Caught Offside

by Liz Crowe

  “And what the fuck am I supposed to do with them there?” He protested while his body began reacting to the thought of being that close to the gorgeous redhead from the MGM lobby. But Jackson had no right to do this. He’d sworn off soccer. All that ridiculous time, energy, money spent, only to get cut down in your prime by a random bullshit event. He turned and started to walk out of Jackson’s office. The hour-long massage had loosened his leg, but his head started to pound at the latest turn of events.

  “You will do this. Not because you owe me or anything. But because I’ve just made it a condition of your stay here.”

  He gripped the doorknob. Yes, he owed his entire life to the Castillo clan. Born to a drug-addicted prostitute and left to languish in a Cuban-American neighborhood welfare hospital, he’d been adopted by the Castillo family, and Jackson in particular had taken an early interest in his natural athletic abilities. He’d paid for early training in the lily-white suburbs, amongst the wealthy soccer moms with their shiny SUVs. The rest could be called soccer history, including this latest ignominious chapter.

  His shoulders slumped and he nodded, not turning back to face the man at the desk. “Okay—but just once. And I am not doing this for her or that kid. I’m doing it for you.”

  “That’s fine. But I assure you that you may have met your match with Gillian Winter.”

  Suddenly curious in spite of his irritation, he turned. Jackson leaned back in his chair, shiny dress shoes propped on the huge walnut expanse of a desk, one eyebrow cocked.

  “Gillian Winter….” He had a sudden flash of realization. She had been the goal keeper for the women’s national team back when he’d still been playing at the under-nineteen level. He’d quickly moved up. But she had left her gold-medal winning team after two brilliant seasons.

  “Christ.” He ran a hand over his face, yanked open the door and stomped out. First, the pressure to stay in Vegas to take over the semi-pro team Jackson had funded with several other successful resort owners. And now this?

  Back in his suite, resentment roiled in his gut at Jackson’s overt manipulation. The man would not give up trying to get him to admit he would never leave soccer. But he had to. He gulped down his second espresso, and made a halfhearted stab at some eggs for protein. His whole life had been regimented by his sport. Without the structure provided by the game he absolutely adored, he slipped, unmoored, aimless, through the days. The pain in his leg matched the excruciating pain in his chest at the thought of never playing again.

  Although claiming to himself he didn’t really care that much, he found pictures of her on the web. He leaned on his elbows and studied the laptop screen. Her intense gaze as she readied herself in goal struck him hard. He knew that feeling. The celebrations with her team, especially the one after the women’s World Cup gold medal victory made him smile. The one at a press conference, when she announced her retirement, pregnant by the coach of the team, showed her as tough, resolved and sad. Her husband had apparently died of a rare heart condition two years ago, keeled over on the sidelines one day while coaching a club team here in Vegas. And I thought my life was fucked up? He frowned and slammed the laptop closed.

  Might as well get it over with. He put on loose-fitting shorts and a T-shirt, flexed his knee a few times, and marveled at how it had healed. He recalled the utter torture of major surgery, a two week twilight of pain killers, four more in early therapy, trying to get the damn thing to bear his weight. The four months in intensive repair work with weights, swimming, yoga and some light running had been working. But his entire body tensed at the thought of donning shin guards and cleats. He simply could not do it. Choosing short socks and indoor turf shoes instead, he grabbed one of the soccer balls lying around his room and made for the front door and taxi stand.

  He’d do this thing. Kick a ball around with that kid. Try not to be a walking hard on in the presence of the woman he now knew equal to his own talent. And be done with it. His thoughts wandered to the blackjack tables where his night would end, comforted by the concept of winning a few bucks in solitude once again.

  The smells, sights and sounds of a busy indoor soccer arena made his throat close in panic. He realized he hadn’t darkened the door of any sort of pitch or venue for nearly a year, and now remembered why. In less than one week, he had to report back to his team in St. Louis to get evaluated by the trainers and team doctor. He’d avoided it for so long, hanging out like a loser at blackjack tables instead of readying himself for the inevitable. Lame. But he barely managed to drop into the nearest chair and ignore the frank stares of the kids and parents that swarmed the place without getting ill.

