Someone Like You (7 page)

“Yeah, sure.” She nodded, but her expression was still tight and wary.

Something in him wanted very much to take that look off her face.

“How about after practice,” he suggested, “we can go out for a drink or get a bite to eat, and go over all the things you wanted to tell me. Sound good?”

“I, um . . .” She blinked again, obviously thrown. He wondered at it. “I can't. See that kid?” She pointed to a skinny blond-haired boy who was fidgeting with his cleats as his feet tapped together restlessly. “That's my nephew, Dylan. That's why—how—I got involved with the league in the first place. I have to bring him home after practice.”

“Oh.” Pierce glanced back at the kid again, who was now clapping his hands on his knees like a rock drummer. Cute kid. Boundless energy. “You're a good aunt, then.”

“I try.”

“Well, after you drop him off, wanna meet me somewhere?” The corner of his mouth curved up as he held her gaze. “To talk soccer. Of course.”

Abby was transfixed by the way his sensual mouth pulled up in a teasing smirk. He possibly had one of the most kissable mouths she'd ever seen. Ohhh yeah. Just like she'd surmised: dangerous. “I'm a teacher,” she said. “That's my day job. I teach first grade, over in Blue Harbor.”

“Blue Harbor, really?” Pierce grinned. “One of my brothers lives there now. He got married recently. His wife lived there, so he left the city and moved in with her.”

“That's nice. But, um, the thing is, it's Monday. I have school tomorrow. I go to bed early, because I wake up early. So I can't first go out at eight thirty or nine o'clock; I go to bed around ten, ten thirty at the latest.” There. That would put him off. That was the truth, and it sounded reasonable. But she cringed inside as she realized it also made her sound like she was a hundred years old. Mister Party Boy Soccer Star was probably laughing at her in his head. A wave of embarrassment whooshed through her.

“Okay, I understand,” he said. He rubbed his scruffy square jaw, an absentminded gesture that she found unbearably sexy. She tried not to let her eyes wander over how his lean, taut frame filled out the tight white T-shirt and black shorts, or the way his tousled dark hair fell over his forehead, or how when he stood so close she could catch his scent, the faint smell of sweat mixed with some coconutty sunblock. And a hint of chlorine. Like he'd been at a pool all day. The sudden thought of him swimming made her girly parts throb. Those long, tattooed arms cutting through the water, his powerful shoulders and back with water cascading down them . . . wearing nothing but board shorts on his sinewy, sculpted body . . .

Heat flushed through her like a tidal wave. She swallowed hard. What was wrong with her? Being near him scrambled her brain, and she didn't like it.

He flashed another killer smile and said, “How about tomorrow, then? I'll take you to dinner. My treat, since I was the lazy ass who didn't check my e-mail today. Is six o'clock good for you?”

She blinked and stammered, “I, uh—no, it's—dinner?”

“Yeah, dinner. You know, the meal people eat in the evening?” he teased. She scowled at him, and he laughed. “If not tomorrow, are you free Wednesday? Because if the next practice is Thursday, I'm sure you'll want to fill me in before then, right?” The look in his sparkling blue eyes challenged and teased.

Oh boy. She was way out of her element with him and she knew it. Bucket loads of easygoing charm to go along with movie-star looks? She'd really have to keep her wits about her if she didn't want to turn into bad boy roadkill.

“Abby?” His lopsided grin widened. “Yes? No?”

“Yes. Tomorrow. I'll meet you tomorrow.”

“Great. Six o'clock?”

“Sure. Where should I meet you?”

He frowned slightly at that. “Meet me? I can pick you up.”

“Not necessary. I'll just meet you,” she insisted.

“Okaaay. Um . . . how about the Clam Shack?” he suggested. “You know it?”

She knew the place well. Casual atmosphere, great seafood, with an outside deck that had tables by the water. Just over in the next town, she went there often with friends or her sister when the weather was good. “You know that place?”

