by Kyra Lennon
Game
On
Kyra Lennon
Game On © Kyra Lennon 2012
E-edition published worldwide 2012 © Kyra Lennon
All rights reserved in all media. This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.
All characters and events featured in this book are entirely fictional and any resemblance to any person, organisation, place or thing is purely coincidental and completely unintentional.
Acknowledgements
I have a seriously large amount of people to thank for helping me to get this book out into the world, but I’m going to try to keep it short! To Angela Cothran, Morgan Shamy, Leigh Covington, and Elizabeth Seckman I’d like to say a gigantic thanks for your advice and hard work in helping me whip Game On into shape. It was a long road, and I appreciate every word of encouragement you gave me to guide me to this point.
Bobbie – Thank you so much for all of your hard work on the cover design. I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule for me!
Clare Dugmore – what can I say? Without you, this story may never have reached completion. I literally could not have done it without your encouragement. You have been my number one cheerleader since I met you, and that is why I'm sitting here writing my acknowledgements, and not cowering in the corner, afraid to let anyone see my work! For your friendship, wise words, unwavering belief in me and many, many hours of laughter – I thank you.
Chapter 1: Rebel By Name
I stormed out of the locker room, letting out a growl of annoyance. My heavy footsteps bounced off the stone walls, echoing around me, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of his voice in my mind. The clicking of my heels aggravated my throbbing temples until I thought my head would explode.
‘Come on Leah, admit it. You want another chance.’
As if.
I walked up the stairs to the lavish training ground restaurant where the wait staff greeted me with a smile I was too angry to return. I craved vodka but alcohol wasn’t permitted, not even after hours. I ordered an orange juice and promised myself a proper drink later. Dealing with such a sleaze every day, I was astounded I didn’t have a fully-fledged drinking problem.
Radleigh ‘Rebel’ McCoy thought that being the star of the Westberg Warriors made him a Big Deal. Maybe to the fans, but to me, he was a royal pain in the arse. If I’d known that signing a contract with the Warriors would lead to this level of stress I would definitely have had second thoughts about scrawling my name on the dotted line.
The restaurant was always full at the end of the day, and the noise of chattering men did nothing to ease my aching head. Instead of going home after five hours of intense soccer training, the players preferred to eat on site. I could only assume the harder they trained, the more energy they needed before getting into their fancy sports cars and driving back to their mansions where their supermodel wives and girlfriends waited to boink their aches away.
Easy on the snark, lady. Your small town mentality is starting to show.
Chuckling in spite of my rage, I propped myself against the sleek black bar. If the room hadn’t been so full I would have rested my flaming cheeks against the cool marble to extinguish my fury.
“Miss Walker.”
Oh boy.
I closed my eyes for a second, hoping I’d imagined the sound of his deep, over-confident voice but I could sense him behind me. Eau de Self-Importance swirled in the air around me.
“Mr McCoy.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
There are only two types of people who would offer to buy a drink for a woman they’d just finished arguing with. Idiots and egomaniacs.
Radleigh McCoy was no idiot.
“No. Thank you. I’ve already ordered.”
A shiver rippled across my skin. Instead of being repelled by the brush-off, he moved closer, his breath tickling my perfectly straightened hair. My impulse was to drive my elbow into his ribs but I’d already given him more than enough of what he wanted by flipping out at him in the locker room earlier.
Once the bartender handed me my drink, I turned to face McCoy. I use the term loosely though. At six feet four he towered way above me - a mere five feet two inches.
“Are you still here?” I asked, as if I couldn’t feel the imprint of his rock hard abs on my back.
“I was hoping you’d keep me company,” he answered, his ice blue eyes dancing with amusement.
“Radleigh, I only put up with you because I have to. Am I not making myself clear?”
His lips curved into a grin. “I love how you say my name with that cute British accent.”
Since I moved to America over a year ago, I’d heard that line a lot. It didn’t irk me nearly as much coming from other men though. I stepped around him, making a mental note never to use his first name again.
“Excuse me.”
I breezed across the restaurant as coolly as possible with anger surging through me. To him, it was all a bit of a laugh. Witty banter to unsettle the new girl. For me, it was a challenge to get through the day without knocking his head off his shoulders.
“Easy tiger,” Will Carter said, spotting the murderous look in my eye as I threw myself down into the chair beside him.
“Why?” I fumed. “Of all the soccer stars in the world, why did I get stuck with McCoy?”
