Team Lucas (The Saints Team #1) Read online

  “You didn’t respond to my calls and texts,” he said. “Who is this?” He turned to Ben.

  I stood back, stunned. “What are you doing here? How did you get my address?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh for God sake Mia, I rang a friend who knew some people at your college who rang a few friends. It was easy; you’re not in witness protection.”

  I didn’t want to tell him that I was so pleased to see him that I wanted to cry and wrap my arms around him. Instead, we both went straight into our usual defensive modes. I was stronger with him being here, as though his coming meant I still had some power over him. That couldn’t be good.

  “Um, Benjamin Moore this is Lucas Ainswright.” I introduced the two men.

  They shook hands and sized each other up—the business man versus the sports star; tradition versus old money; US versus British; blond versus dark. I’d love to compare them in bed but I hadn’t been that lucky yet, but Ben was the pin-up boy for knowing what to do and where to go to do it on the female body. From the moans I heard through the wall, I suspect Lucas had a few moves of his own.

  “Ben was just leaving,” I said.

  “I can stay if you need me to,” Ben said, looking at Lucas. So was I—his presence in my little unit was all powerful. Seriously, the waves that he gave off just weakened me at the knees.

  “She doesn’t need you to stay, but thanks,” Lucas said.

  “I’m sure Mia can speak for herself,” Ben said, “She’s always had a capable mouth.”

  “Okay then.” I moved between the two men. This was getting way too tacky. “I’ll see you out Ben and Lucas, you... do something,” I said.

  It was only two steps to the door and I opened it for Ben and walked him out.

  “Is this the sports guy, the soccer player?” Ben asked when we got outside.

  I nodded.

  “I can cancel tonight if you need me to.”

  “No, I’ll be fine, but thank you, Ben.” I felt a bit sad that Ben once had the effect that Lucas now had on me.

  Ben studied me and then decided I was going to be okay. He gave me a quick kiss again and headed down the stairs to his car. I watched him go. Oh the irony... last time he left I cried for a week. Now the pain had been replaced with a new problem. I took a deep breath and went back inside.

  Chapter 25

  Lucas spun around as I entered, not a sign of happiness on that face. He had been closing the curtains in the lounge and... I looked to the adjoining doorway, yep, by the looks of it the bedroom too. So he’d had a tour of my place then.

  “Who was that?”

  “An old friend,” I answered.

  His mouth hardened. “A former boyfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s he doing here?” he snapped. He stood with his hands on his hips in a demanding pose.

  “Gee, I don’t know Lucas... what are you doing here?” I asked. We were back in form.

  His eyes narrowed and his mouth drew tight. He looked away and I studied him as he took a measure of his anger. I wondered if Sarah had helped him with this technique.

  I changed the subject. “How are you feeling? I saw the accident. I was watching the match,” I told him.

  He returned his gaze to me and shook his head. “Terrible match. I was rubbish.”

  “But how are you?”

  “Better, thanks. I spent half of the night throwing up from the hit but I feel fine now.” Lucas turned around. “This place really is... um, cozy,” he said.

  I frowned at him. “I know it doesn’t live up to the posh loft,” I said in my best toffee-nosed British accent.

  “Don’t give me that shit. I spent eight years in boarding school in bunk rooms and I’ve had bathrooms at school and with the club that would freak you out,” he said.

  That was probably true; I’m very particular about my bathroom. He saw the half-empty tea cup I had on the table.

  “You want to make me one of those?”

  “Sure.” I pulled myself away from him and walked the three steps to the kitchen area, taking my cup with me to make a fresh one.

  Lucas’s timing couldn’t be better with my pampering makeover. I didn’t know where to start the conversation but the relief in my body seeing him there overwhelmed me. I wanted to cry, laugh, hug him, and smack him... so I made tea.

  Lucas started to pace but ran out of space. Instead he moved the curtain lightly, saw a volley of flash lights from cameras and blinking, closed it again. He looked so irresistible but his eyes were weary.

