by Melody Anne
He walked to the penalty spot, waving to the fans and hoping they didn’t notice he was practically wobbling. The fierce ache in his knee was worth it, though. Winning the endurance race was a huge ego boost—even he was surprised that he still had it in him to beat the younger guys. Lainey nearly kicked his butt, though. The only thing that kept him a step ahead for those thirty laps was the knowledge that she’d have to stare at his ass the entire time.
He placed the ball on the white chalk circle and fastidiously rotated it, taking in the wind and weather. He visualized slotting the ball into the bottom right corner as he backed up exactly ten paces, never making eye contact with the Falcons’ goalie, lest he give anything away. As a defenseman, it’d been many years since he’d taken a penalty shot, but his aim was sure. He took a deep breath and prepared to kick.
“Hey, Havelak! You forgot your shirt!”
Gabe looked over his shoulder to see Lainey Lukas pulling off her jersey and tossing it at his feet.
“You can borrow mine,” she added while her teammates laughed.
Gabe’s jaw nearly dropped. She was modestly covered by a black sports bra, but the woman had a freakin’ eight-pack. Her body was long, lean, and graceful, like a perfect work of art. Concentrate, man. He tore his eyes from her and refocused on the ball. He ran toward it and at the last minute flicked his eyes toward the net. Instead of seeing Dunkers in her fluorescent yellow keeper’s jersey, the image of a half-naked Lukas flashed in front of him. His right instep connected with the ball, sending it hurtling forward.
Right into Lynn’s hands.
The keeper hadn’t even needed to move a foot. Gabe groaned and rubbed a hand through his hair as the announcer bemoaned his pathetic effort. He walked back to the edge of the eighteen-yard box where the rest of his eliminated teammates were waiting. Adding to his shame, he had to walk right past Lukas, who had recovered her shirt.
“Better luck next time, Havelak,” Lainey said with a smirk.
“That mean you’re going to take off the sports bra next time?” he shot back with his dirtiest smile.
Her smirk contorted to a snarl, which made Gabe feel a little better about the whole situation. And, hey, at least he could take a break now. After a bunch of supportive pats on the back from his teammates, he flopped onto the grass to watch Alyssa Adeyemi, one of the Falcons’ center midfielders, prepare for her shot. She drove the ball low to the right. Sheridan launched in the same direction, his fingertips barely reaching the ball and redirecting it wide of the post. Gabe breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t the only one eliminated in the first round. The rules of the penalty-shot portion of the skills competition had been set up differently from a shoot-out in a regular game. Rather than declaring a winning team, the shoot-out would continue in a sudden death until an individual victor was declared. He clapped for Alyssa and for Joe and hooted as Zazu was called to the spot. Since this was the last competition of the day, Gabe decided to relax and enjoy the proceedings as a spectator. He loosened his laces and leaned back on his elbows.
Over the next forty minutes, the shooters were whittled down to two: Lainey and the Surge’s left forward, Aiden Green. Tension ratcheted higher with each shot. Green’s powerhouse shot, which had earlier earned him a victory in the most powerful kick competition, was wild but unstoppable. Lukas was no slouch either in the power department, but it was her impeccable aim that made it impossible for Sheridan to get a hand on the ball, even when he guessed the right direction.
“Whoa. She’s really good, huh, Gabe?” Johnny said, playing with a blade of grass. “How much do you think she practiced to be able to do that?” he added when Lainey slotted another ball into the top left corner of the net.
“Don’t know. I’ve never known anyone with aim like that before.” Lukas was his opponent, but damn if she didn’t make him and everybody else in the stands want to root for her. She had the kind of passion and fire that made everyone around her feel like no dream was unattainable.
“Even in La Liga?” Johnny asked, referring to Gabe’s playing days in Spain’s top league.
“After twenty-eight shots, I’d say that kind of perfection is pretty nuts even by La Liga standards.”
“Damn.”
“Don’t worry about it, kid, Aiden’s holding his own. Hard for anyone to stop a ball going sixty-five miles per hour,” Gabe said, referring to the winning number on the radar gun earlier that afternoon. He stretched out his stiff legs in front of him. The warm sun was starting to fade as the day went on. Gray clouds loomed on the horizon.
