk, I lean back in my chair in a deliberately casual manner, even though my fingers are itching to curl into fists.

  “Violet and I are having a private date here, mate.” There’s only the slightest inflection on that word, but even if the sarcasm goes right over HD’s head, it sure doesn’t miss his girlfriend, who goes rigid.

  “Right, well, huh.” The disbelief is obvious in his laugh, which scrapes along my nerves like razor blades. “It’s been great seeing you again, Violet. It’s been too long.”

  Violet takes a shuddering breath, and fuck this. It’ll be worth being banned, simply for the satisfaction of smashing that smug look off his ugly mug.

  Back the hell off. I’ve not been this pissed about someone’s attitude since I used to defend my brother at school. But unlike at school, when the worst that happened was being sent to the principal’s office, this time I risk ruining Violet’s night.

  Anyway, the prick’s finally backing off. But then Violet straightens and turns her head to look at him. “Thanks, Geoff.” She gives him a glacial smile that drops the temperature by about twenty degrees. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”