  Leaning over, elbows on knees, he fought with every ounce of his being not to run back out the door. His knee and shin started throbbing in sympathy. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to still the mantra: I can’t do this…I can’t do this…I can’t go back here…it’s too much work…it’s….

  A hand on his knee broke his concentration. He jerked his head up and stared straight into a set of deep green, worried eyes. The sudden urge to stand, take her with him and kiss her overwhelmed him until he had to grit his teeth against it. She smiled. The understanding in her gaze helped. His heart kept pounding, but he smiled back as he glimpsed Harrison’s bright hair and freckled face peeking around his mother’s long legs. They were both dressed to play.

  “Mom,” Harrison tugged at her shorts. “Is that really….” He pointed, his smile huge and infectious.

  “Ramon Castillo. I’m pleased to meet you.” The woman guided the boy from behind her and pushed him forward. The kid introduced himself, his face bright with awe. Ramon couldn’t help but grin at his enthusiasm. “Do me a favor, Harry.” Harrison looked up at his mom and she nodded. “Don’t make a big deal about it because I came here today to play with you.”

  The boy nodded and reached for his mother’s arm.

  “Oh, and with my mom. She’s a killer goalie, you know.”

  Ramon got to his feet, only somewhat confident his legs would hold him and he wouldn’t throw up.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard.” He extended a hand to her. She took it, and his entire body zinged at the connection. She gasped and stepped back, covering the awkward moment by kneeling down and talking to her son. Ramon froze in place, words caught in his throat, watching her strong body move under a tight T-shirt and soccer shorts. She finally stood back up and faced him.

  “So, no gloves?” He pointed at her hands, devoid of the protection goalkeepers usually wore.

  She gave him a challenging look. “You counting on me needing them?”

  He put a hand on her back, dying to touch her again, and using the excuse of getting them out of a growing crowd of gawkers to do so.

  “You might be surprised.” Some of his old confidence returned. The combination leather-sweat-turf odors of the place no longer made him nauseous, but became familiar and energizing. He hadn’t so much as passed a soccer ball since his accident. Something about the moment made him want that, if for no other reason than to divert the raging lust for the woman he followed onto the field.

  Gillian’s hands were on fire. But she had no complaints. The vision of Ramon Castillo, kicking a soccer ball around with her son, the beauty of his rippling muscles as they took turns hitting it toward her took her breath away. She never wanted it to stop.

  He’s leaving in two days, remember? Jesus, woman, get a grip.

  But finally, she had to hold up one stinging hand and take a break. She’d made some amazing saves; she knew it and the admiration in the man’s mesmerizing dark eyes kept growing. They officially had a crowd and Harrison played it up like only he could. The kid had the attitude of a soccer stud—self-confident to a fault. And he showed signs of talent to match. She walked off toward the bathrooms to grab an ice pack from the first aid station, leaving the former star and her son in passing drills.

  Taking a minute to catch her breath, visions of Joe passed through her brain, as they always did when ar
ound their favorite game. She’d avoided any sort of serious soccer since his death. The two were so entwined, she couldn’t imagine enjoying it ever again without him. Watching Harrison’s games were hard enough. But today seemed like a turning point. She’d been in her element, in goal, her competitive nature winning out. She smiled, thinking of Jackson’s declaration about mutual healing.

  Ice packs clutched between aching palms, she turned and nearly plowed straight into him. He was so close she could smell him, feel the heat from his skin. He grabbed her arm to keep her upright.

  “Oh, um, sorry.” He pointed to the ice. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Don’t get cocky though. I just needed gloves. I can still stop you. You project you know, I can see it in your eyes every time you pull your leg back. And your favorite spot is upper right corner. I got it every time if I’m not mistaken.” She smiled, trying like hell to be calm.

