For the Win (11 page)

“I have to be honest, Lukas. I kind of assumed you were fearless.”

“I know that I play like a god, but I'm still human.” Gabe laughed, and she couldn't help but smile, too. “After my injury, I didn't think I'd ever be able to head a ball again. I was sure my career was over.”

“I can't imagine how you overcame that.”

“I cried every time I touched a soccer ball for the first month of my training. But I kept pushing myself, and eventually I got over it.”

“Wow,” he said in the saddest voice, clenching tightly at her waist. “That must've been so difficult.”

She cleared her throat. “Well, it helps that Coach Labreilla is a son of a bitch who wouldn't tolerate any girly tears.” She hadn't meant to confess quite so much to him. Something about the location, the clothes, and the chemistry between them made her feel that the moment was more intimate than it was.

A server carrying a tray of champagne flutes approached them once they descended the few stairs to the ballroom. Lainey's first instinct was to pass, but then she remembered the two thousand dollars. “Screw it,” she muttered, and picked up a glass by the long stem. She had to get through this evening one way or another.

The liquid was crisp, bubbly, and delicious as it slid down her throat. She'd never tasted champagne before, but she instantly understood what all the fuss was about.

“Another?” the server offered. Lainey hadn't even realized she'd finished the first glass.

She wasn't an impulsive woman. Every bite of food she consumed was planned out weeks in advance. But Lainey also wasn't a woman who paraded around in fancy dresses, threw away money like it was confetti, and confessed her tales of woe to veritable strangers. Tonight, one thing was certain: she was a woman who really enjoyed the bubbly goodness of champagne.

“I WOULDN'T HAVE PEGGED
you for a champagne drinker,” Gabe said. The sensual and delighted expression on her face as she savored the golden liquid was turning him on like nothing ever had before. He liked seeing this side of her. It was hard to believe that this effusive woman was the same one who talked about her devastating injury and recovery with such matter-of-fact coldness.

As much as he liked to support worthy charities, he'd been growing weary of attending these types of high-society events. This was the first time he'd attended one with Lainey, though, and the dress she was wearing could make the Pope reconsider his celibacy vows.

“What? I'm not fancy enough for champagne?” Lainey asked teasingly, tipping the glass against her sly smile once again. “Opposites attract. It was love at first sight.”

“I can tell. You're making an orgasm face every time you take a sip. Isn't it traditional to drink champagne after winning the World Cup?”

She gave him a dirty look and polished off the rest of the glass. He winced, realizing he'd just put his foot in his mouth. “Contrary to popular belief, Norwegian hospitals do not administer alcoholic beverages to unconscious patients through IV—even patients who've just won the World Cup. So what do we do now, Mr. Smooth?”

He raised his eyebrows at the “Mr. Smooth” comment but let it go. “We find some interesting people to talk to.”

A look of terror passed over her face. “You're interesting. Can't I just talk to you all night?”

Gabe could think of a lot of things she could do to him all night, but instead of saying that, he pulled her tighter against his side. “The point of schmoozing is to interact with people who might prove to hold some mutual benefit.”

“We can be mutually beneficial,” Lainey insisted. Gabe dissolved into laughter. “Oh my gosh. I did not mean that the way it sounds.”

“If you don't want to talk with people, how do you propose we spend the rest of the evening?”

“Um . . . I spy with my little eye something that is green and—”

“You want to play I spy?” Gabe asked incredulously. Here she was looking drop-dead gorgeous in a killer dress amid the movers and shakers of Seattle, and Lainey wanted to hide out with him in a dark corner to play children's games. It blew his mind that the two of them could have such similar career paths yet completely opposite temperaments.

She smacked him lightly on the chest. “You didn't let me finish. I spy with my little eye something that is green and wrapped in bacon. There's a waiter over there with asparagus wrapped in bacon. Bacon! I want some.”

“Are you drunk after two glasses of champagne?” Gabe asked, finally making sense of her curious, yet entertaining behavior.

“I don't know,” she responded with a pout. “I've never been drunk. Is that why my brain feels tingly?”

