Once Upon a Player

by Christina Phillips

  …

  Violet

  I’m so bloody thirsty. My mouth’s parched, and I lick my dry lips. My head hurts a little, and my whole body feels kind of strange, as though I’m trussed up.

  Wait…

  I had a date with Lucas. The sleepy tendrils anchoring me in a dreamy half world snap, and my heart slams against my ribs.

  I stayed the night with Lucas. And I can’t remember a thing.

  I’m frozen as I desperately try to probe my reluctant mind. Dread grips my stomach, and I force open my eyes.

  The room is in shadow. Gingerly, I inch my hand across the great expanse of bed. It’s empty. Not even warm. The other side of the bed is like it wasn’t slept in at all.

  I snatch my hand back, and then lift the sheet. No wonder I’m so uncomfortable. I’m still in my dress. Heat blasts through me, and I fight the urge to pull the sheet over my head and hide from…an empty room.

  Nothing happened last night. At least, not in this bed. Plenty happened before I reached his bedroom, and I let out a mortified groan and pull the sheet over my head anyway.

  That bloody bitch, Monica.

  How am I going to face Lucas today? What if he thinks I’m a crazy stalker fan who only got the job cleaning his penthouse because I wanted to get close to him?

  Oh, for fuck’s sake, Vi. I know I’m being stupid and melodramatic, but last night was a dream date until Monica and Geoff appeared.

  And I drank too much.

  Shit. I drank too much. Fresh horror skids through me as humiliating fragments of memory surface.

  I literally threw myself at Lucas when we got back here. And he behaved like the perfect gentleman. Another groan burns my throat. What are my chances of slipping out of here unnoticed?

  And never seeing him again?

  Is that what I really want?

  No. Definitely not. I peel back the sheet and take another quick look around the room. I’m busting for the loo, and I know he has an en suite, so it’s unlikely I’ll bump into him before I’ve cleaned myself up.

  I tiptoe across the room, although I’ve no idea why since it’s not like I’m going to wake him. Did he sleep on the sofa? Probably in his spare room. Why didn’t he put me in his spare room?

  Maybe because I invited myself in here?

  I collapse onto the loo and bury my face in my hands. Everything had been going so well. And sure, maybe I’d drunk a little too much champagne for some added courage before Geoff and Monica turned up, but I really hit the bottle afterward, didn’t I?

  And Lucas didn’t take advantage. As if he would. Even though I wanted to sleep with him more than anything, there’s a warm little glow in the center of my chest that we didn’t have drunk sex. I don’t want memories of our first time hazy and disjointed because I was half cut.

  As I wash my hands I try to avoid my reflection in the wall-size mirror above the double sink vanity. I can’t even change out of my crumpled dress.

  So much for my essential packing last night. If I’d thought it through a bit more, instead of totally focusing on having wild and bendy sex with Lucas, I would’ve stuffed a spare pair of knickers, jeans, and T-shirt in an overnight bag. What did I think I was going to wear this morning? Nothing but a satisfied smile?

  Yes, that sounds about right.

  There’s a soft tap on the bedroom door. Panic rakes through me, and I grip the edge of the sink. I already know Lucas is going to look completely delicious, and probably still damp around the edges from a shower, whereas I resemble something out of a Stephen King movie.

  And pretending I’m not here isn’t going to change anything.

  I hitch in a ragged breath, go back to the bedroom, and open the door.

  He looks even better than I imagined. And that’s saying something.

  “Morning.” He grins at me, as though I didn’t make a total twat of myself last night. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No. I was, um, already up.” Self-consciously I tug my fingers through my tangled hair, which forces another memory to the surface. Of Lucas helping to unravel my flower chain just before he put me to bed. Which should have been sexy, but I have the terrible feeling he only did it because the chain caught on his signet ring.

  “Listen, make yourself at home. Have a shower if you want. There’re plenty of towels and whatever in the bathroom. I’ll make breakfast when you’re done.”