“Looks like he might be getting distracted. Check it out, Aiden’s macking on Lukas.” Johnny pointed at the pair, who were smiling and chatting cordially just before Aiden lined up for another shot.
A knot twisted in Gabe’s gut. What could those two possibly have to talk about? Sure, Aiden was good-looking, if you liked California-golden boys with perfect teeth and dreamy blue eyes. He didn’t peg Lainey as the type to fall for a Hollywood smile, but then again, what did he know? Every effort he made to have a civil conversation with her fell flat. Not that that made it okay. For cripes’ sake, Aiden had a pregnant fiancée at home. He didn’t need to be talking to another woman.
Aiden sent another shot ripping into the net. Gabe forced himself to clap for his teammate instead of sulking.
“Hey, Lukas, how many times are you going to aim for the top left corner? It’s getting a little predictable,” Gabe called out as she walked past. “Why not shake things up a little, eh?”
She rewarded his comment with a blank stare but whispered conspiratorially to Aiden as she passed by. Aiden laughed and clapped her on the back before stepping outside the box. She lined up the shot as usual, paused, then removed her shirt once again. The crowd hushed as she rolled up the garment and tied it around her head so that she was blindfolded. Riveted, Gabe watched her rib cage expand as she sucked in a deep breath then took the shot.
“No way,” Johnny whispered in awe.
The ball zipped right into the top left corner, and the fans exploded.
Lainey removed her makeshift blindfold and walked straight to Gabe with absolute confidence her shot went exactly where she intended despite not having witnessed the execution. “Exciting enough for you, Havelak?”
THE LOOK ON HIS face was priceless. Lainey had never imagined she could render Gabe Havelak speechless. It was almost as richly satisfying as winning a real shoot-out. At the same time, a flicker of embarrassment tugged at her gut. She couldn’t believe she’d taken her shirt off in public. Twice! It had taken over a decade for the world to forget about the Brandi Chastain episode, and here she was ripping away the decorum from women’s soccer all over again. How could one man drive Lainey so bonkers that she lost her entire sense of etiquette? Watching him ham it up for the crowds was bad enough, but losing the endurance race to him was what really sent her over the edge.
She turned her attention to Aiden, her new competitor. The awestruck look on his face told her he hadn’t really taken her seriously when she suggested the blindfolds as a way to up the ante.
“Your turn, Green,” she said just as a drop of rain fell on her forehead. Another drop. Suddenly the skies opened up and started pissing all over her.
Grace Mallery, who was emceeing the skills competition, stepped out onto the field with her microphone beneath an oversize pink-polka-dot umbrella carried by one of her lackeys. “Hello, Seattle soccer fans! It looks like we’re out of sun and out of time. The skills-competition judges have officially declared the penalty shoot-out a tie! Ten points will be awarded to Aiden Green and to Lainey Lukas. The total score for today is Falcons twenty, and the Surge forty. Make sure to join us next Monday morning for round two, when the Surge and the Falcons face off in the kitchen.”
What? No fair!
Aiden turned to her with a hand outstretched. “I have to admit I’m relieved. I didn’t think you’d actually go through with the whole blindfold thing. For what it’s wor
th, you would’ve won. But hey, it’s all for fun, right?”
“Right,” Lainey said lamely, unballing her clenched fists to shake his hand. She could push past the burning in her lungs. She could work through the cramps seizing her quads and calf muscles. She could even overlook Gabe’s shenanigans. But having her victory ripped away because of the rain? Lainey didn’t know how to handle that. They were soccer players, dammit! They should be able to deal with a little rain.
“Miss Lukas! Miss Lukas! A word for our viewers?” Grace shrieked, trotting toward her with a cameraman in tow. “How do you feel about losing the penalty shoot-out?”
“I didn’t lose; I just didn’t win,” Lainey said with rising frustration. “Besides, the Falcons won the sprint race.”
“Miss Lukas, everyone knows just how accustomed you are to winning. How did it feel to lose the endurance race to Seattle’s Hometown Hero? Are you worried the Falcons will lose what little fan base they have to the Surge if they come out on the losing end of this Battle of the Sexes?”
