Kick It Up

by Carol Ericson

  “I have a high tolerance for alcohol. Years of practice.” Actually, he’d had years of practice pretending to consume copious amounts of alcohol. When he came back from that knee injury and discovered that his famous corner kicks that curled around the goal post and shot into the corner of the goal didn’t curl or shoot as easily before, he figured he’d better have a good excuse for the lapse. Booze and a Sybaritic lifestyle seemed as good an excuse as any.

  Their food arrived, and Jessica dug into her breakfast with as much gusto as he did, even stealing a spoonful of corned beef hash from his plate. She had the sleek frame of a supermodel, but not the annoying eating habits. He waved his fork at her plate. “You must work out.” She dabbed her lips with her napkin and dropped it back in her lap. “I swim and I run. Of course, being tall helps.”

  “You ever play soccer?”

  “When I was a little girl, but I have to admit my favorite part of the game was the snack afterward.”

  “What position did you play?”

  “Believe it or not, I played goalie. I just loved being the one to stop those balls from going into the net, such a feeling of power.”

  “I can see that, but it’s no more powerful than taking a ball down the pitch or intercepting it on a cross and booting it into the net. Or taking a corner kick and curling it around a wall of players for a goal.”

  He could almost hear the roar of the crowd in his head.

  A clink of silverware brought him back to reality. Jessica shoved her plate aside and planted her elbows on the table, her chin buried in the palms of her hands. “You really love the game, don’t you?”

  Did he? He used to when it had been easy for him.

  When he could outmaneuver anyone on the pitch. When he could jump higher, run faster, and score more goals. Now insecurities and doubts plagued him. The failure Dad had always predicted lurked just around the corner. He shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

  Jessica’s mouth dropped open. Had he gone too far?

  Did she find his remark callous, ungrateful, mercenary? Her gaze locked onto something over his right shoulder, and he shifted in his seat to see what had commanded her startled attention. A group of skinny, grungy, tattooed men, wearing what looked suspiciously like black eyeliner, huddled together at a table.

  Simon turned back to Jessica, who had at least closed her mouth, but was now burying her head in her open handbag, rummaging for something. He said, “Looks like a rock band.”

  Her head bobbed up and down, her cheeks sporting two pink splotches. “It is.”

  “Do you know who they are?”

  “Lot 49.”

  He swiveled his head back in the direction of the rambunctious table of rockers. “I’ve heard of them, but I don’t think they’re as popular in Europe as they are here.” One of the band members glanced up, recognition dawning on his face. Looks like Lot 49 knew him too, or at least one of them did.

  The man pushed out of his chair and ambled to their table, sweeping his long black hair out of his eyes. He passed Simon and drew up next to Jessica. “How are you, Jess?”

  Now it was Simon’s turn to gape. How’d his gofer know a member of Lot 49?

  Jessica emerged from her handbag, clutching a wad of bills, a tight smile on her lush lips. “Hey, Jimmy.

  How’s it going?”

  “Great, we have a concert in Seattle this weekend, flying up tonight. The new CD came out last month.

  Have you heard it?”

  She tossed the money on the table and scooted back her chair, the scraping noise sending a chill up Simon’s spine.

  “I’ve heard a few songs. Sounds good. We have to get going.”

  Jimmy stuck his hand out to Simon. “I’m Jimmy Doe.

  You’re that soccer player, aren’t you?” Simon blew out a breath. At least he had almost as much name recognition as his gofer. He gripped the rocker’s hand and squeezed hard. “Yeah, good to meet you.”

  When the handshake ended, Jimmy flexed his fingers and turned to Jessica. “What...?”

  But Jessica swept his words away with her swinging ponytail. She called over her shoulder, “Good to see you again, Jimmy. Hope it’s a sellout in Seattle.” Jimmy’s brows drew together as he stared after her.

  Simon lifted a shoulder and weaved his way through the tables on the patio to follow Jessica’s fast disappearing form. He caught up with her outside the hotel, making a beeline for the sidewalk, obviously forgetting her comment about the insanity of walking in L.A. He grabbed her arm swinging agitatedly by her side.