“My sister took me there for lunch a few days ago. It was good. Nice view of the Sound. So, meet you there tomorrow at six?” His eyes sparkled as he gazed down at her.

“Yup,” she said.

“Brilliant. And, uh . . .” He leaned in a little to whisper, “Don't forget your clipboard.” His mouth curved in a deliciously teasing grin.

She didn't know whether to laugh or kick him.

Chapter Six

Abby tried to calm the heavy thumps of her heart as she drove to the Clam Shack the next evening. Her pulse raced, her face felt flushed, and she flippin' stammered like a schoolgirl whenever Pierce turned on the charm. It was like he gave her a case of the temporary stupids, and that didn't sit well with her. She hadn't had an insanely physical reaction to a man like this since . . . well, a really long time. He made her head spin and her body pulse with desire.

She didn't like it.

And she wasn't going to be one of his many conquests.

Not that he'd asked.

But throughout practice last night, she'd caught a few looks he'd tossed her way. Flirty, sexy glances that made the butterflies in her stomach flutter. Whenever his back was to her, her eyes glided over his body. She couldn't deny it if she tried: The man was fine. His tattoos kind of shocked her, though. There were just so
many
of them. Why did so many professional athletes these days cover half their skin in ink? Pierce's weren't that prominent unless he wore short sleeves and shorts. Then, you saw them all, and she did. Peeking out from beneath his sleeves along the clearly defined muscles in his arms . . . along his long, sculpted legs, one of his ankles . . . God, his calf muscles. She wished his shorts weren't knee-length so she could check out his thighs, too. She bet they were muscled, too, cut, gorgeous . . .

She grunted at herself, a self-reprimand, and made herself concentrate on the road.

Her thoughts went right back to Pierce, though. She'd watched carefully last night as he showed the kids how to pass the ball to one another. It was different than the way that she'd tried to teach them. A better way, she saw, as the kids instantly started to pick it up. He knew the game, that wasn't in question. But she'd wondered if he'd have the patience to teach kids his moves. Apparently, he could. He was firm when showing them a skill, but encouraging as they tried it, cheering them on as they dribbled the ball, or high-fiving them.

He was having
fun
with the boys. She liked the boys, but she wouldn't exactly have called their practices
fun
. With his help, it wasn't so much like herding cats; in fact, between the two of them, she saw a small difference in the kids in just one practice. And she saw something in him she hadn't expected: he was good-natured. She'd also watched at pickup time as Pierce made a point of introducing himself to each parent. Heard him explaining that he'd be her assistant coach and assuring them she was still the head coach, and that he was just there to help with sharpening skills and moral support, for both the team and for Abby.

She was dying to ask him,
“Why are you doing this?”
What the hell was a pro soccer star, from a gazillionaire family to boot, doing helping out a middle-class kids' soccer team? A young, free, wealthy man had nothing better to do? There had to be a reason other than he had time to fill. Curiosity gnawed at her. Tonight, she planned to get some answers.

But the fact was—whether Pierce realized it or not—he was a fantastic coach. A natural with the kids.

She had to admit that her main issue with him was that he was hotter than hell and got her all riled up just looking at him. And she didn't like feeling that way when she knew his reputation.

But she never would admit it to him. She sensed he was the type of guy who was used to people praising him, fawning over him—especially women. No way in hell would she be one of those women. Besides, she didn't trust him. In her painful experience, men lied. A lot. And from what she'd read online, he was probably as smoothly skilled with lines and lies as he was with a soccer ball.

If only she weren't so distracted by him. Curious about him. Attracted to him.

She'd never been into alpha guys with tattoos and swagger; she usually stayed away from men like that, and they'd never looked at her either. But she couldn't deny that there was something about Pierce. Maybe it was
because
he was so different from what she was usually drawn to? Strong, sexy, athletic—pure testosterone on low simmer.