  “Right, um. Thanks.” Could this be any more embarrassing? If I had the car, I’d make my escape, but I don’t fancy doing a walk of shame to a cab. I fold my arms. I suppose I will feel better after a shower.

  “And Violet?”

  Reluctantly, I meet his gaze. Not that it’s any hardship, but when in the presence of a sex god, a girl likes to look better than something the cat dragged in.

  I didn’t find out if he’s a sex god or not. Seriously, I don’t think that question’s even up for debate.

  “I’ll leave a T-shirt on my bed if you want to change into something else. Up to you.” His smile reaches deep inside and ignites a warm, tingling sensation, and I barely manage an articulate uh-huh in response.

  Wearing one of his tees is a really bad idea.

  But I’m going to, anyway.

  By the time I’ve showered and towel dried my hair, I feel a lot better. That probably has something to do with the fact I’m surrounded by the scent of Lucas’s shower wash and shampoo, seductive and sinful.

  It’s more than a bit of a turn on, and I indulge my senses for a few minutes before shaking off my fantasies and scooping up my discarded underwear.

  Can’t say I’m thrilled to be wearing yesterday’s undies, but the only other option is going without knickers and bra and there’s no way I’m doing that.

  Even if that image does excite my girly bits more than it should.

  I open the bathroom door. The bedside lamps are on, and I get my first good look at the bedroom, as I never did get around to cleaning in here on that first day. It’s huge, and opposite the bed looks like all windows, since there are ceiling-to-floor curtains taking up the entire wall.

  On the rumpled black quilt is a white T-shirt, and on closer inspection there’s an embroidered dragon on the left breast pocket. I trace the dragon with my finger, and there’s a silly smile on my face, but I can’t help it.

  He didn’t just grab the first thing in his wardrobe. He went to the trouble of finding one that had a connection with one of our conversations. How adorable is that?

  I pull the tee over my head. The sleeves are way too big, to accommodate his impressive biceps, and it hangs down almost to my knees. The soft cotton also has a lingering Lucas scent about it, which makes me all warm and tingly again.

  I rummage in my bag for my brush, not that there’s a lot in there to rummage through. I didn’t even think to bring any makeup, apart from the lipstick, and that’s no good on its own.

  When my hair is tangle free, my teeth cleaned, and I’ve straightened his bed, there’s no more reason to procrastinate so I take a deep breath and open the bedroom door. Although it’s sexy wearing Lucas’s T-shirt, I’m under no delusion that I look anything other than ridiculous. Why is it girls in movies are always drop dead gorgeous in these situations?

  I make my way across the wide hallway and hover by the door that leads directly into the kitchen. Lucas is in there, leaning against the worktop, his arms folded, and with a brooding expression on his face.

  His hair is tousled, his shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, is crazily sexy, and his knee length shorts show off his muscular calves and bare feet to their finest advantage. On anyone else this would be casual and normal, but Lucas looks as though he’s been prepped for a top cover shoot.

  He turns, and his breath-stealing smile is admiring. Oh wow, I’m in so much trouble.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lucas

  Whoa. Violet stands in the doorway, wearing my T-shirt, her damp hair framing her face. Something weird and hot twists deep insid
e my chest. She looks innocent and sweet, and so fucking sexy it takes all my willpower to keep my feet planted on the floor and not stride over and sweep her into my arms.

  She’s not the first girl I’ve loaned a shirt to, but she’s the first who’s managed to scramble my brain in the process.

  “Nice top,” she says, and strokes her hand over her breast. My dick stands to attention, and I make a primitive grunting sound because what? “Love the dragon.”

  The dragon. Right. I suck in oxygen to restart my brain. Wanker. “Thought you’d like it. Do you want pancakes?”

  Jesus, I’m usually better at changing the subject than that.

  “You’re making pancakes?” She sounds amazed that I know my way around a kitchen. “Do you want some help?”

  “Sure.” She strolls toward me, and I watch her as though she might vanish if I take my eyes off her for a second. Get your fucking shit together, Carter. I force my legs to move, and I place the eggs and milk on the worktop. “What topping do you like? I’ve chocolate and fruits.” I’ve also a goddamn hard-on.

