Team Lucas (The Saints Team #1) Read online

  Adrian sipped his coffee and looked amused.

  “So I’m the other man.” He smiled.

  I frowned at him. “Do you mind terribly? Do you have a girlfriend I need to call and sort this out with?”

  Adrian shook his head. “No it’s all good with me. It might even score me a girlfriend.” He brightened. “Don’t sweat it. If I sell them an exclusive it could pay off my medical degree.”

  “It’s a trashy mag, but give it your best,” I teased him.

  This wasn’t good, not good at all.

  Chapter 22

  Once Adrian left I fell into the deep black hole I didn’t think I would fall into. I sat on my small two-seater couch and felt the overwhelming pain in my chest. Why couldn’t I just take what Lucas was prepared to give me? A roof over my head in the most divine location and an occasional kind word… Why couldn’t I be like the women he had and be content with having some part of Lucas?

  I thought of Lucas reciting that love poem and wondered if he would ever be capable of delivering the words he spoke:

  I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

  My soul can reach.

  How could I ever escape him now? Everywhere would be reminders of Lucas, and everyone would have to measure up to Lucas. It sucked.

  My phone vibrated again. I looked at it and saw at least twenty missed calls and dozens of text messages from numbers I didn’t recognize plus three from Lucas. I looked at the clock. It was ten o’clock and I didn’t need any more alcohol. I made a tea and sat back down on my couch. My small unit began to overwhelm me with claustrophobia. I couldn’t stay here now, I was ruined. I couldn’t even breathe. I needed to escape out the back again, walk, and clear my head. I grabbed my coat, went to the door and opened it. Ben stood in the doorway.

  My great on-and-off again lover—the best teacher in bed ever and the complete opposite of Lucas Ainswright, was here, now. While Lucas was tall with light brown hair and sporty, Ben was under six foot, conservative and academic with dark hair—sort of like a Kennedy descendent. He could really do justice to a suit. Ben was from old money. He had connections, knew the best wines to order, the circles to move in and probably couldn’t tell you the name of one soccer player or team in the league. Just what I needed!

  Ben shook his head. “I leave you to your own devices and look what happens.”

  I grinned and stood aside. Ben entered and removed his coat, then threw it on the chair. His crisp white shirt and red-patterned tie were just what I had come to expect.

  “When did you get back?” I asked.

  “Last week just for a ten day visit with the folks,” he said. “I go back on Monday morning.”

  “But it’s Friday and you didn’t think to look me up?”

  Ben gave me a look, the look. “That wouldn’t be wise, would it? Last time the parting wasn’t easy,” he reminded me.

  It was harder for me than him; I always lost my heart to Ben every time I saw him.

  “However,” Ben continued, “since I saw you smattered all over the web with some sportsperson, I thought I’d better check on you. Where is he?”

  “Not here and no we’re not on. The story is full of holes.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me with his intense dark eyes. “Are you all right?”

  I felt myself tear up but I nodded. Ben could never handle emotion.

  “I’m fine,” I swallowed. “Tea?”

  “You look very fine indeed.” His eyes assessed me. “Still running obviously.” Ben changed the subject. “I brought a red.” He reached into his leather bag and pulled out a red wine. Expensive, of course.

  “Joining me?”

  “Why not?” I sighed. What a pushover I was.

  Ben took over, finding two glasses and pouring. I loved the way he did that. But it was also one of the reasons we didn’t make it. Ben was only my second boyfriend and I met him first year at college on the jogging track. He was the alpha male—managed our finances, our social set and was dominant in the bedroom. That didn’t always work well for us, except in the bedroom where it worked just fine and that is one of the reasons we stayed together way too long—the sex was liberating. Lucas might call me a prude but Ben taught me moves and positions I never knew existed and he was most turned on when I was most submissive, shall I say. Eventually the power play became wearing, and he couldn’t say he loved me unless I was walking out the door with my suitcase.