  He shrugged and grinned. Her heart leapt at the sight. The silky-looking brown skin, raven’s-wing black hair and chocolate-colored eyes, and a boyish look of self-deprecation completely unlike his public persona nearly undid her. The man fucked supermodels—apparently two or three at a time, she’d read. And she believed it now that she’d been this close to him. He oozed sexuality and confidence in spite of himself—not hard to do if you were a millionaire twice over thanks to endorsements. She let resentment creep back in as a defensive mechanism. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and shot her a sheepish look.

  “Well, apparently, we have ourselves a game and you and I are coaching.”

  She stared at him. What the hell? He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. She saw about twenty kids ranging in age from ten to teenagers, all watching them. She grinned.

  “Okay, but my team is gonna kick your ass.”

  To her utter shock, he stepped into her personal space, his lips mere centimeters from hers. His arm wrapped around her waist. She sucked in a breath.

  “Big talk, but I’ll take that challenge.” He still held her, one arm curled around the small of her back. When his lips touched hers, it felt like coming home. Her inner reserve made her move away when she ached to wrap her entire body around him. She put her hands on her hips and ignored her painfully erect, sports bra-covered nipples.

  “Nice try, Castillo. See you out there.” She turned, brushing his shoulder with hers as she breezed by, hoping he couldn’t hear her pounding heart or see her quivering knees.

  Chapter Three

  Ramon let the scalding hot water sluice over his skin, trying to process what had happened earlier. Damn, but he’d been in heaven out there. Getting to spend three solid hours watching her, observe the way her body moved, the way the sweat beaded her face, see how simply fucking amazing she played, had been a buzz. And the sensation of coaching those kids, about half of whom were actually pretty good, had been perfect. Who knew? He ducked his head under the pounding stream of water. His cock stiffened, not an unusual occurrence, as he’d been on a self-prescribed break from sex for months. But right now, his mind held nothing but lust for Gillian Winter.

  Earlier, as her team celebrated their 3-2 victory, she’d smiled over the kids’ heads at him. He’d never understood the sensation of having his heart leap into his throat until that second. The moment they’d shared earlier, when he’d kissed her on pure impulse, came rushing back. Close up, he’d seen a splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks. He’d resisted the urge to touch his tongue to them, had chosen her lips instead. She felt so right. And the fact that she’d instigated his trial by fire re-entry onto the soccer field meant more that he could imagine. The whole thing, having transpired in the last few hours, seemed surreal.

  “Dinner?” he’d mouthed over the din of celebration. She’d smiled and nodded. Harrison had chosen that moment to crawl up his torso. He’d heaved the kid up onto his shoulders, turning reluctantly away from her to receive thanks from his players and their awestruck parents.

  The date hadn’t been hard to arrange. A quick call to Jackson telling him he needed a reservation for two that night took care of everything.

  “Ah, finally,” his cousin had said. “Tell me it’s with my friend, the lovely Ms. Winter.”

  “Yeah.” He had ice on his shin and knee per his doctor’s orders after the long workout. But to tell the truth, his knee seemed stronger than it had in a damn long time. “But shit, I don’t know…I mean, she’s….”

  “Just go with it,” Jackson advised. “She’s been through a lot. I remember when it happened. What a goddamn horrible day. We’d had lunch earlier. I’m still trying to get her to come work for me, you know. Then about two hours later, her secretary called me, frantic. I could hear her in the background sobbing.” Ramon shifted on the couch. The thought of that beautiful, strong woman, ripped apart and crying almost made him ill. “I dropped everything and ran down to the MGM. It took me an hour to talk her out of her office. She’d locked the door, wouldn’t come out. We had to get to the hospital, and someone had to tell Harrison. God….” Jackson trailed off.

  “I don’t want to leave.” Ramon blurted out, surprising himself. “I-I think I might stay and, you know, take you up on your offer.”

  “But your contract?”

  “I’m fine. One thing I learned growing up poor is how to save. I could go five or six years and not work and live pretty damn well.”