  We hadn’t spoken about the sperm incident or his insults and knowing Mr.-High-and-Mighty that incident would be replaced by his misguided belief that I leaked to the media that I left him. I was just waiting for it.

  He moved to the designated lounge area and sat on the other half of the couch looking way too big for the whole room.

  “Cozy,” he said again, looking around. “No clutter, which is probably good in this small space.”

  I gave him one of the smirks I learned from him. After all, it had been an entire weekend with no smirk exchanges. I wanted to ask him if I could make him feel better but I wanted to tell him to get stuffed as well. It was a tough call.

  “About the press story,” he began, his voice edgy.

  I held up my hand for him to stop.

  “You know what Lucas,” I said, “before you put that on me, I think you need to address the sperm issue.”

  He cleared his throat. “Ah yeah. About that.”

  Lucas Ainswright looked remorseful. I stopped stirring the one sugar I put in his mug of tea and looked at his face. Wow, this was a whole new emotion. A while back when he nearly knocked me over in the kitchen I witnessed a flash of concern cross his features, but now, this humble sort of remorseful look was much more intense. Mm, not sure it suited him.

  “I was way out of line and I’m sorry,” he said. He looked at his clasped hands and then at me.

  My eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you,” I said. Then I couldn’t help myself. “Did Sarah help you with that?”

  “Yes,” he said and a smile twitched at his lips.

  I smiled and moved to the couch with his tea. I placed it on a coaster on the coffee table in front of him and reached for my own. I sipped, put it down and sat at the other end of the couch, turning to study Lucas. I bit my lip. Damn it, I was going to be really honest, I wish I could stop doing that.

  “You really hurt me, especially when you said I wanted something from you just like everyone else.”

  He nodded. “I was aiming for that, to hurt you.”

  “You don’t like me much,” I said.

  He turned completely on the couch to face me. “That’s not true, Mia. I really like the you I’ve started to get to know. What I don’t like is that you work for my father and I don’t like that most times I see you, you are doing his bidding.”

  “Right,” I said. “Fair enough.”

  He picked up his mug of tea and took a mouthful.

  “Have you eaten?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “You must be starving.” These sporty guys ate non-stop. When they weren’t training or having sex, they were eating.

  He shrugged. “I haven’t had much appetite.” He put the mug down and ran his hands over his face. I wanted to move closer and hold him, but neither of us could do that, yet.

  “So, I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?” I asked.

  “You wouldn’t take my calls or return my texts,” he said as though it was obvious. He reached into his jeans’ pocket, pulled out a printed sheet of paper and unfolded it. He smacked it down on the coffee table in front of us. It was the online magazine story about me walking out on him.

  Here we go, I thought, this will be my fault. I could feel my phone vibrating with a call or an incoming text message. Probably because Lucas had been seen coming here; I’d have to change my phone number, damn him. />
  “Who’s the guy?” he asked.

  “What?” I said, surprised.

  “The guy you’re with. Who is he?” he repeated. He studied me, his jaw locked, his eyes sharp. “That’s not the one who just left.”

  “Why? What do you care?” I asked. Seriously, he knew all the best ways to rub me.

  My phone vibrated again. It was non-stop. Lucas glared at me.

  “That’s Adrian from across the hall. He’s fourth year medicine.”

  “Is he your boyfriend?” Lucas asked.

  I laughed. “No. Not that there’s anything wrong with Adrian but we’re just friends. We always have been. What’s it to you anyway?”

  He folded the paper and put it away. The rest of the story was irrelevant to him. He didn’t care that the media said I had dropped him or that we’d been called lovers. He was doing my head in. I picked up my tea, wrapped my hands around the cup and slipped back on the couch, crossing my legs in front of me. I pulled my dress down over my knees. I was pleased I was still in one of my best dresses and my legs were smooth, eyebrows plucked to a lovely open expression and in general, I was as good as I was going to get, unless someone came in and did my makeup professionally. I studied Lucas.