  We were on and off so many times that we couldn’t remember ourselves sometimes and after he finished his law degree, Ben took a job in D.C. and we agreed to stop flogging a dead horse. It just so happened however, that most times when Ben visited his hometown, if we were both single, then we gave that horse another short gallop. He really was a sight for sore eyes. I could wreck myself for the weekend with Ben, send him off as Lucas was landing and then deal with all that drama. Yep, the next few days were lining up to be a total bitch.

  Ben offered me a glass of red.

  “To old times,” he said and we clinked.

  “Nice tie,” I said.

  “You were always partial to it as I remember.” He gave me a slight smile.

  I expected if Ben had his way, his tie would be around my wrists by the time we’d finished our glass of red. But my head was too full of Lucas—hating and liking in equal measure, to even be interested in anyone else, even ghosts from the past.

  Chapter 23

  Ben made a play, worth a shot I guess but I sent him home after a couple of red wines. I was just so over men, especially Lucas Ainswright. I was so over Lucas that I couldn’t stop thinking about him, goddamn him! And the more I thought about him and considered returning a text or two of his, the angrier I was at him and then I couldn’t bring myself to do it for fear of being even more angry with the words I chose in my return message.

  Luckily Ben had a family dinner the next night, Saturday, before he was to leave Sunday, but he promised to come around before he left. He invited me—allegedly, his mother would be delighted to catch up with me. Ben’s mother did not find anything delightful about me the entire time I was with Ben. My pedigree wasn’t good enough for her son. I declined; I wanted to wallow in my own pathetic-ness. Is that even a word?

  After Ben left, I showered and fell into bed; I was exhausted—all the emotional drama was taking it out of me, plus the wine.

  I propped myself up with pillows and curiosity got the best of me—I went to Lucas’s Facebook page. His publicist had shots of him at the last game, a shot of him at the airport with the team and a pic from today with him checking out the Seattle ground before the game tomorrow. I went to his Twitter account and the tweets were all tick-box stuff. “Congrats to @HarryDarr on his first Saints game” and “Great to be heading to Seattle to take on the @SeattleSuns #bring it on”. Then I saw one that Lucas must have tweeted himself; it was a code, I’m sure and tweeted just before he got on the plane: “Flying but prefer a run and some physio work #missingout.” Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, you’re doing my head in.

  I flicked through my phone text messages. I glanced at the clock—it was late but not too late to reply to the urgent ones.

  Alice: R U OK? Do U want 2 crash here?

  Me: Thk U Ali. I’m OK. At my old unit. Call U 2moro. Mx

  My brother: Mom saw story, freaking out. R U OK?

  Me: Story false. Tell Mom all is good. Will call 2moro. Luv U.

  The rest were friends chasing an update on the gossip, journalists trying to contact me for comment and one of my lecturers checking I was okay and saying this was not grounds for an assignment extension followed by a smiley face. Then there were four from Lucas. Seriously, why bother? Consequences, Lucas... be less of an asshole and you’ll save time making up for it. Oh God, I was sounding like someone’s parent. I waded through his text messages—not one with the word ‘sorry’ in it:

  “Landed on way to hotel. Call me.”

  “
Need to talk with U.”

  “Where R U?”

  “At team dinner. Call or txt me and I’ll call U back.”

  And then there were five hang-ups from Lucas and four phone messages. The first one started with a major sigh like he was annoyed at having to deal with the pesky ‘help’ or a petulant kid.

  “Mia, it’s Luke. I know you’re receiving my messages. Can you text me or call me back. Thanks.” Hang up.

  “For fuck’s sake Mia, just fucking call me.” Hang up.

  “Okay, clearly you’re ignoring me. Fine. What the fuck is that about?” Hang up.

  “Jesus Mia, that’s it. I’m not calling again. Call ME!”

  Then a hang up so technically he did call again.