He'd told her
she
had beautiful eyes . . . her nipples pebbled just thinking about how his deep voice had rumbled when saying that, and she shifted a bit in her seat.
Ugh.
She'd been alone for a long time now and clearly her hormones were out of control. But she had to keep it cool and professional. Coach the team with him and not let him see how he affected her.

She would be seeing him three times a week for the next seven weeks. And had accepted an invitation to dinner, just the two of them, which she'd be at any minute.

What the hell had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Pierce took another swig of his beer as he gazed out at the view before him. Boats bobbed on the water, birds flew overhead, and houses peeked from behind the trees across the Sound. It felt good. Getting away from London and the crowds . . . spending more time by the water, and the beach. Pierce wondered if deep down he'd known he'd needed to escape it all in a place like this. He never thought he'd go back to Long Island. But he was enjoying it.

His cell phone buzzed on the table and he picked it up. Text from Troy.
Five bucks says she doesn't show
.

 

Pierce snorted out a laugh and typed back,
Ten says she does. And on time
.

STFU
, Pierce typed back, grinning to himself.

 

Remember, it's not a date
, Troy wrote.
It's a business meeting. Hands to yourself, young man
.

 

Pierce laughed aloud at that.
I make no promises
.

 

That's my boy
.

 

“Hi.”

Pierce looked up from his phone to see Abby standing there. His eyes traveled over her in quick appraisal. She wore a blue-and-white striped boat neck top and navy capri pants. Simple, casual, not a hint of vulgarity. She looked . . . wholesome. Softly beautiful. So different from the brash, overly made-up, scantily dressed groupies who waited by the sidelines of the stadium and doors of the locker room. Abby's girl-next-door normalcy was a breath of fresh air.

Her straight, blond hair was down and loose; the first time he'd seen her without it up in a ponytail. It was cut in a bob that fell maybe two inches lower than her jawline—and she was obviously a natural blonde. Those dark blue eyes, a dazzling smile, and a great body . . . small but deliciously round breasts, soft curves . . . something about her set his body humming and his fingers itching to touch her.
Damn.
So cute. Deliciously cute.

“Hi yourself,” he said with a friendly grin. “Have a seat.” As she settled into the chair across from him, he quickly texted, You owe me ten bucks. Don't wait up. Then he put the phone down on the table. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” she said with a nonchalant air. She set her cell phone on the table, too, and looked out at the water instead of directly at him. His eyes caressed her profile.

The night before, he'd caught her studying him with a sideways glance once or twice, but she hadn't flirted with him at all. If anything, she'd been standoffish. Usually, women threw themselves at him.

But in the last few months in England, while the casual no-strings flings were still easy, he'd realized something with a vengeance: The women he'd hooked up with were so boring. Empty-headed and empty inside, leaving him feeling the same way. He'd wondered if he was finally growing up. He started looking at women differently, and not being as reckless. After being burned by Victoria Huntsman and that whole mess, he hadn't even wanted to be around women at all. The self-imposed break had definitely been what he'd needed.

But Abby McCord interested him. He hadn't been able to get her off his mind all day, and had been looking forward to their date-that-wasn't-really-a-date. Yeah, she was gorgeous, but that wasn't why she intrigued him. There was softness beneath that steel. She'd been great with the kids at practice. Patient and sweet, easy to laugh, not afraid to sweat and get a little muddy with them. And though she was wound a little tight, even that amused him in an engaging way, something of a gauntlet thrown down. He wanted to loosen her up. And the more he looked at her, the more wicked ways he conjured up to do so.

He liked her. She, however, didn't seem to like him. He didn't think it was because he'd made something of a spectacle at the game where they'd first met, or that he'd encroached on her territory with the coaching. They were pretty different, that was obvious. But his bet was that his bad reputation had preceded him. If she'd Googled him, it wouldn't be too hard to find out about him and his colorful past, much less the recent scandal that'd made headlines. He cleared his throat and said, “Nice view, isn't it.”

She turned her gaze back to him and gave a small smile. “It is. I've always liked this place. Thanks for suggesting it.”