“Hmm, are you willing to tell me what you have planned for the fund-raiser?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Then you're probably just tipsy.”

“Good, back to the subject. Did you know I haven't had bacon since I was nine?”

“Seriously?” Every word out of her mouth was increasingly hilarious.

“It's number sixteen on my list,” she said whimsically.

“That's absolutely tragic. Let's get you that bacon while you explain what you mean by that list.”

For the next twenty minutes, they stalked waiters across the large room, sampling their offerings and bickering playfully over which was the tastiest. It was the most fun Gabe had had while wearing a stuffy tuxedo. If she was this excited over tuna carpaccio and prosciutto-wrapped cantaloupe, he could only imagine how she'd react to the chocolate fountain.

Just as they were about to sample the shrimp popsicles, Gabe felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Mean Jim Green in the same oversize brown suit he wore to every press conference and social function and wearing a facial expression that said he was about to make someone cry.

“Interesting seeing two rivals cozying up together. Does this mean the Great Battle of the Sexes is a sham?” He pulled a handheld notebook from his inner pocket.

Lainey snorted. “I fully intend on kicking Gabe's ass in the next three challenges.”

“It's a friendly competition in the name of charity. We're not interested in creating mock scandals for you to sell your newspaper,” Gabe added coolly, putting extra emphasis on the word “friendly.”

“How about dredging up real scandals to sell some Falcons tickets? Is it true, Ms. Lukas, that you're employed as a roofer in addition to your tenure with the Falcons? Do you feel the label ‘professional' athlete is a misnomer, considering you're otherwise employed?”

Gabe instinctively gripped both of Lainey's arms.

“Easy, tiger,” he whispered, keeping his glare fixed on this walking equivalent of an abscessed tooth carrying a notepad. “He's not worth the effort.”

Gabe plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray. He could feel her tensing, readying herself for a fight. “Drink this, sweetheart, and then the bad man will go away.” She downed the glass, handed it back to him, then cracked her knuckles.

Unnerved, the reporter backed off.

“You're a roofer?” Gabe asked, hoping to get her mind off that unpleasant interlude as quickly as possible.

“You got a problem with that?” Fire burned in her eyes.

“I think it's sexy as hell.” That pulled a smile out of her, as Gabe had hoped. “I wouldn't know how to shingle a roof if my life depended on it. Don't tell anyone this, but I'm secretly scared of heights.”

“Most regular people don't know how to fix a roof. That's why the professionals exist,” she answered with a wink. “But really, I just help my uncle out from time to time. He's the real pro.”

The evening's emcee invited the guests to take their seats in anticipation of the speeches commencing and the formal dinner being served.

Following Lainey's lead, Gabe sat down at the table closest to the exit. Typically, he would've sat at the main table near the stage, but he was more concerned with making sure she was having a good time than being the center of attention. Besides, she was the only person he was really interested in talking to.

“Look, roofing is pretty cool and all, but why aren't you supplementing your income with promotional gigs? You must've been approached last summer.”

“I'm not talking about it.” Lainey refused to look at him. Instead, she feigned being engrossed with the complicated task of unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap.

“Oh no. You're holding something back and I bet it's juicy. Spill it, Lukas.”

She sighed.

“By the time I was done with my recovery, most of the excitement over the World Cup had died out. There aren't a lot of promotional contracts for female athletes to begin with. But I was contacted about two offers. One was for some sports drink loaded with caffeine and sugar, which I refused on principle. And the other . . .” She hesitated, fidgeting with the napkin in her lap. Gabe nodded, encouraging her to continue. “It was for menstrual products. They wanted to use footage of my injury as a metaphor for just how much blood could be absorbed.”

Gabe coughed, spitting out his drink in the process. “I can see why that would be, uh, uncomfortable. But if you had an agent, they'd vet these things for you.”

“I don't need an agent. I'm happy working as a roofer in my spare time. I'm not a soccer player to make money or get famous. I'm doing it because I love it. Because I can't imagine this not being my life and I would do anything to play another game.”