  “Hold on. How do you know Jimmy Doe from Lot 49?” She stopped and dragged in a deep breath. “He’s my ex-husband.” Chapter Three

  Simon’s lips twitched into a smile. “You were married to Jimmy Doe?”

  “Yep.” She kept walking, trying to put as much space as possible between herself and Jimmy’s big mouth.

  “I can see why you kept your maiden name. Jessica Doe sounds like a cartoon character.”

  “Ha ha. That’s not Jimmy’s real last name anyway.” She didn’t want to get into her complicated name situation.

  “No, really? How’d you meet him?” Simon’s long stride matched hers easily, their shoulders occasionally bumping.

  “I met him at a club where Lot 49 had a gig.” She neglected to mention that the club in question was The House of Blues, and they’d met about a year after Lot 49’s debut CD set the charts on fire and catapulted them to the top of MTV’s play list. Simon didn’t need to know those pesky details.

  “How long did the marriage last?”

  “Not long.” No wonder he made millions playing soccer.

  His persistence had to be a real asset on the field, but right now she found it a pain in the ass.

  “Long enough to enjoy his fame and fortune?” He stopped and grabbed her hand, turning her around to face him. “Is that how you got us into all those places last night?

  It didn’t have anything to do with me?” She swallowed. For a minute there she thought he was accusing her of being a gold-digger, a hanger-on, but his concern was all about his own celebrity status, not hers. Her association with Jimmy partly explained why all doors had opened to them last night. Simon didn’t need to know the other part.

  She opened her mouth to admit that yes indeed, they had Jimmy to thank for their warm reception at all the trendiest spots in L.A., but the dark cloud edging across Simon’s blue eyes stopped her. She didn’t understand why she felt such a powerful need to protect this cocky male athlete with the body of a god, but she did. His eyes revealed more than his shallow jock exterior let on, plucking an answering chord in her chest.

  “Partly Jimmy, partly you.” She squeezed the large, warm hand that still held hers. You can’t expect all those club owners and their bouncers to be soccer fans, can you?” His eyes narrowed, but his kissable lips turned up at the corners. She hadn’t exactly fool him, but at least he’d rewarded her with that smile for trying. And she’d do just about anything to see that smile.

  He seemed satisfied enough with her answer to stop asking questions. She exhaled.

  She didn’t want to admit to Simon that she not only had connections to the rock world but the sports world as well.

  She didn’t want to clue him in that Dad owned not one, but two football teams and a whole pile of money, and Mom had commanded magazine covers as a supermodel in the seventies.

  She didn’t want that knowing look to come into his eyes, the look that dismissed her as a person of worth, reducing her to the sum of her parents’ influence and money.

  She’d seen that look all too often in the eyes of friends and strangers alike. Noticed it when she’s won her first riding championship at the age of seven, and then again and again as she’d placed first in all those child beauty pageants. She’d seen it when she attended that exclusive, but academically stringent, private school, and it lurked in the eyes of her college roommates at Yale.

  That look implied she owed all her ribbons, trop
hies, good grades, and success to her parents. Not this time.

  She’d landed the job with Chase Sports Management all on her own...well almost. A friend of a friend worked there as an admin assistant and mentioned that Evan wanted to hire someone to book travel arrangements for his clients. She’d already traveled the world, knew airports, hotels, and the best restaurants. The job fit her like a custom Gucci glove.

  Simon tugged on her hand. “I know you wanted to escape your ex-husband as soon as possible, but can we slow down the pace and enjoy the walk?” Why did he still have possession of her hand? She tried to pull it back to the safety of her solitary pocket, but he held fast, even entwining his fingers with hers. She slowed her steps just so he wouldn’t pull her arm from its socket, but secretly she enjoyed the comfort of his fingers laced snugly with her own.

  “Why’d you run away so fast? Did the marriage end badly?”

  The marriage ended quickly and badly, but that’s not why she’d wanted to avoid Jimmy. She didn’t want him to reveal her true identity to Simon. Simon believed her to be a nobody, a gofer, and she wanted to extend his belief as long as possible. Last night it had been easy. With the loud music, flowing booze, and frantic atmosphere, nobody wasted much time on conversation.

