First Time Lucky?

by Natalie Anderson

  ‘You had your chance,’ she said with a smugness that suggested she could read his mind.

  ‘You’d go off with just anyone?’ he asked snarkily.

  ‘Not just anyone. I’m sizing them up. You know them well, got any recommendations for me?’

  ‘Not funny.’

  It really wasn’t. But she chuckled anyway.

  ‘Not one of those guys would be any good,’ he said firmly. Would it be bad if he told her they all had STDs? Yeah, defamatory and enough to cost him his job.

  ‘None as good as you, right?’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, Gabe, ever heard of the dog in the manger?’

  ‘I just think you’re making a mistake.’ Massive mistake. And the idea of it was killing him.

  ‘No, I’m getting on with my life. There are lots of things I want to do. This is just one of them.’

  ‘Well, do some other things first.’ He thought half desperately. ‘Go swim with dolphins or something—wouldn’t that be good?’

  She put on a thoughtful pose and her eyes went bluer than that fantasy ocean he wanted her to dive into—alone. ‘I guess that would be good. I’ll add it to my list. But right now I’m enjoying flirting.’

  He put his hand on her arm to stop her, couldn’t resist that smallest touch. ‘Some of these boys don’t know how to do slow,’ he warned.

  She turned back to face him, her smile slaying all his good intentions. ‘Who said anything about slow?’

  She pulled her arm free and sauntered back to the group of girls and their hangers on, and Gabe was left with his jaw hanging mid-air. Yeah, he couldn’t leave. Just stood, ostensibly laughing at some of the jokes with the guys, but, really, watching her like a damn hawk and mad with himself for obsessing. It was only because he’d put her out of bounds that he wanted her so much, right?

  The boys started to go, keen to get an early night. But those two talking to her were still here. Then she moved. So, naturally, Gabe did too.

  ‘You’re leaving?’ He caught up to her as she headed towards the corridor.

  ‘Yes, I’m leaving,’ she confirmed sarcastically.

  ‘Alone?’ Oh, he was so enthralled he had to ask more to be sure. It was pathetic.

  ‘Gabe, it’s the night before the first big game of the season. You really think any of those boys are going to go for an up-all-nighter with me now?’

  Actually he wouldn’t blame any of those boys for picking pleasure with her over being sensible the night before the season starter. But it seemed they were more professional than he was. Had more self-control. He glanced back at the group of them and saw several watching her. Yeah, she was the new crush. He walked out with her, happy to let them see it. If they thought he had a claim, that was fine by him. He didn’t give a damn about maintaining his no-dating-in-the-stadium distance this second.

  He walked with her to the car park, watched when she stopped and pulled a key from her pocket. ‘This is your car?’

  Roxie paused—he was all wide-eyed and animated as he took in the gleaming metal—and she couldn’t hold back her smile any more. ‘Sure is.’

  He blinked a couple of times before running a hand over the bonnet. ‘Wouldn’t have expected that.’ Only then he frowned. ‘But doesn’t one of your Bolly bottles have D on it? For driver’s …’ His gaze narrowed and he whirled towards her. ‘Show me your licence.’

  ‘Only when you show me your badge, officer,’ she drawled, finding such pleasure in mocking him. She was in way too good a mood because he hadn’t wanted her to flirt with those others. That in fact he’d followed her out and hadn’t seemed to care that everyone had watched him do it.

  ‘You’re driving illegally.’ He looked amazed and suddenly laughed. ‘I can’t believe that Miss Goody Two-Shoes is driving illegally.’

  She steeled herself to resist her melt reaction to his laughter. ‘Why do you think I’m Miss Goody Two-Shoes?’

  ‘Oh, come on.’ He met her gaze with that warm humour glinting in his own. ‘You’re totally good. You told me how good.’

  She sighed and exaggeratedly rolled her eyes. ‘I really don’t think virginity ought to have anything to do with whether a girl is “good” or not. You need to get over your outdated stereotypes of women.’