It was as if the vile woman was trying to set a new world record for the amount of times she could use the word “lose” in a sentence.
“Oh, look. Fans are waiting for an autograph. Can’t keep them waiting in the rain!” Lainey jogged to the sizable group standing near the hallway to the change rooms.
The rest of the players from both teams eventually joined Lainey by the stands to sign autographs. But after nearly twenty rain-soaked minutes, she lifted her head to realize almost all the players had given up and headed inside to dry off. Everyone but Havelak, who was dutifully signing every bit of paper, forehead, and cleavage thrust his way.
“You know, if you want to get some positive media attention on the Falcons, you have to play the game a little better,” Gabe whispered to her while scrawling a barely legible ink-bleed on a damp scrap of paper.
“The woman has it out for me. There’s no way to play fair with her,” Lainey muttered.
“Look, Grace Mallery is the type who needs to put other women down to make herself feel better. She has a thing for me and sees you as competition. You just need to find a way to make that work in your favor.”
“I see. The poor defenseless woman is simply entranced by your superpowered penis?” Lainey mocked. “Next time she harasses me, I’ll reassure your girlfriend that I’m not interested. You’re all hers.”
“Gabe! Gabe! Can you sign my shirt on behalf of your superpowered penis?” a vixenish fan asked.
“Thanks for that, Lukas,” he said wryly. Lainey peeked at the autograph he gave her. Sure enough, it was signed, “With love, Gabe Havelak Junior,” with a little winky face next to it.
“Anytime.” Lainey rolled her eyes as the fan swooned.
Though soaked to the bone, Lainey worked her way through the dwindling crowd of autograph seekers until every last one was satisfied. She should’ve taken the time to do a proper cooldown after the exertion she put her body through, but she’d made a promise to herself a long time ago that she wouldn’t be responsible for crushing anyone’s dreams. Fans were the whole reason professional sports existed, and they deserved her respect. If they could tolerate the rain, so could she. Besides, she intended to go through an extended yoga regime tonight, followed by a long bubble bath, which would ease her throbbing muscles. A good soak was the one luxury she allowed herself, since it was beneficial for muscle recovery and allowed her the peace and quiet to practice her visualization techniques.
Lainey wandered through the gray archway leading toward the change room, where her teammates were probably already enjoying steaming hot showers and dry towels. The image beckoned to her like the sweetest fantasy.
“Hey, wait up!”
Lainey sighed and turned around. Sure enough, the Hometown Ego was jogging after her.
“Just so you know, Grace Mallery has not, and will never, experience my superpowered penis,” he said solemnly.
“Oh, so she’s just gotten to know your lackluster and unremarkable penis?”
Gabe’s brows creased. He stepped closer, placing his hands on either side of her against the wall, trapping her. “Honey, there is nothing lackluster about my penis. Got it?”
“If I say yes, will you let me go have the shower I’ve been fantasizing about for the last three hours?”
“Interesting,” Gabe said in a hushed voice.
“What?” Lainey asked, exasperated. The man still wasn’t wearing a shirt. Not that she cared. The soccer world was full of men with beautiful chests and chiseled muscles. She would not be distracted by bulging biceps or a treasure trail of hair dipping below his shorts. Or scorching-hot discussions of his penis. She bit her lip, then realized his intense eyes were studying her every twitch. Stop it, Lukas! She straightened her mouth into a hard line and leveled her gaze to his.
“Who knew we had so much in common? I’ve been fantasizing about you in the shower for the last three hours, too.” His smile clearly indicated he was following every errant thought running through her mind.
Lainey pushed his chest to free herself and walked away.
“No need to be a sore loser!” he called after her.
“It’s not over yet! We’re going to kick your butt at the cook-off.” Lainey picked up her pace, hoping Gabe would get the hint and let her walk away with the last word. She hated to admit it, but she was probably going to have to take a cold shower after getting close to him. How could a man smell so good after sweating that much? It was like he was biologically engineered to drive her crazy.
“You sure about that?” He jogged after her.