  “Hmmm, but what about playing? You know, the spotlight you’ve gotten so used to?”

  “I haven’t missed it. What I’ve missed is the game. I figured that out today.”

  “And Connie?”

  Constance Wright had been the television reporter he’d dated for about a year prior to the accident. He’d pushed her away, not let her see him damaged, and after about three months, she’d stopped trying. He heard she’d been promoted, moving to a bigger market as an anchor.

  “Wrong time and place, wrong woman.”

  “Yes, well, allow me to remind you that rushing into anything with Gillian will be a challenge and one I don’t encourage. You’re impulsive. Be sure of what you’re doing. Because if you hurt this woman, I will personally break your other leg in a way that won’t so easily recover.” Jackson’s voice had been low.

  “I promise.”

  “I’ll contact her myself, if you don’t mind, and let her know the details of your date.”

  “Sure. And do not come in here with rose petals or candles or any other bullshit. I really don’t think we’ll end up here tonight. Especially if I’m not rushing her.”

  “Hmm, no promises there. Your dinner will be at eight thirty at Jacques.” Jackson rattled off the most sought after table in Vegas. “No jeans. You don’t need a tie, but she might like it if you showed up in one.”

  “Shit. I’ll have to find—”

  “I’ll have something sent up,” Jackson interrupted with a sigh. “You’re a real pain in my ass sometimes, you know?”

  “Yeah, always have been.”

  “Have fun. And remember what I told you.”

  He recalled the conversation as he stood under the steaming hot water and rubbed his cock absently. Take it slow. He knew that did not box with his usual method. And damn if he didn’t want her, wanted to wind his hands in that long red hair, taste those full lips again. Dear Lord.

  His rhythm increased and he tilted his hips up, braced himself against the tile with his other hand, imagining her mouth on him, his lips tasting her clit, hearing her scream in ecstasy, feeling her come all over his face. “God!”He grunted, his body spasming and releasing a small measure of the tension he’d held for months since he’d been in this godforsaken desert town. Placing both hands on the shower wall, his breathing slowed and his cock softened some. But he knew himself well enough to realize that until he could sink deep inside her body and let her pull him to real orgasm, he’d not feel true relaxation.

  Slow. Jackson said she needed that. He would try, because he didn’t want to lose her.

  ***

  Gilli
an stared in the foggy mirror; unable to process that she actually had a date at last. A date with none other than Ramon Castillo. A man she’d only met in person that morning. A man who’d captured a nation’s fancy on the soccer field for so many years after her own hard-won career had been over, after she had left the pitch for motherhood, and an office job. She shoved down the resentment she’d carried around for so long. It wasn’t his fault she’d made the choice she did. Not his fault he got paid millions of dollars to play a game that would have only ever netted her a low six figure salary at the most.

  The photo she kept stuck inside the mirror’s edge drew her eye—Joe caught in a moment of laughter. His beloved blond-haired, blue-eyed good looks always made her ache with loneliness. But today, she sensed a new peace. Something about the way Ramon had held her, kissed her so briefly, had been incredibly perfect. Joe’s eyes, never changing from that moment captured by her camera, seemed to soften, even encourage her.

  She sighed, and started applying her usual minimal makeup when her phone buzzed. Jackson. She pressed the speaker button. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. A little nervous, maybe.”

  “Well, wear your very best party dress. I have a table for you at Jacquesat eight-thirty and a private booth later at Taboo.”

  “Wow, you don’t fuck around do you, Castillo?”

  “Of course not. Not when it comes to you and my beloved cousin. But….” He hesitated.

  She contemplated her closet and waited for Jackson to continue. She had several great dress options, but didn’t want to seem to obvious, too needy, so she settled on the deep green silk, sleeveless, a sort of outfit that could be fine at work or a fancy dinner.

  “So help me, if you put on that frumpy green piece of shit….”

  She shrugged and put it back in the closet.

  “Wear the red one, with your highest, sexiest heels. Put the hair up, too, let a little trail around your face.”