  His grin went totally wicked. ‘You’re right. But you dare take me to task about stereotypes? What about your new hairdo, your fake breasts, your sudden decision to shimmy and shake it all in public? Truth is you live in a hideout and garden instead of partying. You’re Roxanna not Foxy Roxie, you’re playing at being a sophisticated vamp go-go dancer. Question is why?’

  Foxy Roxie? Oh, she wished. ‘I’m not playing at anything. What do you think I am, some toddler who’s got into her mother’s make-up drawer? So you saw me before I had my hair done, so what? I’m capable of more bad than you can ever imagine.’ And she was thinking such bad thoughts this second. And just because she’d never acted on them much in the past, didn’t mean she wouldn’t in the future—or now.

  The glint of humour got lost in the brilliant blackness of his eyes. ‘Actually I can imagine.’ His voice dropped. ‘Believe me, I can.’

  She turned her back on him and his damn flip-flop, flirt-or-not attitude. Just to breathe for a second. But he took the step right up to her car, right beside her, so close she couldn’t actually open the door.

  ‘So if you’re capable of all that bad,’ he muttered low in her ear, ‘why didn’t you have sex with your boyfriend in the back seat of this baby?’

  Burning from the inside out, she gave his shoulder a shove—but he didn’t move. ‘Because it would have been disrespectful,’ she answered honestly—and breathlessly.

  He spun, leaning back on the door, and getting his face right in hers. ‘No more disrespectful than driving round without a licence. How come the cops have never pulled you over?’

  She shrugged, battling the urge to lean in the inch that would bring her mouth into contact with his. ‘It’s a vintage car in mint condition. I think they assume that the dame behind the wheel cares for the car way too much to be doing anything illegal. I always drive carefully.’

  ‘It must be heavy to steer,’ he said almost absently, his gaze not releasing hers. ‘Who taught you to drive?’

  ‘My grandfather. It was his pride and joy and I respected him, so, no, I wasn’t going to get spunk stains on the leather.’ She’d never have done that to her grandparents. Especially not when her mother had disappointed them with the whole ‘baby out of wedlock and left them to hold it’ thing.

  His smile deepened at her crude reference. ‘So why haven’t you got the licence?’

  ‘I haven’t had the opportunity.’

  He looked sceptical. ‘How can you not have had the opportunity?’

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ she fudged. ‘Besides, L-plates would ruin the look of the car.’

  She’d needed to be able to drive at any time—to get to the urgent pharmacy or wherever when her grandfather’s meds ran out. Sure, she could have done it in the last few months, but, yeah, there was that one bit of her that wanted to stick it to the authorities. The institutions that had abandoned her and her family. They’d been left alone to deal with everything. There’d been no support structures. A social-worker visit a long time ago. No follow up. Because by then she was no longer a child—she’d just turned seventeen, her grandmother had just died and left her the sole carer for her grandfather at the beginning of what ended up a long illness. The time she’d needed someone—anyone—to help, there’d been no one.

  ‘You have to get your licence. You can’t keep driving without it.’

  Who was the Goody Two-Shoes now? Struck her that Gabe had more of a conservative element than anyone had guessed. ‘I’m working on it.’

  ‘Getting the celebratory Bolly isn’t exactly working on it.’ He eyeballed her and looked dead serious. ‘Give me the keys.’

  She sighed dramatically, covering the hiccup in her heartbeat. ‘Who do you think you are?’

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nbsp; Somehow he broadened his position, blocking her from the car door. ‘Give me the keys or I’ll call the cops and dob you in.’

  She gasped at the unmistakable menace in his tone. ‘You wouldn’t be such a nark.’

  ‘Try me.’

  She curled her fingers round the keys so hard they marked her skin.

  He just waited, his hand outstretched. ‘Give.’

  Her nostrils flared as she smacked the keys down hard on his upturned palm.

  He straightened and spun, unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat with a wicked grin on his face as he unwound the window to talk to her. ‘I’ve always wanted to drive one of these. Can I drive home?’

  She glared at him looking so at home in her 1954 Mark 1 Zephyr with its powder-blue base and gleaming chrome. No way was he driving her baby. ‘What about your own car?’ It was one of those sporty convertible things that cost an absolute fortune. Parked only a few spots away from hers, it was too flash for daylight.

