Playing Dirty (Sydney Smoke Rugby)

by Amy Andrews

  But Val beat him to it.

  “I can explain.”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Valerie.”

  If anything, Griff’s jaw got tighter, and Kyle seriously worried it might shatter.

  “It wasn’t Kyle’s fault. He didn’t know who I was when I went home with him—”

  Griff’s fist smashed down on the desk. “I am not,” he roared, “interested in hearing the nitty-gritty.”

  “Of course you’re not,” she yelled back. “You’ve never been interested in anything to do with me, so why should this be any different?”

  “Valerie, this is neither the time nor the place to—”

  “To what?” she demanded.

  Griff glanced at Kyle, then back at his daughter. “Air family grievances.”

  She snorted and then gave a laugh that sounded almost hysterical to Kyle’s ears. “That would imply we’re actually a family.”

  Griff ignored his daughter. “Whatever’s going on between you two,” he said, his gaze boring into Kyle’s, “it ends now.”

  Kyle didn’t need to be Freud to see how much Griff’s snub had hurt Val and, despite the fact she’d ruthlessly slept with him while concealing her identity, for god knew what reason, he hated to see her hurt.

  “Sir.” Kyle had called Griff Coach since day one, but this seemed like an occasion for sir.

  “Or what?” Val jumped in before Kyle could continue. Two high spots of colour stained her cheeks, and her freckles were more prominent beneath her makeup. “Are you going to ground me?”

  “Or he”—Griff snapped, jabbing a finger in Kyle’s direction—“sits on the bench the rest of the season.”

  Kyle blinked. What? Griff was going to bench him?

  Great. Just great. Perfect.

  “Well that would be a monumentally stupid thing to do, considering his stats and the fact he’s a bloody genius with the ball.”

  At another time her compliment may well have gone to Kyle’s head. It was certainly having an effect on his little head, which hadn’t really calmed down from the pash in the corridor, despite the gravity of the situation.

  It was such a fucking wild card.

  Griff ploughed on, ignoring his daughter and her coaching advice for a second time. “I don’t dictate to you who you can see, Val.”

  “No, that would mean you actually cared.”

  There wasn’t any anger in her words this time, just injury. The weight of them dropped like boulders on Griff’s desk, and the coach shut his eyes briefly. Not even the most obtuse man could miss the thick edge of bitterness and hurt in her voice.

  Kyle’s heart went out to Val. Crap. And he thought his family was fucked up. But he never doubted he was loved. That they cared.

  He felt a little sorry for Griff. He’d learned enough about his coach these last couple of weeks to know that he didn’t do messy, emotional stuff, and Val was bleeding feelings all over his office. Feelings obviously all wrapped up in their complicated father/daughter history.

  Griff continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “I only dictate who you can’t. There are plenty of other men in the world, I’m only asking you to stay away from the few who play professional rugby.”

  “So you can pay as little attention to me as possible? I’ve got news for you, Dad, mission already accomplished.”

  Griff shoved a hand through his mane of wild, tangled hair as if he finger-combed it often. There were red highlights amidst the golden strands. “Oh, you want my attention? You keep yanking this”—He jabbed his finger at Kyle again—“guy’s chain and I’ll have you banned from Henley. How’s that for attention?”

  Kyle felt Val’s gasp all the way down to his toes, and his eyes widened at what he didn’t think was an idle threat. She seemed to crumple for a second or two, her hand pressed to her stomach, her shoulders slumping, and he glanced at her, quickly prepared to pull her to him if she broke down.

  But she recovered before his eyes. The atmosphere in the room shifting from injured to angry to downright ominous in a matter of seconds. Val practically vibrated with rage.

  He could tell she was too pissed off to cry.

  She shook her head and gave a bitter half laugh. “Gee, Dad, if I’d known all it would take for you to care enough to ban me was to fuck”—Kyle winced at the deliberate emphasis on the very deliberate word—“one of your precious players, I would have screwed the whole team a long time ago.”