Gabe knew the feeling.“The promotional side of things isn't just about fame or money. It's about making the world stand up and take notice. It's about making the dream of becoming a professional soccer player real for the millions of girls who want to be the next Lainey Lukas.” He hesitated. “Damn, I'm starting to sound like my kid sister.”

“That's not a bad thing. Your kid sister is smart. I was thinking you sound more like Frank.”

Gabe mimed sucking in a breath like she'd delivered a low blow. “Frank Diavolo is a media whore, but he's a decent PR manager. Professional leagues don't exist without publicity. You should let me help you—I can introduce you to my agent. He's around here somewhere, and he's good at what he does.”

“Why do you keep trying to help me with this stuff?” She cut a piece of steak from the plate set in front of her and moaned as soon as it touched her tongue.

Because you keep doing stuff like that. “Because I'm not your enemy. I want the Falcons to succeed, and for the first time in my life, my kid sister thinks I'm cool—and it's just for knowing you. The only reason we aren't on the same side is because you stole our practice time. I can't risk an injury from Cricket Field. Not at this stage of my career. One twisted knee and I'm no longer the Hometown Hero. I'm Gabe ‘the Aging Liability' Havelak, and my ass will be traded to the first team that'll take me. Seattle is my home.”

“You really love it here, don't you?” she asked around another mouthful of food.

“It's where I grew up. Where my family lives. The ocean, the trees, the culture, the vibrancy. This is the place that's allowed my dreams to come true, and that's why I'm so passionate about giving back.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Isn't there something besides soccer you feel passionate about?”

He watched her intently, realizing he desperately wanted to know the answer. He wanted to know the real Lainey Lukas beyond the impenetrable force of a woman she portrayed to the rest of the world. He wanted to know her quirks, her dreams, her passion.

But tonight was not the night he'd get the answer. She gave him an insecure smile and delved back into her meal.

12

What's next for me now that I'm leaving La Liga? I'll play out my days in Seattle and live the good life. And if I'm really lucky, maybe I'll find a good woman to spend my retirement with.

—
Gabe Havelak, quoted in
Football World News

“IT DOES NOT LOOK
like oatmeal,” Lainey muttered to herself, and wrapped her cardigan tighter, trying to ward off the night's chill. The sweater was warm, sturdy, and functional—qualities she admired in people as much as she did in inanimate objects. Ever since Gabe had made that stupid comment at the beginning of the evening, she couldn't get the breakfast-mush association out of her mind.

She checked the time on her phone, wondering if she'd just missed the last bus or if it was running late. All the digits seemed to go fuzzy and blur together. The more she squinted, the worse it got.

She hadn't even noticed that the servers were filling up her wineglass after every sip until Gabe pointed it out.

Oh, but it was delicious.

The whole meal had been a burst of illicit flavors in her mouth. She wondered if people who ate like that regularly ever got bored with it. This whole evening was a onetime indulgence for Lainey, like Cinderella at the ball. Unfortunately, just like Cinderella, her ride turned into a pumpkin before the night was over. She couldn't drive in her current state, and couldn't afford a cab, either. She'd have to contend with standing in the dark waiting for the vomit comet to carry her home.

A shiny flash of red pulled around the corner and came to a stop right in front of her.

“Get in,” Gabe ordered from the driver's seat. A warm feeling rolled in her belly as she slipped inside. Deep down, a part of her had expected Gabe to show up like Prince Charming. He'd been a perfect gentleman all evening.

GABE FOUGHT THE URGE
to scold Lainey as he shifted into gear. How the hell did she think it was remotely okay to get on a bus after drinking an entire bottle of champagne and looking like that? When the gala ended, he'd shown her where to wait safely for a taxi. Something about the way she bit her lip as she nodded along made him suspicious that she wasn't going to listen to him, which is why he immediately drove up to the spot where he left her once the valet fetched his car.

“You're a good man, Gabe Havelak.”

Gabe wasn't really a good man. If he were, he wouldn't have jacked up the heat in the two-seater just so she'd take off that ridiculous sweater. Desire rushed through him as Lainey awkwardly shimmied out of the heavy material. She crossed her legs and rubbed her hands along the edges of her seat, and Gabe almost exploded.

