Offside

by Bianca Sommerland

  “I forgive you.” She patted his scruffy cheek, then rose up on her tiptoes for a quick kiss. “Just don’t do it again.”

  He chuckled, hooking his finger to the back of her jeans before she could skirt away. “One thing first.”

  “Yes?”

  His breath on the back of her neck stirred all the tiny hairs. His low voice in her ear made her breath catch. “You’re fucking sexy when you’re all worked up.”

  She swallowed, suddenly not sure she really wanted to rush out. “I really shouldn’t be shouting at my Dom.”

  “Ah, but it’s allowed when your Dom’s being an idiot.” His lips brushed the length of her throat. “You have a busy day ahead of you, but I’d like you to call when you have some free time. Let me know when you want me to help you paint.”

  “It won’t be today.” She bit her bottom lip. Unless she skipped dinner and . . . she glanced up at him over her shoulder. “Actually, I don’t have to—”

  “No. Keep whatever plans you have, and I’ll do the same.” He lowered his hand to the base of her spine, nudging her forward. “I have a meeting with my agent tomorrow and my physical therapist. Does Wednesday work for you?”

  Two days? Why did it seem so long? She wasn’t a teenage girl who absolutely had to see her boyfriend every single day. Spending all this time with him had spoiled her.

  Letting out a long sigh, she nodded. “Wednesday would be perfect. My stuff is being delivered to the house, so you can help me bring it in. I’ll ask Scott if he wants to help too.”

  “Or we can ask one of the other guys.”

  Becky pressed her lips together. Scott taking off obviously bothered Zach. She glanced over at the sofa, grinning as she spotted a folded paper on top of the rumpled blanket. Flipping it open, she laughed and read it out loud. “‘Sorry I had to take off, my IC was on my ass. Call you later? Thanks for letting me hang out. Looking forward to doing it again.’ Wasn’t that considerate of him?”

  “Yeah. Not like him at all.” Zach folded his arms over his chest, one brow arched. “I won’t tell you not to see him, if that’s what you choose to do, but please be careful. Once he has you—”

  “He can’t have me.” Her phone buzzed again. She hurriedly pulled on her running shoes, blowing Zach a kiss as she checked the number. Scott’s image consultant. Again. She really had to stop stalling. Responsible adult, Becky. Pull yourself together. “Until further notice, I’m yours.”

  “Until further notice?” Zach gave her a hooded look. “I like knowing that you’re mine. I take it that means there are limits to Scott showing how sorry he really is?”

  “Absolutely.” She answered her phone and quickly asked the IC to hold for a moment. Then she winked at Zach. “And when you two make amends, I get to watch.”

  * * * *

  The reporters hovered outside the conference room, reminding Scott of rats waiting for the cat to leave so they could pick up scraps of trash. Stephan was on his phone again, keeping a respectful distance so Scott and Keane could talk. Not being a fucking nuisance for once. Nice change.

  “Stephan said that you refused to tell him why you fought with Hunt.” Keane’s lips curled with disgust as he glanced toward the open door. Another reporter had tried to slip in, only to be stopped by security. He waved for one of the security guards to close the door, then leaned forward, his voice low. “He said you were fine telling me. I suggest you do.”

  Scott didn’t want to tell anyone. Some things should be private, but it didn’t work that way in their business. And unless Keane was a complete asshole, it didn’t need to go any further. Rolling his shoulders, he hooked a finger to his cardboard-stiff collar and stared at his shiny new shoes. “There’s this girl—one of the Ice Girls. She’s not comfortable with men, but me and her were chatting and she seemed okay. Until Hunt grabbed her and—”

  “Akira?” Keane thrust his chair back, standing even as Scott nodded. “Good enough. I can’t say I approve of your actions, but—” A small smile crept across Keane’s lips. “You put him in his place?”

  Well, fuck! Scott laughed, holding up his damaged hand. “Clocked him a good one.”