  She whirled away in a blur of red hair as her cap flew off her head. She didn’t stop to pick it up, she just stormed out without a backward glance, the door crashing behind them.

  The slam went straight through Kyle, who turned back to find Griff staring at the door. “Sir.”

  Griff held up his finger and shook his head, shooting Kyle a look he’d already learned meant shut the fuck up now. Which was probably just as well. He had no idea what to say to the man who was more father right now than coach.

  After long, silent moments, Griff sat down in possibly the world’s most battered chair, his elbows on the desk, his head in his hands. When he raised his eyes, they were bleak and uncompromising. “I need your word that you will stay away from my daughter.”

  Fuck.

  Kyle held his hands out in an appealing gesture. “Look… Coach, I—”

  “Your. Word.”

  Griff was deadly serious. He didn’t lay out the consequences. He didn’t have to. Kyle knew from what Griff wasn’t saying that they would be dire. The man, as evidenced by the fight with his daughter, didn’t pull his punches, didn’t make half-assed threats.

  He sincerely doubted Griff would be able to bench him for a season. The higher-ups, not to mention the fans, would have something to say about rugby’s most exciting new player on the sidelines for the rest of the comp. But a coach could promote or torpedo a player’s career in one big splash or, if he wanted, in a hundred small, quiet, discreet ways.

  Did he think Griff King would lower himself to that? No. But still… Fuck.

  It wasn’t like he and Val had a relationship, anyway. She hadn’t been honest about who she was, or the fact she was crossing a line she obviously knew her father did not want her to cross.

  Had she deliberately used him? Had he been some kind of giant middle finger to her father? It sure as hell felt that way right about now.

  He swallowed as he crossed his fingers behind his back. “You have my word.”

  Chapter Four

  Kyle was certain that death would be preferable to the gruelling session Griff was putting them all through on Monday. The coach was still in a foul mood, and everyone was wearing it, not just Kyle. Which made him even less popular with the guys than he’d been since they’d realised he’d had carnal knowledge of the coach’s daughter.

  Apparently Val was like their kid sister. And that made him a grubby, horndog fifteen-year-old with only one thing on his mind. Which was partially true at the moment, except the thing on his mind was getting this fucking heinous training session over and done with as soon as possible.

  Followed closely by finding Val and demanding a bloody explanation.

  Sure, he’d promised Griff he’d stay away, but it just wasn’t a promise he could keep. Firstly, he needed to know she was okay after the terrible argument with her father, and secondly, he needed to know why she’d slept with him. Had it all just been some act of rebellion, or had there been more?

  He’d been pretty damn steamed as he’d left Griff’s office Saturday night. He couldn’t believe she’d done something so potentially catastrophic for his career in some kind of sick screw you to her father. Especially when he’d thought they’d actually made a connection and that she’d chosen him not because of who he was, but because he’d made her laugh.

  He was calmer now he’d had time to think it all through. Time to remember that the night they’d met had been Val’s birthday. Which meant it was her twin sister’s birthday as well. It was no secret in rugby circles that Val’s twin sister had bee
n run over and killed in the driveway by Griff when she’d been two years old, so Val’s state of mind that night made sense. He could hardly blame her for not making good decisions on a day that might still be difficult for her even twenty-two years later. It was obvious she was as wrapped up—possibly as fucked up—by the King family tragedy as her father.

  And, as such, he was prepared to cut her some slack over it.

  But he still wanted to talk to her. He needed to look her in the eye and ask her if there’d been any malicious intent. Mostly, though, he needed to check she was okay. The argument with her father had been intense, and they’d both said things they probably regretted.

  Except, he still had no idea how to find her. Knowing who she really was helped, but googling her hadn’t turned up anything much that was current, apart from a couple of pictures which looked like they’d been taken at home games. There’d been plenty of older stuff about the accident, which he’d read because he hadn’t been able to stop and because he’d thought maybe he’d get a better insight into Griff and Val if he knew all the gory details.