“Absolutely.” Lainey was a terrible cook, but she was confident Gabe was too lazy to know his way around the kitchen. Even if she had to read every cookbook ever written between now and next week, she was going to win the second round in this inane competition. It was no longer just about proving the Falcons’ worth—this competition was turning personal, and there was no way she was letting Gabe Havelak get the best of her.
“If you’re so sure, then you wouldn’t mind a little side bet?”
“I’m already taking your Porsche once this is over. Are you sure you can handle losing any more of your dignity? It’s not like you have much to begin with.”
“Oh, I’m more than willing to put a little bit of my dignity on the line for the chance to win a kiss from the famous Lainey Lukas.” He trailed a finger down the back of her neck.
Traitorous butterflies fluttered in Lainey’s stomach. “Well, I suppose I can let you entertain that pathetic fantasy for a little while if it means you’ll be cleaning the mud from my cleats.”
“Is that a euphemism for saying you want to get dirty with me?”
Lainey spun around. “Are these sexual overtures your way of avoiding the bet? What’s the matter, Havelak, scared you’ll lose?”
He clenched his jaw and held out his hand. “You’re on.”
She shook Gabe’s hand, and then headed straight to the showers to douse the heat radiating from her skin with a cold blast of water.
8
“Brush your teeth and wipe your face, then say hello to Graham and Grace! It’s The Graham and Grace Good Morning Show. Today, we’re featuring new decor trends for your patio, and a cook-off with Seattle’s very own Hometown Hero Havelak!”
“WITCH,” LAINEY MUTTERED UNDER her breath.
“Hag,” Jaime whispered with equal disdain.
“Big ol’ slut bag,” Lynn added, a touch too loudly.
The three women broke out in laughter. For once, they weren’t hurling the insults at one another. Today, the target of their ridicule was Grace Mallery. They were fifteen minutes into the cook-off competition, and the woman had yet to even acknowledge the Falcons’ presence.
Frank, who was standing next to the floor producer and monitoring his team’s conduct, ran a finger across his throat. Sheesh. You’d think he’d be in a better mood today. Apparently, even the surprise announcement this morning that Channel 7 had agreed to pi
ck up four home games and all play-off matches wasn’t enough to cheer up their perpetually sour PR manager. Sure, it wasn’t a full-season pickup like other teams in the AWSL, but it was enough to get them through the season. Maybe Frank was just worried that their on-air antics would screw up the deal.
“Back to work, ladies,” Lainey muttered. Her teammates grumbled but complied. With her head down and focused on the utensils in front of her, Lainey snuck a few sideways glances at Gabe and his teammates, who were working at the other end of the long, television-perfect kitchen workspace.
“Well, Grace, as I’m sure you and all of Seattle know, my mama—there she is in the front row—hi, Mama! Ma’s an amazing cook and taught me everything I know about the kitchen. She always cooks my favorite dish before a home game. But, of course, she won’t reveal her special cabbage roll recipe to just anyone, so we’ll be making zarzuela de mariscos instead. It’s a dish I learned while playing in Spain.”
The audience clapped for his saccharine ploy. Grace purred and leaned against the counter where Gabe and his crew were working, letting her cleavage spill out even farther. Johnny Darling halted his rapid-fire dicing of a pepper to gape at her and even the laid-back Joe Sheridan snuck a sideways peek. Lainey was a morning person, but it was still too damn early for this.
“So, Gabe,” Grace drawled, “you were saying the Battle of the Sexes between the Surge and the Falcons, sponsored by Channel 7 Sports, is raising money for charity. Tell me more about your heroic efforts to help the poor children of Seattle.”
Lainey fastidiously lined up three different-size knives on the white marble countertop, all the while trying to ignore Gabe’s booming, flirtatious voice. She’d planned to take a cooking class after winning the World Cup. It was number twelve on her list. Right now, her diet consisted mainly of raw vegetables and lean proteins that a sports nutritionist specifically planned out for her. Cooking wasn’t a luxury she could indulge in at this point. After the Falcons won the season, though, all that would change. Lainey would get to savor the delicious aromas filling the air. She might even splurge on a fancy Italian meal, rich with illicit flavors of white pasta and gooey, greasy cheese. After she won a championship.
