Game On Page 2

  “It’s not so different to applying an ice pack,” I told him, circling the ice cup over his injury. “If this doesn’t help, I swear I’ll never do it again.”

  Jesse laughed in spite of his soreness. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Has there been any improvement since Sunday?”

  “Not much. Painkillers help some but once they wear off I’m back where I started.”

  The frustration was clear on his face. I’d seen the same expression many times over the years. Working with sports injuries was mostly rewarding, but I’d watched grown men crumble because their careers had been ruined by something which, for others, would merely be an inconvenience. Jesse’s case wasn’t career-threatening by any means but his sprain would put him out of action for at least two weeks, maybe longer.

  “These things take time,” I told him. “I’ll do my best to get you back on the field as soon as I can.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure if I trust you and your voodoo techniques.”

  “Hey,” I laughed. “This is legitimate! I can’t believe you’ve never had an ice massage before.”

  “I’m new, like you. I was scouted in high school. I’ve been playing soccer since I was a kid but I’ve never had this level of care before.”

  His words triggered something in my head. When I first joined the Warriors, I did some research about the players so people wouldn’t think I was a complete noob. Not only was Jesse Shaw scouted in high school, he was the youngest player the Warriors had ever signed. Originally from Phoenix, Jesse’s parents moved to Westberg so he could work with the team he’d supported his whole life. The fact that he didn’t mention what a big deal he was only multiplied my respect for him. If he could just keep his feet on the ground while working alongside some of the biggest egos in the sporting world, his career would thrive.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again, choosing to pretend I didn’t know the truth. “My ignorance about the team is becoming very clear right now. I could tell you a few things about English teams. Over here, I’m lost.”

  “In England you call it football.”

  “It is football. It physically hurts me to say soccer.”

  A knock on the door interrupted our laughter. I glanced up to find Will standing in the doorway.

  “Leah, Richard’s looking for you. Are you nearly done here?”

  Concern was etched on Will’s face, distorting his attractive features. The only times I’d ever seen him look that way were the rare occasions he found a crease in his shirt.

  “Kind of. I need to finish this massage and strap Jesse up, then I’m free.”

  “Okay. Richard said to tell you to go to his office as soon as you can.”

  He attempted to duck out into the corridor but I called him back. “What’s going on?”

  “Not sure. He sounded pretty serious.”

  Memories of my last few days flicked through my head like the highlight reel of a silent movie, as I searched for an event worthy of getting me into trouble. Nothing sprang to mind.

  “Thanks Will. I’ll go and see him when I finish up here.”

  Will gave me a reassuring smile before getting back to his duties, and I continued working on Jesse’s ankle.

  By the time I was done, my panic levels had reached epic proportions. My palms were sweaty as I walked towards my boss’ office, something which never happened. Talking to Richard had only ever been pleasant and I wasn’t crazy about the idea of that changing.

  Richard Bailey was a legend, highly regarded as one of the top U.S players of all time. In his youth, he played for the Westberg Warriors and as well as being a skilled goal scorer, he was once considered the hottie of the soccer world. Twenty-five years on his looks had faded a little. The stress of managing such a high profile team had aged him but he was still as fit, if not fitter than most of the guys he trained.

  “Hi,” I said, peering into his office. “You wanted to see me.”

  His head snapped up. “Leah, yes. Come in. Sorry to pull you away from work but I need to clear something up.”

  I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. “What’s the problem?”

  “Radleigh McCoy has made a complaint about you.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. He made a complaint about me?

  “Don’t worry too much,” Richard said. “I had to follow this up but I know how McCoy is. If people don’t bow down to him he thinks they’re disrespecting him. I just want to hear your side. He says you’re treating him differently than the other players. That you’ve been bad-mouthing him.”

  Oh, in his filthy-minded dreams!

  “Bad-mouthing him? Richard, with an ego that size, do you think he’d even notice an insult?”

  I hadn’t intended to blurt out exactly what was on my mind without thinking, but Richard gave an almost undetectable smile. “You’ve got the measure of him then?”

  “Damn right I have. He’s got a bee in his bonnet because I answered him back in front of Bryce Warren on Saturday. Aside from that, I’ve been nothing but professional with him. Geez, if anyone should be complaining, it’s me!”

  “You have a complaint to make about McCoy?” Richard asked, halting my verbal diarrhoea.

  The last thing I wanted was for Richard to think I couldn’t deal with him. After all, part of the reason he hired me was because I was ‘feisty.’ Richard had unknowingly given me the perfect opportunity to report McCoy for his endless come-ons but I had no intention of letting either of them think I couldn’t cope.

  I shook my head. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. He’s just been a bit … suggestive.”

  “Leah, if he’s hassling you, you need to tell me because I take this kind of thing very seriously.”

  “It’s nothing,” I insisted. “But if things change you’ll be the first to know.”

  Especially since he’s been so petty.

  “So what happens now?” I asked. “Do I get an official warning or something?”

  Richard shook his head. “Nothing official. You don’t even deserve to be here now. However, if you could be extra nice to him for a few days you’d be doing me a huge favour. I can tell him I’ve had a word with you, and everyone’s happy.”