  He just wished he’d asked more questions of the guys about the coach’s daughter when they’d told him she was off-limits. He hadn’t even asked her name, just made a mental note to keep his dick under control when he eventually met her.

  What a doofus.

  If he’d made more enquires, he might have realised sooner just who he’d slept with two weeks ago.

  And tracked her down earlier.

  And avoided the debacle of Saturday night.

  But he hadn’t.

  He had made a few discreet enquiries of his old teammates and exploited some other rugby contacts, but had drawn a blank as to where she might live or work. Which left him to make less-discreet enquiries around Henley. His teammates were the most obvious source to go to, but they’d already closed ranks where Val was concerned, and even if they hadn’t, he doubted any of them would be in much of a mood to help him after this fucking never-ending training session.

  They were finally granted sweet relief an hour later. Between Griff’s bad mood and the guy’s passive-aggressive bullshit on the field, Kyle was glad it was over.

  Everyone was exhausted and pissed off. At him. But Kyle couldn’t let that bother him. He needed to talk to Val, and that meant tackling things head-on.

  After a shower.

  The heat felt good on Kyle’s aching muscles, and he stood under it for a long time, his head bowed, hot water running down his neck and back as he kicked around ways to approach the subject with his teammates. It was ironic that all these years he’d been working toward this goal of playing for the Sydney Smoke, and now, here he was in their locker room, having just trained with them, and he’d rather be anywhere else.

  He stepped out of the shower and secured a towel around his waist, walking out into the general area and heading for his locker. He noticed Eve, Griff’s PA, was talking to Tanner Stone—the Sydney Smoke captain—over by the door, apparently unconcerned about being amongst a bunch of sweaty half-naked rugby players.

  He nodded at Lincoln Quinn, who was approaching on his way to the showers. Linc didn’t respond other than to shoulder check him as he passed. Kyle’s temper flared, his pulse spiking into the red zone. He was generally hard to rile—growing up with his family had imbued him with the patience of a saint—but he’d had enough today.

  He shoved Linc in the chest. “Back the fuck off, dude.”

  Linc returned the favour, shoving him, too, and getting up in his face, and then the whole team was there, calling for calm and pulling them apart.

  “Knock it off,” Dexter Blake said.

  Kyle could see Eve standing by herself now, frowning at the proceedings from a distance as he allowed John Trimble to pull him away. Ryder Davis had Linc.

  “Dude.” Lincoln glared at Kyle. “You had one rule to remember, and you broke it.”

  Kyle gritted his teeth. “Listen up,” he said as he pulled out of John’s hold. He was addressing Linc, but he meant it for everyone. “I didn’t know she was Griff’s daughter.”

  Linc, freeing himself of Ryder’s hold, quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. “You usually fuck women without finding out their names first?”

  Kyle snorted. Lincoln Quinn may be happily monogamous now, but his reputation as rugby’s biggest manwhore before that was well-known. He’d pit his rep with women against Linc’s any day. “She told me her name was Val. And no, we didn’t get past first names.”

  If she’d said she was Val King, it might have rung bells for Kyle.

  Which was, of course, why she hadn’t.

  “She’d have known who you were, though.” Bodie Webb—or Spidey, as he was called—threw that titbit at him. “Val has an encyclopaedic knowledge where rugby’s concerned. She knows every professional player and their stats in the world.”

  “She knew me, yes.”

  That gave them all pause, as it slowly dawned on the team that their kid sister might not be the innocent party in all this. It was a good opening for Kyle.

  “I don’t suppose any of you have her number or her address or know where she works?” He’d given Griff his word that he’d stay away, and he would.

  After they’d talked.

  Expressions that had been less hostile, sympathetic even a moment ago, closed down like steel traps. He might as well have asked them for their wives and girlfriends’ numbers.

  Dono crossed his massive tribal-tattooed biceps across his chest. “Now why would we tell you that?”