  Get a life Lucas and stop wrecking mine! I sat looking at the phone. I was glad he was trying to make amends, at least that’s why I think he was ringing or texting, but would it kill him just once to say he was sorry in any of those messages? So no Lucas, I’m not rushing to call or text you back because you say so. If you want to say sorry, I’ll text you back. Besides, what would I say now? Ah, yeah, sorry, been busy. Been stewing, been avoiding you, been planning my life without you. Fucking mega sports stars suck!

  *****

  I left my phone on silent since I was still getting random calls from people wanting to know the true story—really people, get a life—and turned the bedside light off. I tossed and turned and saw nearly every hour until the morning.

  I got up around seven and went for a run. That always makes me feel better. I tucked my hair up into my cap to look like a person with short hair and sneaked out the side of the building. When I got about half a block away I looked back. There was a small media posse out the front but no-one had seen me. Entertainment journalism had sunk to an all-time low if they were hanging around to get photos of Lucas’s physio—heaven help us.

  Sneaking home undetected, I decided to fill the day with a major revamp of my unit—maybe new curtains in a different color, matching cushions and a new rug. I had a few extra dollars these days thanks to probing Lucas’s mouth and a new start was just what I needed.

  I rang Alice back but she had a day’s work at the coffee shop. I made a time to have lunch with her. I couldn’t swallow anything at the moment and instead, I began a super clean. I was like a woman on fire—get out of my way or you could be polished. Two hours later the entire unit was gleaming and God did it smell good. You could eat off those floors. I stood back satisfied, taking it all in. Yep, work is a great distraction.

  I kept my phone silent as I started to feel calmer. I was out of the ‘angry-but-I-desperately-want-to-have-him-on-top-of-me’ phase and was moving into the ‘I-had-more-than-most-other-girls-will-ever-have’ and ‘thanks-for-the-memories’, phase. As long as I didn’t think too much about his sex buddies like Chloe, Anthea, Cassie, Miranda, etc., etc., then I could stay in my lovely movin’-on phase.

  If I could just stop thinking; all the time with the thinking. Even when I swear I’m not going to think about it anymore, I’m thinking about it.

  I caught up with Alice and tried not to talk all about me, me, me. Her love life was non-existent and I went on to tell her all the good things about that. My love life was non-existent too but I was in love mourning for a guy who was so gorgeous and such a dickhead. Oh God it’s about me again. Leaving Alice, I filled the afternoon with a trip to the homemaker stores and decided to go with fuchsia. The brilliant pink-purple-red coloring would look lovely in my white unit.

  I returned, saw someone snapping a pic of me driving my VW with the shopping in the back and managed to get in and lock the door before anything else weird happened. I could see the online headline now:

  Sports star’s ex-physio comforts herself with big spend up

  Or: Dropped physio finds comfort in big pillows

  Or in the feminist rag: Sports star dropped by physio. Physio favors fuchsia.

  Chapter 24

  That night I turned down Ben’s repeated offer to come to the family dinner, passed up on a pub trip with Adrian, knocked back a chance to see a movie with Alice and her cousin Sam and instead, opted to sit on my couch and drink wine. This was really working for me. Besides, I had a plan: I was going to wallow until Sunday night and then Monday morning, head into college and see if I could do one of my subjects in summer school. If I could start it now, I could knock off one subject for the last semester and that would make my life very easy, and leave me really busy.

  I flicked between stations looking for some show that was more pathetic than me but it looked like I was going to have to break out the next series of The Vampire Diaries. If only I could become a vampire, all my problems would be solved. I could drink the entire Saints team dry, and Lucas, you I would save to the very end and take my time draining you. How sweet that would be. I sat up straight—what? No! Lucas’s match was on TV, live. Great, crap, terrific. This was the worst Saturday in living memory.

  The camera was in love with him—close-ups, far away shots, shots of him standing, talking, drinking, huddling with his team, ordering the team around, spitting out water, enough already. My shoulders slumped—I was beaten, there was no escape from Lucas Ainswright.