  He was playing it fast and loose with his definition of happy. Being ‘extra nice’ to McCoy sounded more like a punishment than a prize but when the alternative was a black mark against my name, I had no choice but to take it.

  I excused myself, taking a few deep breaths before heading out to the pitch. Freya’s comment about McCoy playing games echoed in the depths of my mind. Less than forty-eight hours ago, he’d attempted to call a truce, yet I’d just had my arse hauled into Richard’s office over something I hadn’t even done.

  Well. Game on, McCoy. Game. On.

  Most of the team were running laps, with the coaches keeping a close eye on them. I spotted McCoy almost immediately among the throng of players, and willed him to fall on his bum so I had a legitimate excuse to “accidentally” inflict some pain on him using the handy disguise of treatment. My wish was denied. He sped the length of the field without a stumble and his teammates met him with much praise at the end.

  Git.

  I lurked on the sidelines until I caught Will’s eye. He whispered something to Freya, then jogged over.

  “What did Richard say?” he asked, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. The sun was so scorching that even the short distance he ran made him melt from the heat.

  “McCoy made a complaint about me. He told Richard I’ve been bitching about him.”

  Will let out a laugh of disbelief. “That was a fast move, even for McCoy. Richard didn’t believe him, did he?”

  “I don’t think so, but he couldn’t be seen to be ignoring a complaint.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about this too much, Leah. Richard doesn’t like McCoy any more than the rest of us but he thinks the world of you.”

  Richard had taken me under his wing from the beginnin
g, perhaps because I was so far away from home, he seemed quite protective of me. However, having the boss on my side wouldn’t last long if I couldn’t find a way to work in blissful harmony with the team hero.

  “I’m not worried as much as annoyed. Being friendly to McCoy might kill me.”

  “It’s a sacrifice we all make,” Will said dramatically, making me laugh. “You wanna hang out after work?”

  “Depends. Freya, Bree and I plan to abuse the facilities this afternoon. We’re swimming and hot-tubbing but you’re welcome to join us.”

  Bree was the bubbly, ditzy wife of Jude Collinson, the team’s goalkeeper. She often travelled to away matches with us, mainly because at just twenty years old, she didn’t like being left at home alone. I couldn’t blame her. Rattling around in their enormous house even with security at the touch of a button was enough to make anyone uneasy. We formed a friendship during my first week when she came to me for help after she broke a nail. I couldn’t help her, obviously, but she thought my accent was “like, totally awesome,” so she stayed around to chat.

  Bree really likes to chat.

  “Hmm, and interrupt girl talk?” Will asked. “I think I’ll pass.”

  ****

  I sank into the warm water, letting out a small sigh of relief as a stream of bubbles massaged my back. The day’s tension began to slip away, replaced by calm.

  The silence was perfection. Instead of shouts and whistles, the only sounds were the hot tub’s low hums and the small ripples created by the jets caressing my tense muscles.

  I didn’t care that Freya and Bree were late, or that I’d had another crappy day. All that mattered was closing my eyes and letting the waves wash my worries away.

  Think happy thoughts. Family, friends, cupcakes, designer handbags. The sound of my niece and nephew laughing, the smell of clean laundry.

  The scent of a freshly showered Radleigh McCoy.

  Startled, I opened my eyes

  It was bad enough I had to share a city with him, I didn’t want him invading my head space too. I closed my eyes again and tried to shove him out by picturing my home in England. Whenever my new life got a little crazy, I let my mind take a trip to familiar shores. There was a distinct irony to the habit because the idea of living in the Cornish countryside again made me shudder. The images of Cornwall’s lush fields and stunning sea views however, always put me at ease. Visions of McCoy faded, and I transported myself to the glorious beaches of Newquay where I’d spent many hours sitting on the soft sand, listening to the gentle sounds of the ocean.

  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Wake up!”

  The sound of Freya’s voice made me smile and without opening my eyes, I said, “I’m not sleeping, I’m exorcising a demon.”

  I heard Freya and Bree climbing into the hot tub, and Freya laughed. “McCoy?”

  “Yup.”

  “What did that meathead do now?” Bree asked, forcing me to lift my eyelids.

  Her green orbs widened with interest and she was literally bouncing at the idea of hearing some gossip. Her red curls swung around her shoulders, the ends dipping into the water. “Ooh, is he still hitting on you?”

  “You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”

  “Leah, it’s flattering! He thinks you’re cute, which you totally are.”

  “Are you forgetting who we’re talking about? This is Radleigh McCoy, womaniser extraordinaire, and you just called him a meathead!”

  “He is a meathead. A super handsome meathead.”

  Bree was a breath of fresh air among the soccer wives and girlfriends. She didn’t have a single bone of snobbery in her body, and she took no pleasure in the bitching and backstabbing that often went on. If scientists could make mini clones of Bree to hand out to everyone, the worldwide reduction in depression would be enormous.

  “His looks don’t make up for the fact that he’s disgusting. Or for him reporting me for things I didn’t do.”

  Her smile slipped into a frown. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not your fault he doesn’t like me.”

  “It’s not about liking,” Freya said. “McCoy is all ego and he’s used to getting his way. He doesn’t like being told he can’t have what he wants.”