  She glanced at Simon’s profile, the strong chin, the slightly aquiline nose. Did he care about her problems?

  She answered, “The marriage lasted less than a year. I made a big mistake.”

  She’d met Jimmy after the show and flew to Vegas with him and the band that night. They got married the following weekend. And she did it all just to piss off her parents. It sounded so juvenile now, and she didn’t want to reveal her pettiness to Simon.

  “It happens.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “No.”

  That sounded like a closed subject, but then why should he get married? She’d always found it strange that sports stars – and rock stars – bothered to get married when they had women throwing themselves at their feet all the time.

  Might as well just enjoy the fruits of their labor until they couldn’t labor any more.

  Swinging her hand, he grinned. “I thought you said nobody walked in L.A.? I can’t understand that. It’s a beautiful day for a walk.”

  She smiled and swung his hand right back, the pressure of his fingers erasing the uncomfortable memories of a misspent youth. “It is a beautiful day for a walk.”

  ***

  Jessica folded the last of the towels and layered them on the shelf of the cedar closet in the hallway. She peeked through a crack in the double doors of Simon’s master suite, her breath hitching in her throat at the display of tawny muscles on Simon’s back as he stretched across the bed fast asleep. Her fingers itched to explore all the hard planes and ridges of his body. Her mouth watered at the prospect of tasting the golden honey of his smooth skin.

  Blinking her eyes, she shook her head. Shit, the man had her drooling like some perverted peeping Tom. She clicked the door shut and tip-toed down the stairs, her knees still shaking from that pesky lust pumping through her veins at the sight of him.

  Before Simon had crashed, he’d helped her compile several lists of necessities, including food, toiletries, CDs, DVDs, and staffing needs. Her pen had paused when he’d mentioned the condoms, but she wrote it down with all the rest. If she had her way, he wouldn’t need those condoms any time soon, for anyone soon.

  Although her mission to keep Simon under wraps until his practices started had encountered a slight speed bump last night, she had everything back under control. And his low profile would not include women. Top athletes probably shouldn’t have sex while in training anyway. It just might rob them of their strength. Maybe the Elizabethans had it right.

  Every orgasm resulted in a small death, la petit mort, until you orgasmed to death. She knew her English lit degree from Yale would come in handy one day.

  She shoved the lists in her purse and plucked her phone from the outside pocket as the elevator opened onto the lobby. She called the agency and asked for Evan’s secretary, Alicia Hamilton.

  “Did everything go okay yesterday, Jessica? Did Simon Bosford arrive safe and sound? I thought you’d call when you picked him up and got him settled.” Since she’d just gotten him settled, she was doing exactly that. “His flight came in a little late, but otherwise everything’s fine. He’s sleeping right now. Jet lag.” And a long night of partying.

  “That’s great. I’ll let Evan know.”

  “Evan? I thought he was incommunicado.” Jessica’s heart thumped against her ribcage, a wedge of guilt lodged in her throat.

  Alicia snorted. “You should know by now, he’s never completely out of the loop, and Kauai’s not the end of the Earth. In fact, he’s combining business with pleasure. He’s meeting with a running back from the University of Hawaii –

  a hot property.”

  “That’s just great. I called to let you know Simon’s okay with this place for now, and he wants someone to come in three times a week to clean. If that person can cook too, that’s even better, but he likes to go out to eat a lot. He also likes to drive and wants his own car.” She ticked off several more instructions for Alicia to handle.

  “Thanks, I got it, and remember...keep the man out of trouble at least until Evan gets back. I understand Simon likes to live it up, so keep him home by any means necessary.”

  By any means necessary? Jessica ended the call and slipped her phone back in her purse. Maybe he’d need those condoms after all.

  ***

  For the second time that day, Simon woke up in a tangle of blue satin sheets, but this time he woke up alone.

  Once he’d satisfied Jessica by giving her lists of items he couldn’t live without, he’d fallen into a dead sleep.