  Kyle held up his hands in a surrender motion as the testosterone levels in the locker room sky rocketed. “I just want to talk to her, that’s all.”

  “If she wanted to talk to you,” Dono said, “you’d be talking.”

  Kyle looked around the circle at all the nodding heads. It was clear none of them were going to hand Val to him on a platter. He glanced across the room to appeal to Eve, but she was just disappearing out the door.

  What now?

  “She was upset when she left Griff’s office on Saturday night. I just want to check on her.”

  “She’s fine,” Tanner said. “Matilda spoke to her already.”

  Matilda was Tanner’s wife. “I’d like to check for myself.”

  “I bet you would, you grubby bastard,” Linc muttered.

  Kyle tensed again, and John grabbed his shoulder in reflex.

  “Val and Griff have a…strained relationship,” Tanner said. “But all of us and the WAGs look out for her. You’ve no need to trouble yourself.”

  Kyle knew from the Centaurs what a tight-knit bunch WAGs often were. With the Smoke this apparently included the coach’s daughter, too. Which was great. But being there for Val when her father upset her wasn’t the same as calling Griff on his bullshit.

  Sometimes it took an outsider to see things as they were. And whatever the reasons for Griff being Griff, he was obviously hurting his daughter, even if it wasn’t his intention. Kyle doubted any of the team had the balls to point that out to their coach.

  Even if somebody should.

  But not right now. There was a time and a place, and this wasn’t it—now he needed to see Val. If he could just bulldoze his way through the biggest cock-blocking exercise he’d ever had the misfortune to be on the wrong end of.

  So much for male solidarity.

  Not that he wanted to see Val to get into her pants again. He’d given Griff his word, and he had no intention of reneging on that part of it.

  Kyle glanced at Val’s band of merry defenders. She obviously inspired loyalty, and he was pleased to know that she had good people around her.

  Even if they were annoying as fuck.

  “I will find out, you know? It’s just a matter of time.”

  Dono cracked his knuckles. “Good luck with that.”

  The message was clear. He wouldn’t be finding out through any of them. Or anyone from the club, probably, given the loyalty to Griff and his displeasure over the now-infamous Sat
urday night incident that had spread like wildfire.

  Kyle sighed. “Fine.” He was too bloody tired for this crap anyway. He supposed if he just waited, he’d come across her socially at some point. But the stricken look on her face Saturday night as she’d stormed out of the office had played on repeat through his head, and he wanted to see with his own two eyes that she was okay.

  He was, after all, responsible for the kiss that had landed them both in the shit.

  And he’d never been the patient sort.

  Eve was his next port of call. He didn’t think he’d get anywhere. She’d apparently been with Griff for as long as he’d been coaching at the Smoke, and, as such, there was absolutely no doubt where her loyalties lay. But he was going to throw himself on her mercy anyway.

  And if that failed, he could hire a private detective. What was the point of having money if you didn’t spend it?

  Eve looked up from her computer when Kyle knocked quietly on her door. She eyed him warily but smiled and said, “Hey, Kyle. Is there something you needed?”

  Oh yeah. He needed, all right.

  “Can I come in?”

  She sighed as if she knew what was coming but nodded, indicating for him to take the chair on the other side of the desk. Kyle sat, noting the framed picture of Liam, her sixteen-year-old son who had Down Syndrome, a water bottle in both hands. It’d had been taken at a game, with Liam in full Sydney Smoke garb. He was the Smoke’s water boy for home games.

  “You want me to tell you how to get in touch with Valerie?”

  Kyle appreciated that Eve got straight to the point. From his experience with her so far, it was very much her personality. Straight-talking and efficient, Eve took care of all Griff’s stuff, leaving him free to do what he did best—coach. She was in her early forties, about the same age as Griff, with streaks of gray in the dark hair she always wore pulled back in a scrunchie.

  “I know it probably puts you in an awkward position.”

  She gave a half laugh, her face lighting up, suddenly looking and sounding about ten years younger. “You could say that.”