  “He doesn’t want me,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He wants the woman who turned him down.”

  “Yes. But that’s you.”

  “I can’t be the first woman who ever said no to him.”

  “I don’t know,” Bree mused. “Women can’t get enough of him and he can’t resist a pretty face.”

  “But Leah isn’t just a pretty face,” Freya pointed out. “She’s a pretty face with a kick-ass attitude.”

  “Well, so are you,” I said. “Has he ever hit on you?”

  “No. Maybe I should be offended because he’ll usually mount any woman with a pulse, but actually, I’m just relieved.”

  “How about you, Bree?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve seen him looking at me but he’s never tried anything. He wouldn’t dare go near a teammate’s wife.”

  Bree clearly had more confidence in McCoy’s restraint than I did. If he could show up at my flat and lie about his intentions, he’d have no problem betraying a colleague if he thought he would get away with it.

  I had no idea what made me so interesting to him. Perhaps he assumed that being new meant I’d be an easy target. Too bad for him, being a pushover is not in my nature.

  .

  Chapter 3: I’ll Never Be That Drunk

  Travelling around America for away matches never got old. It fascinated me to visit different states and although we rarely got a chance to thoroughly explore, I always found time to indulge in one of my favourite hobbies. Collecting tacky souvenirs. It was a hobby I’d picked up as a teenager when I worked in a gift shop. We sold all kinds of bizarre crap that tourists wouldn’t have touched on home turf, but with their brains in holiday mode, they purchased it in bundles. My bedroom was full of random junk I’d bought from different cities, though I never really viewed it as junk. I preferred to call them memories. One day, I could look back on all my mementos and remind myself of the fun I’d had, and the places I’d been.

  The week of my – let’s call it “surprise” - meeting with Richard, we travelled to Arizona on Friday in preparation for a match on Saturday evening. The last few days of dodging McCoy had been trying, and I was more than ready to blow off some steam. Freya, Will and I made plans to find the best club in Phoenix and let our hair down for a few hours to relieve some of the stress.

  After training, I took a nap so I’d be refreshed for our evening out, but a call from Bree woke me mid-afternoon. She begged me to go to her room to see the piles of new clothes she’d bought and I knew if I didn’t go I’d never hear the end of it.

  For an hour and a half, we rummaged through her insane amount of purchases like we were at the world’s most upmarket jumble sale. She insisted on modelling almost every item – including the newest additions to her sexy lingerie collection. Good thing I was confident about my body or I’d have felt extremely depressed standing so close to a girl whose figure would have made Barbie weep with envy.

  Bree’s one-woman fashion show exhausted me, but she eventually released me and I joined Freya and Will for dinner in the hotel restaurant to fuel up for the night ahead.

  “Hey,” Freya said. “We thought you’d got lost!”

  “I almost did,” I answered, taking the seat opposite her and perusing the menu. My stomach was growling. “Bree wanted me to check out the newest additions to her wardrobe and treated me to full demonstrations of how she plans to seduce Jude in her new underwear. I didn’t think I’d get out alive.”

  “Death by designer labels. Not a bad way to go.”

  I smiled in agreement. “I invited her to the club with us later, I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not, the more the merrier.”

  “Excuse me,” a deep voice said from behind
me. “Did you guys mention something about a club?”

  I turned my head to see an unfamiliar man tilting his chair backwards on two legs. His huge afro tickled my cheek and I shuffled sideways to escape his mop of hair. Whoever he was, he was cute. His skin was dark and smooth, and his chocolate brown eyes were the kind you could get lost in.

  Sure Leah, because with all the drama with McCoy, what you need is another man on your mind.

  “We sure did, buddy,” Will answered. “You wanna come?”

  “That okay?” he asked looking at Freya and me in turn.

  “Fine by me,” Freya said. “Leah?”

  “Yeah, no problem,” I replied, trying hard not to trip over my own tongue.

  “We’re meeting in the lobby at nine-thirty.”

  “Cool. I’ll see you then.”

  Before he returned the front two legs of his chair to the floor, he gave me a smile I had trouble returning. The corners of my mouth twitched as if I had some kind of unattractive tic, and heat rose in my cheeks.

  Smooth.

  Nobody said another word until we finished dinner, by which time, my face had – thankfully - returned to its normal colour.

  “Okay, spill,” Will said as we stepped out of the elevator and into the corridor. “What was with the blushing? Do you like Miguel?”

  I gave a casual shrug, betraying my interest. “He’s cute. Who is he?”

  “Miguel Vega. He’s our goalkeeper coach. This is his first day back in two weeks. Not sure how you missed him when you first started though.”

  My first week had been a blur of nerves, fake confidence and trying to memorise the names of the players. I ended every day so frazzled I barely remembered my own name so it wasn’t a big surprise that Miguel had passed me by.

  “You could do a lot worse than Miguel,” Freya mused. “He’s a nice guy.”

  “Plus, I think he was checking you out,” Will added.

  “Okay slow down,” I said, holding up my hands in an attempt to stop them before they began planning the wedding. “I said he’s cute, I didn’t say I want to have his children.”