  “So who leaked that pile of rubbish about me being your personal trainer, our sparring foreplay and me running out on you and meeting some other guy?” I thought I would spearhead that it wasn’t me.

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. They make up that crap all the time. One chick I slept with was having my baby the next week according to them and I was thrilled supposedly.”

  “Would you be?” I asked.

  “I’d love to have kids, but only with someone I loved, and I’d want to be married first.”

  I smiled. What a great answer. Lucas Ainswright had earned back some points.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I didn’t think you’d be so traditional,” I said.

  “Why? Do you want to get shackled up to someone you don’t love and have a connection with them forever because you’ve got a kid?” he asked.

  “Well, now that you put it that way.”

  “That’s what happened to Carlos. You don’t know him. He left last season. Got to be careful in this game.”

  I nodded. Right. So he wasn’t fazed about any of that, only about who the guy was that I was with. Lucas Ainswright was exhausting. As I thought this he covered a yawn.

  “Really tired, sorry, long day.” He lifted his cup and finished it in a few mouthfuls. “I need a shower.”

  I was waiting for him to say he was leaving and then he asked: “Can I have one here?”

  I grimaced at the thought of my tiny cubicle bathroom conditions compared to what he was used to. At least it was super clean.

  “Okay, if you can fit in. I’ll make you something to eat while you’re in there.” I rose and went to the kitchen knowing the fridge was pretty empty. Lucas got up and brought his cup over. He stood behind me, putting it in the sink. Our bodies were almost touching and that was the entire width of the kitchen.

  I still didn’t get why he was here and he didn’t answer me. I kept trying to glance at him without his noticing and I kept expecting him to leave. Why did he come? He could be at home cooking up a storm in his own enormous kitchen with a glamorous assistant but instead he was in my shoebox saying nothing. I averted my eyes to the cupboard.

  “I can make you a pasta of some sort,” I offered.

  “Great,” he said. “Bathroom?” He nodded at the only closed door in the unit and since he had seen the bedroom when he closed the curtains, he got it right. He went in and left the door partly open, probably because he didn’t think he would fit in otherwise.

  I went to my room, clearing my throat as I passed to alert him. I tried not to look in at his muscled, toned body.

  “I only have one bath towel and the bath mat. Um, so here’s a clean beach towel.” I threw it in between the gap.

  “Thanks.” I heard him chuckle. Cringe! I must get a guest towel. I heard the shower turn on and I cringed again at the thought of all my girl products on display—moisturizer, cotton balls, bleach, even my rubber ducky. I consoled myself with the image of a wet, naked Lucas in my shower. I wanted to run a soapy sponge over him... phew, overheating here.

  In the kitchen, I pulled out some thin wholegrain spaghetti and a jar of pesto from the cupboard. I had some sundried tomatoes in the fridge and a frozen chicken breast only by virtue of my brother visiting recently and having to have some meat on hand. I defrosted it and whipped Lucas up a quick dish, adding a side serve of green beans that had been in the freezer.

  “That feels better,” Lucas walked out of the bathroom with just his jeans on. He had a rolled up shirt and I’m guessing underwear in his hand.

  “I don’t like to put dirty stuff back on,” he explained and left them near the door. That meant he was going commando under those jeans. Don’t look, I told myself.

  “You’ll be cold. I might have an oversized shirt,” I said.

  “Is it oversized because it belonged to some other guy?” he asked.

  “No, but if you want to piss on it and around the borders of the room you could mark your territory,” I suggested.

  He grimaced at me like I was a smart ass. I served up his pasta and grabbed him a fork and serviette. I placed it on the table with a jug of cold water and a glass.

  “You’re not eating?” he asked.

  I shook my head. My stomach wasn’t up to it with all the stress of the weekend and I did have sushi for lunch.