  He reached into his pocket and threw his keys at her. ‘You drive it.’

  She was so shocked she failed to catch them. ‘No way.’ She picked the keys from the ground, balled her fists and stuck them on her hips.

  ‘Why not?’ He laughed, annoyingly. And, yes, reheating those parts that always leapt to life in his presence. The melt was almost impossible to prevent now.

  ‘Because it’s worth eighty times what mine is,’ she fumed, trying to stay mad with him, trying not to like him all the more for teasing her so hard. ‘I drive that and you’re not insured. I can’t afford any bill to fix a dent in your baby.’

  He leaned back in the seat, a smug expression all over. ‘Goody Two-Shoes.’

  ‘Fine, so what if I am?’

  ‘You stay that way.’ His eyes flashed as he got out of the car and handed her keys back to her. ‘You know, you really should get your licence,’ he said condescendingly. ‘You’re not covered by insurance without it. One day you’ll get caught and then you’ll get done. You don’t want a conviction to ruin your chances of getting an entry visa into the US or wherever it is you want to go travelling to, do you?’

  She frowned, not pleased by that idea. ‘Could that happen?’

  He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Maybe.’ He held the door for her, way too close again as she took up position in the driver’s seat. ‘Guess you’d better drive carefully …’ He trailed off and then dipped down to murmur slyly, ‘Unless you want me to drive you?’

  Oh, now there was no holding back on the flirt of it. Not when he couldn’t help himself either. She turned her head and peered up at him, fluttering her lashes. ‘Gabe, you know I want you to drive,’ she cooed. ‘Just not my car.’

  He chuckled as he shut the door, then reached through the window to gently brush her jaw with his knuckles. ‘Keep working on the sass, I’m sure one day you’ll graduate to fully frisky vixen.’

  She glared at him and started the engine. ‘Better stand back, the steering on this beast can be tricky sometimes, wouldn’t want to run over your toes.’

  He followed her home, making her so hot and bothered she missed a couple of gear changes. A glance in her rear-view mirror showed the flash of his smile in the car too close behind hers. She turned into her place, got out to drag open the heavy old garage door, then parked her car inside.

  He’d parked on the street, so she left the garage door open for him. He walked in and shut it with annoying ease. Then he walked to where she was trying to straighten the blue tarpaulin that barely covered the towers of cardboard boxes she’d stacked along the back wall.

  ‘You have so much stuff,’ he commented as she turned towards him.

  ‘Yeah, but at least it’s all sorted now.’ She glanced back at the boxes with displeasure. ‘I’m not sure what to do with it.’

  ‘You don’t want to keep it?’

  ‘Not all of it. But if I let it go, then it’s gone for good.’ All the memories, the stories, their lives. She’d been through every inch and not found the answers she wanted. ‘Same with the furniture.’ She sighed and walked to the small door that led out to the garden. ‘I got rid of a few things, but you’ve seen the rest all jammed in up there.’ And she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it.

  ‘There’s no one else who might want some of it?’ he asked as he followed her.

  ‘No. My mother was an only child. So was I.’ No aunts and uncles, no cousins. She was the only one left in her little family.

  ‘What about your father?’

  Roxie hardened her heart enough to be able to answer lightly. ‘I don’t know anything about him.’

  ‘Not even his name?’ he joked.

  But she couldn’t do more than answer baldly then. ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’ He cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at her. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Now she felt sorry for making him feel awkward. She shouldn’t have said anything but she felt as if she had to explain more now—to ease over the moment. ‘There aren’t any records. No clues in any of those boxes. Naturally no bureaucratic department is able to help either.’ She forced a smile. They never seemed to be able to help her.

  He met her eyes and half smiled back. ‘So this was your mum’s house?’

  ‘No, she lived in the UK. I was raised by my grandparents. This is their house.’

  ‘And they left it to you?’

  She nodded.

  ‘When?’