  “I’m strictly a lemon and sugar girl when it comes to pancakes.”

  “Works for me.” I sift the flour into a large glass bowl, and Violet watches me as though it’s the most fascinating thing ever.

  “You’re doing it by hand?”

  “It’s the only way to do it.”

  “I’m impressed. I use an electric whisk.”

  “Slacker.”

  She gives a little hum of laughter which is crazily arousing. I focus on cracking eggs like it’s a penalty shoot-out.

  “What do you want me to do, then?”

  Babe, the things I want you to do…

  I swallow, refocus, and forget her damn question. “What?”

  “Since you don’t need my help with the whole pancake thing. Shall I make coffee?”

  “Yep. Great. Everything’s over there.” I give a vague wave with my fork, and she gives me the sweetest smile before sorting out the coffee machine.

  “Are we eating here, or at the table?”

  “How about on the balcony?”

  “That sounds good.”

  She finds a tray and then hunts down cutlery and cups before slicing a couple of lemons. I toss a pancake and then shoot her a sideways glance. It’s fun and also kind of surreal having Violet in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, while I cook us breakfast.

  “Ready?” I grin at her, because she’s so bloody hot, and place the warm plates stacked with pancakes onto the tray while she pours the coffee.

  “Sure am.”

  There’s a great view of Hampstead Heath from the balcony, and after we set everything down on the table, I can’t resist any longer and lean in close to kiss her.

  “Mm.” She blushes and for some reason looks vaguely uncomfortable. “I forgot the milk. I won’t be a minute.”

  She disappears back inside. She’s not running because I kissed her, is she? Fuck it, did seeing that prick last night rake up all her old feelings for him?

  Violet’s back within a minute and sits next to me, offering a strangely shy smile before she takes a sip of coffee. I thrust HD from my mind. She’s with me, not him.

  “This is so good.” She closes her eyes and savors the pancake that she’s just drenched in lemon juice and covered in sugar.

  “I’m not just a pretty face.” I sling her a mocking grin, since I’m sure she knows all the monikers that have been attached to me over the years.

  “You’re so much more than that.”

  All right, then. I’ll take that.

  We’ve almost finished when Violet clears her throat. “Lucas.”

  “Yes?” I drain my coffee and lean back in the chair. It’s not often I get to laze around on a Saturday morning with a beautiful girl. Never, in fact. Usually, after a girl stays the night, we go out for breakfast.

  I could definitely get used to this. The unrelieved hard-on, not so much.

  Violet grips her fingers together on her lap. “About last night.”

  Crap. I thought we’d moved beyond last night. Do we really have to do this?

  “What about it?” Even I can hear the wariness in my voice, and she bites her lip, which makes me feel like a prize prat. If she wants to talk about it, I’ll suffer in silence.

  “It’s just…I’m sorry things got messed up at the end.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” What happened to suffering in silence? Except there’s no way I’m letting Violet think she’s in any way responsible for the way her ex gate-crashed our date. It’s an effort, but I force myself not to spit out his name. “Geoff has a problem with boundaries.”

  I’m usually good when it comes to diplomacy, but Geoff has me so twisted up, I’m not sure how my remark sounded. Violet doesn’t look ruffled, so I guess I hit the mark.

  “Ha. You could say that.” Her smile slides off her face. “It’s just, you know. Things that were said.”

  Things that were said? I wrack my brain, but all I remember is the way Geoff couldn’t tear his lecherous gaze from Violet’s cleavage.

  “Forget it. He’s not worth it.” And again with the diplomacy.

  “What? Oh. No.” Violet wriggles on the chair and fiddles with the hem of the T-shirt before once again grasping her hands together as though that’s the only way she can keep them still. “I meant Monica.”

  Monica? Violet’s so worked up about last night because of some random chick?

  Although maybe not so random. They knew each other, too.

  I force her ex from my head and try to remember what Monica said that’s obviously upset Violet. Something about her teenage crush and posters.