“So, where's home?” he asked, trying to regain his self-control.

“Home?” She sighed. Somehow she managed to make the word sound sexy without even trying. “Head north on the I-5.”

Gabe nodded. He wondered what kind of a place a woman like Lainey Lukas lived in. Was it an austere bomb shelter of an apartment? Was it covered in posters of herself? Maybe a giant shrine in the image of the World Cup trophy?

“I'm going to like driving this,” she murmured, flashing him a lopsided, devious grin.

“Are you sure you can handle this much horsepower, sweetheart?” He gunned the engine and eased onto the highway, showing her how much his Porsche 911 Turbo S deserved to be driven with a man's touch.

“I can handle all the power you throw at me.”

Gabe clutched the steering wheel and tried to keep his focus on the busy highway. His cock was pulsing just at the sound of her sultry, albeit slurry, voice uttering those words. Lainey threw her head back and made a noise that was part squeal, part giggle.

“I can't believe I just said that! I did not mean that the way it sounded.”

“Wouldn't mind if you did.”

She twisted around in her seat to face him. The narrow strap of her dress slipped perilously close to the edge of her shoulder. “Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Go from being a gentleman to acting all . . . all . . .” She twirled her wrist as she tried to conjure up an ending to her sentence out of thin air. “All Rico Suave.”

“That reference is about twenty years too late.” Against his better judgment, he reached over and pulled her strap up. Even though he pegged her at tipsy rather than out-of-her-mind drunk, and he desperately wanted a glimpse of her body, he wouldn't feel right taking advantage of this very tempting situation.

“Oops.” She giggled. “See, you can be a gentleman. Why the act?”

“It's not an act. I was that guy once, and part of me still is. There was a time when I partied hard and never bothered to give a woman a second date. But mostly that image is what gets me into the places I need to be with the people I need to talk to in order to keep my soccer camps running. There isn't enough time with our game schedule to field enough volunteers from the Surge, and the instructors' salaries add up. Combine that with field rental fees, insurance, and all the other incidental costs, and things get expensive. I need the charity dollars to keep it going, and that means I need to make a splash at parties like this. But the truth is, I'm getting tired of living that lifestyle. This night with you was the most fun I've had at one of these events in a long time.”

“So you're saying that after tonight I don't have to worry about you harassing me anymore?”

“Seriously, that's all you got out of that? I practically poured my heart out just now.”

She yawned through her smile. “You really love your home, huh? You get to have it all. Soccer. Family. Friends. Money.”

He nodded. Words couldn't do justice to the depth of his love for all his family, friends, and memories that were practically synonymous with the city. But there was something missing. He had everything a man could want except for someone to share it with. “Speaking of home, where are we headed? We're almost at the edge of the city.”

“Take exit 212.”

That was well beyond the suburbs north of Seattle. “That's where you live?”

“That's where home is,” she said dreamily.

She closed her eyes and snuggled into the seat. From the corner of his eye, he could see the damn strap slipping again, but now that they were far beyond the city lights, he had to focus on the pitch-black highway. Though she seemed to be asleep, she muttered fairly coherent directions when he pulled off the exit.

Another twenty minutes passed, leading them down increasingly windy, rugged roads. Roads constructed out of the kind of mud and gravel that should never, ever be in the vicinity of his custom rims. Roads laced with overgrown branches that were probably scratching his $6,000 paint job. Screw the bet. This woman clearly did not deserve his car. Gabe was contemplating whether he should wring her beautiful neck for her crimes against vehicular decency when her eyes popped open.

“We're here,” she murmured. A desultory smile creased her face.

Gabe pulled into the narrow drive that led to a small wooden cottage at the edge of a bay. The view was spectacular, with millions of stark white stars unfettered by city lights, twinkling over the obsidian water. The rhythmic sound of waves lapping at the shore echoed faintly. He was a city boy through and through, but this nearly took his breath away. When Lainey stepped out of the car, her pale creamy skin gleaming against the incandescent backdrop, Gabe really did struggle for breath. With a sigh, she took in the view, then made her way to the front porch. He followed her closely and watched her pluck a key from the rim of a potted rosemary bush.