  He rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head. She’d tried to protect him this morning by pretending his fame had gotten them into those exclusive clubs instead of her status as Jimmy Doe’s ex-wife. What the hell had she seen in that guy anyway? Must’ve been the excitement and later the celebrity and money. Couldn’t have been the black eyeliner.

  Like most women, Jessica probably chose men based on what they could give her – thrills, chills, and expensive, sexy red dresses. And why not? As long as she didn’t claim to have any deeper feelings, like Fiona claimed to have for him right before she dumped him. He just wanted the unvarnished truth upfront.

  He slid out of bed, padded to the closet, and swung the door open. The red dress swayed on its hanger, as if still draping Jessica’s body. He crept into the closet and buried his face in the skirt, inhaling the floral scent that lingered in the soft folds. God, she outdid the supermodels he frequently dated with her willowy frame, high cheekbones, and wide-set green eyes. And those lips.

  “Don’t you own pajamas?”

  He spun around. Jessica lounged against the doorjamb, arms folded. Her presence in a pair of tight jeans and high-heeled black boots, especially after he’d just been thinking about her lips, elicited an immediate response from him, and he looked around wildly for some coverage. He grabbed the hanger with the dress and pulled it in front of him.

  “It’s the right length, but red just isn’t your color.” She tilted her head, a swath of dark hair falling over one shoulder.

  Clutching the silky material to his chest, he backed up to the chair where he’d laid out some clothes, his erection spearing the soft fabric. “Did you get everything?”

  “Yeah, I got everything. Most of it’s being delivered, but I could use some help with the groceries down in my car, after you get some clothes on, of course.”

  “I’ll be right with you.” He swept the clothes off the chair, hobbled to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind him. If he had some old matron buying him condoms he wouldn’t be having these problems.

  After he showered, tamed his cock, and brushed his teeth, he peered out the bathroom door. She’d left the bedroom doors wide open, and loud music and s
inging wafted up the staircase. She’d certainly made herself right at home, but he preferred her downstairs rather than upstairs where she could witness just how much she affected him.

  He yanked his clothes on without his usual attention to detail and joined her in the kitchen. Country music blared from his speakers, and Jessica crooned along with the lyrics while pulling groceries out of bags lining the countertop. She flattened a bag, folding it along its creases.

  When she spotted him, the singing stopped. “Do you want me to put on something else?”

  He shook his head. “No. I like it. You’re a good singer.” She lifted her shoulders and swung the refrigerator door open. “I took voice lessons for years.” Voice lessons? He’d never heard of anyone taking voice lessons before except singers. Must be an L.A. thing.

  He grabbed a banana and snapped back the peel. “Did you grow up in L.A.?”

  Before she ducked into the fridge, her face tightened.

  She answered in a muffled voice, “Yeah.” Was that a personal question? “That must’ve been great – the beach, the warm weather. Did you play sports besides your snack-eating days in soccer?”

  “A little and I rode horses a lot. When I wasn’t riding, I was busy with singing lessons and dancing lessons and elocution lessons.”

  He knew all about elocution lessons, but why would a California girl with a universal accent need them? “Sounds like you had a lot of lessons. What for?” She finally pulled her head out of the fridge, clutching two cartons of yogurt in white-knuckled fists. If she squeezed any harder, she’d pop the lids off. “I had to be perfect for those kiddie beauty pageants.” His jaw dropped. He’d read stories about those pageants and couldn’t believe parents actually put their little girls through that horror. Guess he’d just lost the prize for having the most controlling parent.

  Jessica tilted her chin, her stance wide, daring him to...to what? Ridicule? Criticize? He had no right to do either, and she seemed well adjusted despite whatver childhood torment she’d endured. He grinned. “That must’ve been...interesting.”

  Her shoulders slumping, she laughed and tossed him a yogurt. “I didn’t peg you for being discreet. It sucked. I hated it, and I soon figured out a way to sabotage my chances in the contests by singing poorly, dancing poorly, and saying outrageous things. Once I failed to bring home those pretty tiaras, my parents yanked me out of the pageants. Mission accomplished.”