  “Excellent.” Keane stroked his smooth chin, eyeing the door once again. “The only problem now is giving the press a story that won’t expose Akira or make you look bad. Is there a reason for the bad blood between you two? I assume Hunt didn’t make a move on Akira on impulse? He’s a hotheaded young man—immature, but not someone I could have pictured doing something like this.”

  “Ah . . .” Scott ran his fingers through his hair, not sure he wanted to make Hunt look better and himself look worse. But shit happened, right? “This chick Hunt had his eye on kinda ditched him for me.”

  “Through no fault of your own, of course.”

  Scott shrugged. “He was doing the whole roses and sweet talk thing. I just asked her if she wanted to fuck.”

  “And naturally, she did.” Lips twisted with mirth, Keane came around the table, hands clasped at the base of his spine. “Stephan has been going on and on about finding you a woman, but I was reluctant to force you into a relationship just to make you appear stable. I’m starting to think it would be a very good idea.”

  “Yeah, well, I said I’d take a look at his ‘list.’”

  “A list? Are you telling me you can’t find a woman on your own to commit to?”

  Becky. Scott shoved his hands in his pockets, thinking about the night before, watching a movie, not trying anything after his first blunt advances. He could picture himself with her, proudly telling the press and anyone who’d listen that she was his woman.

  If only she wasn’t with Zach.

  He refused to hurt Zach again, which meant he’d leave Becky alone unless the three of them . . . only, even if the three of them found something, it wasn’t like he could be public about it. Hell, he wasn’t even sure Becky and Zach would be public about their relationship. People would assume Zach was using Becky as a cover. Which would be weird since he’d already come out.

  Not an option. So what you gonna do now, Demyan?

  “I don’t fuck girlfriend-types.” Scott winced, all too aware how shallow that sounded. “I just . . . damn, I was all about having fun. I’m cool with choosing someone to go to events with or whatever. Professional arm candy works for me.”

  “I have someone in mind. If she’s open to the idea.” Keane crossed the room at a soft rap on the door. He held it open to let a young woman in, frowning as she darted past security, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Sahara, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” The tiny blond sniffled, then buried her face in her hands. “And I’ll take the job!”

  Scott stared at her, then glanced over at Keane, his lips soundlessly forming the words “What the fuck?”

  Keane held up his hand and shook his head. He pulled Sahara aside, his eyes narrowing as he spoke softly to her, too low for Scott to hear. At one point Keane’s gaze went to the long sleeves of the cream colored blouse Sahara was wearing. Then he pressed his eyes shut.

  “Fine. But we will be speaking about this again, Sahara.” Keane handed her the black kerchief from his suit pocket, then turned to Scott, his eyes hard. “Sahara has agreed to join the Cobra Ice Girls. I’ve been looking for someone with experience to lead them, and she finally accepted my offer. I think she would be the perfect woman for you.”

  A sweet, pink blush spread across Sahara’s cheeks as she dabbed away her tears. Eyes wide, she looked at Scott, then back to Keane, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the man’s hand. “I . . . what?”

  “Scott needs a young lady to accompany him to several events. And it will look good if he’s with the same woman on the cruise. It’s just for the press, and you’ve always been a media sweetheart.” Keane gently pried his hand free. “You have the job whether or not you agree, but I would consider it a personal favor if you could help our top sniper ditch his reckless, womanizing status.”

  “You would?” Sahar
a nibbled her bottom lip, then approached Scott, studying him with her big blue eyes, long lashes clinging together with unshed tears. “You’re okay with this? I mean . . . I just broke up with my boyfriend. I’m not ready for anything serious and—”

  “Babe, if I was ready for something serious, I wouldn’t need Keane to set me up.” As a tear broke free, Scott lifted his hand to brush it away, then jerked it back at Sahara’s flinch. Fuck. Her ex had done a number on her. She was so tiny, and he’d always thought she was kinda cute when he saw her around the forum. He moved closer, slowly, taking in her perfectly applied makeup. Must be waterproof of something—her tears hadn’t even smudged it. But the skin tone around one eye was applied a little thicker. He could tell she’d covered a fading bruise. His jaw ticked. “Who was he?”