He smiled back. “Thanks for coming.” His phone buzzed and he quickly looked at it. LOL, Troy had written. Have fun.

A waitress appeared and handed each of them a laminated menu. She took their drink orders and left them there to maneuver the landscape of awkward small talk.

“So Dylan's your nephew, huh?” Pierce said.

“Yeah. My older sister's son. Her only child.” A light breeze blew off the water, sending the ends of Abby's hair dancing around her chin. “Dylan's dad is long gone. So my parents and I all help out with watching him. Fiona's a nurse and works long shifts, weird hours.”

“Ah. Well, that's nice of you all.” Pierce watched her silky golden strands sway on the breeze, mildly mesmerized by the way they stroked her skin. “You live in the same town, then? You and your parents?”

A hint of a rueful grin lifted Abby's mouth. “You could say that. A few months ago, I moved back home with them, and Fiona and Dylan. Now we're all in one house. It's easier that way.”

Pierce stared. “Wow.” He was taken aback. The thought of a family caring that much about one another was an alien concept to him. “Back home. As in, you'd moved out, had your own place, but moved back home?”

“Yup. Exactly that.”

“Wow. How old are you? If you don't mind my asking.”

“I don't mind,” Abby said, shrugging. She smiled up at the waitress as she placed two glasses of water on the table, then Pierce's beer and her ginger ale. “I'm twenty-eight.”

Pierce reached for his bottle. “And you moved back home. To help your family.”

“That's what I said. Several times now.” Her brows furrowed. “Is something wrong with that?” A hint of defensiveness edged into her tone as her eyes held his.

“No! Hell no,” Pierce said quickly. “I think it's admirable. I wouldn't do that, not at twenty-eight. I don't know many selfless people, much less someone who'd do that for family. You all must be really close.”

She sipped her water before saying, “Yes, we are. And we're all Fiona and Dylan have now.” She peered at him. “You're not close with your family?”

He couldn't hold back the snort. “No. Not at all. Just with my sister. Tess is the best. But the rest of them . . . no.” Glancing out at the water, he lifted his bottle to his lips to take a long swallow of dark beer.

“Who's the rest of them?” Abby asked.

“Just two older brothers. Parents divorced when I was six, and it was really ugly. Mom took her hefty settlement and split. I rarely see her, none of us do. My father . . .” He shook his head. “We can't stand each other. Never got along. Lots of fights, that sort of thing. So . . . yeah, not close with my family.”

“That's too bad,” Abby said softly. “Sorry to hear it.”

“Don't be,” Pierce shrugged. “Not every family gets along.” With that, he effectively ended the line of discussion as he set down the bottle of beer, leaned in a bit, and said, “So tell me about soccer, Coach. What can you teach me?”

She laughed in surprise. “Me? Please. You taught the boys more yesterday than I have in a month.”

“No I didn't,” he said modestly.

“Yes. Yes, you did.” Her fingers played with the discarded straw wrapper, twirling it around her fingertip. “They seemed . . . more focused. Not so all over the place. Just your being there boosted their morale. Sometimes, a morale boost is just as important as actual skill improvement. Don't you think?”

His eyes traveled over her face. Damn. She had real heart. “I agree.”

Something about Abby genuinely resonated with him. Down to earth, obviously smart, and genuine. Not trying to be someone she wasn't, or climbing over his back with an agenda. Added to all that was the fact that she wasn't flirting with him or working him in any way—and he had to admit, the whole package intrigued him more than if she had put herself in his lap.

“So tell me you brought your clipboard,” he said, leaning in on his elbows and grinning. “I'm dying to see what you've got there. All those papers. So very organized.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as her head tipped to the side. “You're making fun of me again.”

“Only a little,” he said with a wink. “What do you need all that paperwork for, anyway? Just coach 'em.”

She stiffened. “But that's exactly what it's for. I have the team roster, and lists of what I want to get done during practice, and I've written out strategies, directions—”