  “Please eat,” I said. “I’ll go check out my wardrobe.”

  “Thanks.” He sat down and poured some water. I tore myself away from the vision that was a half-naked Lucas Ainswright and went into my closet. If I didn’t have anything would that mean he’d stay half-naked? Tempting.

  I heard his phone vibrating too and he chose to answer this call. I listened in.

  “Jase,” he answered it. “Yeah, it’s all good and hey thanks for your help on Friday... I’m at her place now... yeah fuck Chloe, the big mouth, some of those chicks will do anything for a chance to get publicity. Yeah, I’ve said sorry... I did, I said it, ask her yourself. Yeah, okay, night. Hey, thank Sarah for me.”

  Why couldn’t he talk to me like he talked to Jase? Like a friend. Things were great right now but they’ll change soon. He’d leave and then he’d be narky again next time he saw me and he’d push me away.

  I guess the reality was, that if I wanted to be in Lucas’s orbit, that would be the crap I would have to endure. As much as I was relieved to see him and have the pain of the weekend lifted a bit, I wasn’t sure I could do it all the time; that I could pull off being indifferent. I wanted the whole package: friendship, respect, love, loyalty, commitment. I knew it existed, as I’d seen it. I knew it was not a fairytale.

  I saw my oversized college navy blue sweatshirt with the school letters prominently displayed along the front and figured that would be the only thing that would fit him. I grabbed it and returned to the living area.

  “This is good, thanks,” he said, sounding surprised again, despite my lemon meringue pie, that I could cook to survive.

  “Pleasure. This should fit,” I said, and handed him the sweatshirt. What a shame. He slipped it on and the length was okay. The sleeves finished short but it did the trick.

  “You know if I get snapped wearing this with their logo on the front, I’m going to have to invoice them a couple of hundred grand for product endorsement.” He swirled pasta on his fork and attacked it.

  “Bighead,” I said.

  Lucas grinned and finished chewing. He ate in silence as I sat comfortably beside him.

  “I can sneak you out the back. Where’s your car?” I asked.

  He looked surprised. “I didn’t drive here. That would have been insane with the media circus already stirred up.”

  “How did you get here?” I ask
ed.

  “The doc dropped me.”

  “He went thirty minutes out of his way to drop you here?” I said. “Is everyone at your beck and call?”

  “Apparently not.” He looked at me and I smiled and looked away.

  “We can go back to my place together,” he said, as though he was stating the obvious. He finished the pasta, muttered that it was good and thanks—must have been killing him to say sorry and thanks twice to me in one night—and he took his bowl to the sink. He ran some soapy water and began to wash it. I grabbed my phone, put the camera on and filmed it. I called his name and he turned around, saw me and rolled his eyes. I laughed.

  “It’s ammunition for next time you give me a hard time. I’ll tell everyone I domesticated you,” I warned. I turned it off and put my phone down. At least I had footage of Lucas Ainswright in my kitchen that I could show my kids one day. My kids to someone else.

  “The media don’t want pussy stories like that,” he said flicking his hands free of water and suds before reaching for a towel. “They want stories about pussy.”

  I grimaced; Lucas was always trying for a reaction.

  “Want me to call you a cab and sneak you out the back?” I asked again as I played with my empty tea cup at the table. I wanted to know where I stood and he’d showered and been fed... there wasn’t much left to do...

  He whirled around and looked at me. “Where’s your car?”

  “Here, downstairs.”

  He put the towel down and strode towards me. My heart stopped. He pulled out the kitchen chair opposite me and dropped into it. He leaned towards me.

  “What now? Why aren’t you coming back with me?” He exhaled, frustration written all over his face.

  I wasn’t going to go marching straight back to our former arrangement just because he rocked up and said sorry under pressure.

  “Lucas, if I go back with you now, what changes? You’ll wake up and be shitty with me again tomorrow and treat me like crap.”

  He swallowed, leaned back and looked away. I kept going.