  “You don’t know?” She let out a nervous laugh as her hand hovered over her throat. “No offense, but I don’t want to talk about it right now. The press is waiting for you, right?”

  “Yeah.” I want a goddamn name. A tremor ran through him as he thought back on his time in foster care. One of his foster sisters had gotten just as good at covering up bruises when her boyfriend had decided it was fun to smack her around when he was pissed. Scott had been about thirteen when he’d gone after the eighteen-year-old with a baseball bat. His foster sister had shielded the bastard. At least Sahara was smart enough to get away from the asshole.

  “Scott, you’re not listening to me.” She shook her head and snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

  Before he could protest, Sahara gestured to Stephan, who opened the door. Letting out a bubbly laugh, she wrapped her arms around Scott’s waist. He blinked as cameras flashed, blinding him. Questions were shouted his way. A few of the male reporters shoved to the front of the crowd, and Scott’s protective instincts took over. He drew Sahara around the long table at the end of the room, pulling out a chair so she could sit between him and Keane. As he took the chair beside her, she offered her hand, right on the table for all to see.

  He laced their fingers together, chuckling as he finally caught one of the questions being shot at them.

  “Was I defending someone special?” He brought Sahara’s hand, clasped with his, to his lips. “Absolutely.”

  “You can’t approve of your players fighting amongst themselves, Mr. Keane?” A mousy young man in an ugly brown suit shouted. “Will you be taking disciplinary action?”

  “I will. Both men will be fined.” Keane smiled. “But I must be frank. I believe Mr. Demyan considers this lovely young woman worth whatever price he has to pay.”

  More questions. Some of the reporters were eyeing Scott and Sahara suspiciously. One finally said what all seemed to be thinking. A woman with a pinched face and thin, blood red lips. She glared at Sahara with bare hatred. “You’re not a man known for long-lasting relationships, Mr. Demyan. Is this a publicity stunt? There’ve been rumors of you trying to improve your image.”

  A dramatic gasp escaped Sahara. She blinked fast, putting on the performance of a lifetime as she withdrew her hand. “Is that true, Scott? Are you with me just so you can look good to them.” Her bottom lip trembled. “Is that all I am to you?”

  Scott gave the reporter a cold look, then slid his hand around the nape of Sahara’s neck. They went quiet as he rested his forehead against Sahara’s. This was his last chance, and even after everything Sahara had gone through, she was willing to help him paint himself as a good guy. It was all for show, but damn it, the team, his life here, was worth putting on a good one.

  What they needed to see between him and Sahara was something he didn’t really feel. He recalled high school drama class, his enthusiastic teacher explaining how to laugh, to cry, on cue.

  “All you have to do is think on a time where you truly felt whatever emotion you want to portray. Bring it back. Relive it.”

  He saw Becky, eyes flashing with defiance as she shoved him against a wall in front of her brother, her lips so hot and sweet as she kissed him.

  In that moment, Scott had no other woman, or man, on his mind. All he could think of was how he didn’t want to let her go. He lowered his lips to Sahara’s, picturing Becky, putting everything he wanted to show her in the kiss. He gently eased away before she did, needing to see the dazed look in her beautiful grey eyes.

  But the eyes that gazed up at him were blue.

  “That . . .” Sahara touched her lips, then ducked her head.

  Not Becky. His lips twitched, but he remembered the act before he could ruin it and brushed a strand of corn silk blond hair behind Sahara’s ear. “Answers your question?”

  “Oh, yes.” Sahara rested her head on his shoulder. “Can we go home now?”

  “Home? Are you living with Miss Larose, Mr. Demyan?”

  Scott opened his mouth, but Keane cut him off. “Thank you all for coming, but that’s all for now. Another press conference will be scheduled before the Ice Girls’ cruise and as you all know, both Miss Larose and Mr. Demyan will be attending. I believe we’ve answered all your questions.”

  “If not, please feel free to call me for the official statement.” Standing in the doorway, Becky gave the reporters a broad smile, as though they were all great friends. But the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The team will provide several opportunities for you to interview both the players and the Ice Girl contenders.”