  I had to watch. He looked so hot. The Seattle Suns were all in red and yellow, of course, and the Saints and their fans bore the navy, gold and white. Lucas was not having a good game and the Suns were one up on them which in soccer is a lot. The Suns’ defense was smothering them—according to the commentary, but hey, even I could see that and Lucas, the Saints’ superstar, was being seriously shut down.

  Another close-up of Lucas and he looked distracted. What was going on with him? I silently prayed he hadn’t inhaled, sniffed, snorted or taken anything to get him through. He looked lost... but this was his domain where he was the master. I couldn’t watch but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  Then in about the seventieth minute he went down. Lucas and another player collided and he hit the ground hard. You wouldn’t believe a whole stadium could go silent but it seemed like that. The Saints’ medical team ran out and still Lucas remained motionless, as team members ran and huddled around him. Pez moved everyone back. The doc was moving Lucas onto his side as the stretcher was rushed onto the field. Lucas was lifted onto it and carried from the field, his arm slung over the edge, his head back and the medical staff hovering around him.

  Now I wanted to call and text him! I waited, sitting on the edge of the couch while they replayed the shot—Lucas falling, Lucas not moving, Lucas being lifted off—all the time I was waiting to find out if he was okay. The game continued and finally they crossed to one of the commentary team on the sideline who says he has been advised it was a “heavy contact incident” and Lucas is “up and moving around.” I breathed.

  Twenty minutes later, Lucas reappeared and went to sit on the bench with some of the off-field players. The camera followed him, forgetting there was a game on! The crowd roared their approval for having him back, even if all he did was sit on the bench. The game was nearly over so he didn’t go back on. Throughout the remainder of the match the camera showed members of the medical team with him or Lucas just watching the game. I wished I was his girlfriend and I could call him and bring him home to look after. I think every girl watching wished the same thing. What would it take to be a permanent fixture in Lucas’s life? Would he ever give anyone that chance?

  I wanted to text R U OK but it was too late now. I had started the process: Lucas was gone from my life.

  *****

  I felt better Sunday morning even though I had no closure. I still had to ring my boss and tell him I was the next minder to fail with Lucas and organize with Jase to bring my stuff back. I spent the day with Alice pampering ourselves. It was her idea and she scored us some freebies from a friend who ran a student academy. As long as we were happy to be plucked, waxed, manicured, massaged and preened by students, we could have it all for free. I was game.

 
It was a great day; we sat in bathrobes drinking green tea and eating sushi with masks on our face, snoozed as our nails were manicured and feet pedicured, enjoyed a luxurious foot soak in exfoliating salts, followed by a scrub, and lather in moisturizer. Divine.

  We were waxed... yep, not so divine but no accidents to speak of and we both looked shiny and new when we left. By the time I got home, I was so relaxed and well-groomed I was probably up to Ben’s mom’s standards.

  Speaking of which, Ben—true to his word—dropped in Sunday night. He was flying out first thing Monday morning.

  “I can’t stay,” he said wandering in anyway. “The folks have organized a drinks thing for my last night. I’d invite you but it’s a members’ club and...”

  I waved my hand to stop him. I knew only too well Ben’s memberships groups and secret handshakes or whatever he did.

  “It’s all good,” I said. “I’ve been out all day so it’s nice to be in.” I was still in a soft floral dress I had worn out today with Alice and thanks to our day of pampering, I was glowing.

  Ben looked around. “I like what you’ve done with the place. It’s brighter. So are you,” he said. “Shame we didn’t get a chance to—”

  Again I cut him off. “I know, big shame. Next time for sure.” I smiled.

  “Okay, well better go.” He moved in closer. I hope he noticed my eyebrows were looking spectacularly shaped. As he went to kiss me, there was a knock at the door. He gave me a quick peck and pulled back. “Expecting someone?”

  “Nope, just you,” I said.

  I opened the door and Lucas stood there looking divine in jeans, a black T-shirt and black baseball hat with the Saints’ logo. Relief swept through me before I remembered I didn’t like him. He pushed me back inside, and closed the door. He pulled off his baseball cap.