  Oh, man, hadn’t they covered enough already? He didn’t know it but he was dragging the conversation to even boggier ground. But she maintained her smile and quickly recited the facts. ‘My grandmother died when I was sixteen. My grandfather died just over a year ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He turned slightly away and looked at the beautiful house, which was good because holding her smile was causing mouth ache. ‘Where’s your mum now?’

  Roxie closed her eyes for a split second. ‘She died when I was eight.’

  ‘Man,’ he muttered softly. ‘That’s rough.’

  Roxie shrugged and downplayed it. ‘She lived overseas. I grew up with my grandparents so I didn’t know her that well. I’ve lived here all my life.’

  Long ago she had mourned for what could have been, as a kid she’d been filled with the idealistic hope that her mother would one day return to her and would answer all her deep-held questions. But that hadn’t happened and any chance of getting those answers had been buried with the last of her family. She’d spent the year sorting through papers, sorting through those feelings. Now she’d put them all into boxes and sealed them away.

  She glanced at him and saw the one thing she’d never seen from anyone else. The one thing she didn’t want to see from him.

  ‘I don’t need sympathy, Gabe,’ she said, annoyed by it. ‘A year or so ago, it would have been nice.’ And she couldn’t help throwing him the challenge that one last time. ‘What I need now is some fun and adventure. It’s been a long time coming.’ There was no soft coo, or coy look this time, she spoke with hard, raw honesty.

  ‘I don’t think diving off the deep end is the way to go,’ he answered with clipped finality.

  Roxie couldn’t believe it—so the flirt of mere minutes ago had just been that? He was still denying this? So much for him being the ultimate slayer. He’d come over all old-school gallant because of that one stupid word—virgin. She had no idea how he’d got that playboy reputation; it truly was misplaced. And she was mortified because she’d thrown herself so hard at him.

  ‘You don’t think I can handle it? I’ve handled more than you can ever imagine.’ But she sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the fine details of her sob story to gain points like some try-hard on a reality TV talent show. She was mad with herself for saying the bit she had already. Sympathy really wasn’t what she wanted.

  He looked at her too intently for another too long moment, his stance rigid. ‘I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.’ His parting words came over his shoulder as he strode away. ‘Dance hard.�
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  CHAPTER FIVE

  ROXIE pulled on her costume, engulfed by embarrassment. Gabe was avoiding her. She’d seen him duck his head back from the window when she’d been out in the garden this morning and he’d immediately zipped the other way when he’d seen her down the corridor at the stadium as she’d arrived half an hour before. So, yeah, she’d made a huge mistake. He wasn’t interested at all—had merely been flirting for amusement. And now he knew some of her history he was probably afraid she was all fragile and about to go crazy like his ex.

  ‘Almost ready?’ Chelsea asked with a bouncy flick of her hair.

  Roxie nodded and bent to smooth her outfit so she could hide her face. Yep, she should have paid closer attention to Chelsea’s warning. If it weren’t for the fact that she didn’t have her funds together yet, she’d be on the next plane.

  And now there was this. Her first night dancing as a Silver Blade. She stared at her reflection, trying to tell herself that if she didn’t recognise herself, no one else would, and therefore it wouldn’t matter if she made a total dork of herself on the pitch. Only she was terrified—all her confidence and self-belief sucked away. What did she think she was doing? She was going to make a total fool of herself. She didn’t have the experience or the training for this. And as she frowned at the mirror she realised she couldn’t remember the start of their first routine. She’d gone totally blank. She tried to breathe but she needed fresh air—not the clouds of hairspray in the Blades’ change room. The fumes were stinging her eyes.

  Gabe was almost ready for the game. He’d strapped a couple of players’ knees for extra support, had his kit ready for sideline duty. But his head was somewhere else altogether—repeatedly banging on the brick wall of desire. He was out of his mind for that provocative, beautiful woman so out of bounds. He went for a walk, determined to claw back the necessary focus. Striding along the corridor, he almost missed the shadow lurking at the back of a remote stairwell. He did a double take, but his body recognised her immediately. ‘Roxie? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Nothing. Having a moment. Go away.’ The last of her breathless comments rose. Kind of like a question but more like hysteria.