  Dismissed, the reporters filed out. Scott tripped over his chair and slammed his elbow into the table, cursing as he tried to catch up with Becky. She was already out of sight. He had to get to her. Make her understand.

  He bared his teeth as Stephan cut in front of him right outside the conference room. “Move it!”

  “Can I speak to you for a moment?” Stephan nodded to Keane, who left them without another word, then drew Scott aside. “That was perfect. Don’t screw it up by chasing after another woman.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? She’s going to think—”

  “Ms. Bower is a professional. And a mother.” Stephan’s fingers dug into Scott’s forearm. “I’m sure she understands getting involved with you in any way would be a bad idea.”

  Scott threw his head back, bitter laughter ripping out of his chest. “So I’m allowed to have a fake girlfriend, but not a real one?”

  “If you had a girlfriend, why didn’t you say something?” Stephan groaned as Scott jerked away from him, holding out his hands in a calming gesture that didn’t help Scott at all. Stephan lowered his voice as several reporters lingered in the hall, probably hoping to get a good scoop. “Please, I’m begging you. Avoid getting involved in drama until the ink dries on your contract. Assuming you get one.”

  After Stephan left, Scott returned to the conference room, closing the door so he and Sahara could have a moment alone. Sahara stepped up to Scott’s side and hugged his arm. “I’m sorry things are so messed up, but they’ll work out. You’ll prove you’re not the asshole everyone thinks you are. I’ll help you, and once you get your contract . . .” She smiled up at him. “Becky’s a lucky girl.”

  “Yeah.” Scott rubbed his hand over his face, Stephan’s words resounding in his skull like a hammer striking a gong. Getting involved with him would be a bad idea for any woman. Right now anyway. But what was the point of doing all this shit if it wasn’t to be better? To be the type of man Becky deserved. He ran his tongue over his teeth, then snorted. She already had that man. “You’re right. She is lucky. Zach’s an amazing man.”

  Chapter Eight

  A pile of folders tucked under her arm, Becky checked her watch, then fumbled in her pocket for her key. She threw the door open. Slipped inside. Pictured Scott kissing Sahara with so much passion watching from across the room had made her feel like a voyeur. Half the folders fell from her grasp as she kicked her office door shut. Her throat locked, and she laughed as tears of frustration stung her eyes.

  You’re being ridiculous. Get a grip!

  On one knee, she gathered her papers, pu
tting them in order as she forced herself to take several slow, deep, even breaths. She wasn’t this upset about seeing Scott with Sahara. Really. Today had just been long. Exhausting because of . . . everything. The days with Zach had just made it so easy to forget losing the job she’d loved because she wasn’t cutthroat enough. Moving away from her parents and her friends to get a job that would pay well enough to support her daughter and let her be close enough to help her brother.

  The thing with Scott was . . . the last straw. He’d been the first man to make her feel like a woman again after her divorce. He’d teased her, challenged her, and even though she’d turned down all his advances, she’d looked forward to them. She had to admit, part of her had hoped that his changes meant they could have something. Crazy, but being with him and Zach had felt right. She knew Zach was wary of Scott—she couldn’t blame him—but she could have bridged the gap between them.

  Because the man would change for you, right?

  Wrong. And she knew that! Hadn’t she learned from her failed marriage? Patrick had always been a little selfish and lazy, but he was so charming, could be so sweet, she’d convinced herself once they started a life together he would step up. After all, he’d been eager to have a child, always talked about their future together as if it was all he’d ever wanted.

  He’d talked a lot. But that’s all it was. A lot of talk. Their vows hadn’t been worth the air it took to voice them.

  Scott isn’t Patrick.

  They had a lot in common though. Like jumping on the first perky young thing that caught their eye. She straightened, moving quickly around her office to put away the folders she didn’t need, getting her work for the night, and her thoughts, in order. Zach had warned her, but she’d needed to believe Scott had meant everything he said. She’d been desperate to hang on to how young and alive Scott made her feel.

  And what about how Zach makes you feel?