“How were you going to get here by bus?” Despite the incredible scenery, he couldn't tear his gaze away from her ass as she bent over in that tight dress.

She peered over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “I was going to take the bus to my apartment. You said you would take me home. Here we are.”

Unable to resist, Gabe stepped behind her as she unlocked the door so that only the barest fraction of space separated them. As it opened, Lainey tripped on the threshold and tumbled into the swinging screen door. He caught her immediately, spinning her to face him. He walked her inside backward, holding her waist tightly. The air filled with the weight of heavy expectation and desire. She glanced up at him with the most innocent, wide-eyed look he'd ever seen, and he realized he was completely hard and pressed up against her.

He swallowed the knot in his throat and let her go.

The strap of her dress had slipped over her shoulder, exposing her small, pert breast. Her pink nipple puckered in the cool air, like it was begging his mouth to make contact.

For the second time tonight, Gabe Havelak was stunned into silence.

“UM, SO THIS IS
my uncle Walt's cabin.” She swished her arm out and nearly fell over. She tried to mask her embarrassment with a nervous giggle but cut it short when she was met with nothing but an impenetrable stare. She cleared her throat. “My uncle used to take me fishing here on the weekends I didn't have practice. It's my favorite place in the world. My plan is to buy this place from him in a few years. Once my soccer career is over, I want to live here. Spend my time gardening, fishing, you know . . . doing the things everyone wants to do but never has the time for.”

Why was she talking nonsense? Her brain knew to shut up, yet the words kept spilling out. She was a quiet person by nature, but the sudden awkwardness between them was too much to bear. A second ago, she was certain he was about to kiss her. Somehow, she found herself gesturing to the worn brown sofa in the front living room. “The way you talk about your home is so magical, and the whole evening was so fun, and I just thought it should end here, since you were driving me. Oh no! I made you drive me all this way. What was I thinking? I'm so sorry. You can sleep in the bedroom. I'll take the couch. And I'll pay you back for the gas. I—”

“Lainey.” His voice was guttural and raw and when he said her name, it was like a command in itself. He stepped closer.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she blurted out before slapping a palm over her mouth. Oh, what the hell? She'd already dug herself this deep. “Because you can. Kiss me, I mean. I don't even like you, but I want to kiss you right now.”

“For the love of god, stop talking.” He reached out to her shoulder and grabbed the strap of her dress. She glanced down and gasped. Her breast was completely exposed by the wayward strap. As he pulled the strap over her shoulder, his knuckle grazed her nipple, and she felt it pucker. Shivers rippled across her body as the anticipation knotted in her stomach.

Before she could process her mortification, Gabe cupped her face and crushed his lips to hers. She gripped the lapels of his tux and deepened the kiss, intoxicated by the taste of him. His hands glided down to her butt as he pressed his erection into her. He lifted her that extra inch she was so desperate for, allowing his hardness to meet her hot, wet core. He kissed her furiously as he carried her to the small bedroom behind the ramshackle kitchen.

In the heavy darkness, Gabe pulled back the scratchy wool blanket and sheets of the double bed in the middle of the room, never taking his lips from hers. He sat her down at the edge of the mattress and ran his hand along her thigh.

Oh god. Was she really going to do this? Have sex with Gabe “the Hometown Ego” Havelak? She hadn't slept with anyone in more than a year. He smelled so good, though. And that tux could make her orgasm on sight alone. The only way he could look better would be if he were naked. With that, she decided sleeping with Gabe was a very, very good idea. If he kissed this well, he had to be amazing in bed.

“Lainey,” Gabe said gruffly, finally tearing his lips from hers. “Stop thinking so much.”

She sucked in a breath, defensiveness being her natural instinct, but then sighed and nodded. With his thumb and index finger, he gently tilted her chin. His lips delicately brushed hers, which were already stinging from the slight stubble on his face. He released her and pressed her back into the bed and swung her legs up, shoes and all.