  Right. I don’t think a chuffed grin would go down at all well right now. I make a gruff noise in the back of my throat and hope it comes across as supportive.

  She shudders and hunches her shoulders, which isn’t the reaction I wanted at all. “It’s so embarrassing. I was only fifteen. I didn’t take the cleaning job so I could stalk you or anything. It was because my mum wasn’t well.”

  “Hey.” I curl my hand over hers and give her a squeeze. “I know you’re not a stalker. You could hardly stand to look at me the first time we met.”

  “I just don’t want you thinking it was all a ruse or something. I was here for a completely genuine reason.”

  “Violet.” I give her hands a little shake. “If you keep on, you’re going to seriously wound my ego.”

  She gives a small laugh. Mission accomplished. “I don’t think your ego’s in any danger from me.”

  I’m not so sure. Am I still talking about my ego?

  “Good. Because I’ll have you know it’s a very fragile thing.”

  She gazes at me, all gorgeous green eyes, beautiful red hair, and irresistible freckles I want to kiss. I want her so much, it’s insane. And it sure seems like she’s over her ex.

  I release her hands and trail my fingers up her arm. She lets out a breathy sigh, and I lean toward her, ready to take our next, lingering kiss straight to the bedroom.

  “She used to be my best friend.”

  Happy thoughts of spending the next couple of hours in bed with Violet shrivel. Shame I can’t say the same for my erection. I sigh and stroke her soft cheek. No wonder she was so torn up about the breakup. A double betrayal. “That sucks.”

  “It was quite…” She hesitates, before shooting me a glance from beneath her lashes, which punches all my protective buttons. What the hell? Didn’t even know I had any. “Traumatic.”

  “I can imagine.” Although nothing like that has ever happened to me, my brother was gutted over the whole Clare thing.

  “We’d gone to this big party at one of Geoff’s friend’s house, and most of his team were there. I had no idea anything was going on between him and Monica until I walked in on them, snogging like the world was ending.”

  “What a shithead.” Who in their right mind would cheat on a girl as sweet as Violet? “He never deserved you.”

  Sh
e gives a wan smile. “Thanks. The thing is, they weren’t even trying to hide. Nearly everyone I knew was there. It was like they were all laughing at me for being such a clueless doormat.”

  “Hey.” I take her hand again. I should’ve punched HD’s lights out when I had the chance. “Stop that. It was nothing to do with you that they were a pair of fucking dipshits.”

  “I am over Geoff. But that memory still burns when I think about it. I mean, who else knew about them before that night? I don’t even know how long they’d been seeing each other behind my back.”

  “You’re well shot of them.”

  She bites her lip, like she’s debating whether or not to say anything more. Fuck, what more can there be? I don’t blame her for being put off players after what HD did to her.

  “Monica’s dad is Bobby Greenwood. The manager of Geoff’s team,” she adds unnecessarily. “When she was little, she was even their team’s mascot.”

  “Nice.” I can’t keep the derision from my voice, not that Violet seems to mind.

  “I know. Although to be fair, she did look adorable in the photos. Anyway.” She takes a deep breath. “All the girls at school envied us, because we got to hang out with footballers at events and things. That’s how I met Geoff.”

  I grunt, sounding more like Harry than the silver-tongued player I’m famous for being.

  “We got serious pretty quickly. Well, I did, and I thought he felt the same way. But you know what? It wasn’t until afterward, when I was trying to piece things together, that I realized Monica was jealous as hell right from that very first night. She wanted him, and she wasn’t going to let a small thing like friendship get in her way.”

  “Who needs enemies.” It comes out like a growl.

  “Exactly.” At least Violet doesn’t sound as though she cares anymore. “For a few weeks before that party, Geoff had been complaining that he wasn’t getting as much game time as he wanted. And then,” she pauses dramatically. “He starts dating Monica and boom. He’s their star player.”

  Yeah, not so much. He’s a good midfielder, but if he had issues, he should’ve worked them out like a man or put in for a transfer. Not sleep with the fucking boss’s daughter.