Freya Phillips gave me a knowing smile. “There’s a reason your job was always available, Leah. He is the reason.”
Freya sat opposite Will at the table. They were both soccer coaches, and the first people I’d met on the team aside from the manager, Richard Bailey. Freya was pretty much the only reason I’d been able to accept my job. The Warriors had needed me to start immediately but when I applied for the position in Los Angeles, I lived in Boston. Sleeping on sofas until I found my own place didn’t appeal at all, so Richard introduced me to Freya. She needed someone to share the rent on her apartment, and I needed somewhere to live. We connected instantly, chatting like old friends, and we hadn’t stopped talking since.
“What did he do?” Will asked.
“On my first night here, he tried to chat me up. You know how the story goes. ‘You have the most beautiful eyes, I’m very rich, want to see my bedroom?’ Blah, blah, blah.”
“And because you turned him down, he’s more determined than ever,” Will guessed, with amazing accuracy. “You did turn him down, right?”
“Of course I did,” I told him, insulted by the insinuation that I would drop my knickers for a glass of wine. “Do you think I’d risk my job for a quick tumble in the sheets with him?”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand. Thousands of women would kill to sleep with him, so why bother with me when I’m obviously not interested?”
“He likes a challenge,” Freya answered. “It’s a game to him.”
“Well, I don’t want to play.”
My eyes flicked towards the bar where McCoy chatted to some of his teammates. Like me, he’d changed out of his training gear. Even if he hadn’t, he would still have stood out among the sea of royal blue and black in the room. He had that elusive presence many men thought they had, but few truly possessed. The biggest problem was, he knew it.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Maybe I’ll tell him he needs hydrotherapy, then drown him in the pool,” I mused. “But really, I just want him to back off.”
“You need to be careful. Many women have quit their jobs here because of the way he treated them.”
“Please! I may be struggling at the moment, but I won’t be forced out of a job by an over-sexed, over-confident-”
“I’m serious,” Will interrupted, halting me before I started sw
earing in an unladylike manner. “Richard didn’t want a woman taking the physiotherapist job because of how McCoy is but you impressed him so much, he couldn’t pass you up.”
“He called you ‘feisty,’ which you are,” Freya said with a grin.
“What I’m saying is,” Will went on, “you’re tough, but so is he. Nobody has ever fought against McCoy and won. The best thing you can do is keep your head down and wait for him to get bored.”
****
Saturdays without a match were my favourite days. Training didn’t start until ten, but as early as nine-thirty, a few staff members milled around the training ground, grabbing a quick bite to eat or getting bottles of water to take on to the field.
The sun streamed in through the glass wall of the restaurant, and rays of light bounced off the sparkling cutlery that was laid out in preparation for lunch. The Warriors’ restaurant could easily be mistaken for a hotel dining room if it weren’t for the unmissable view of the pitch. The decor reminded me of a beach hut, with its soft sand coloured walls and laminate wood floor. Huge potted plants surrounded large pillars, and artsy photos of Los Angeles hung behind the bar. The tracksuited team members looked out of place amongst such delicate furnishings, but there was no denying it was a great spot for relaxation.
Freya and I headed into the restaurant after helping ourselves to some coffee from the machine, just as McCoy and teammate, Bryce Warren, were leaving.
Thank you God. Thanks for ruining my day before it’s even begun.
Will’s words about laying low around McCoy weighed heavily on my mind. He was right, of course, but holding my tongue while being irritated was not a skill I possessed.
“Morning,” Bryce greeted us, and we smiled in response.
Bryce Warren was beefy with a capital B. Okay, so it’s not entirely professional to get a kick out of rubbing a player’s muscles, but every job has to have some perks. Bryce’s biceps were mine.
“So anyway,” McCoy said, “you should’ve seen her, man. She was stacked!”
Clearly we’d inadvertently interrupted a conversation that would have been more at home in the locker room. The stench of testosterone filled my nostrils and Freya and I walked on, not wanting to be subjected to any more of McCoy’s bragging. Unfortunately for my bullshit sensitive ears, they stopped by the coffee machine.
As McCoy poured himself a drink, Bryce said, “So what happened?”
“What do you think?” McCoy laughed. “I woke up in her room after a wild night! I left her in bed. She was pretty tired.”
“Okay, okay, I don’t need to hear all the details. Not after Wednesday night.”
The mind boggled.
The guys strolled back into the restaurant, still laughing, but halted when they reached our table.
“Did you have a good evening, ladies?” McCoy asked.
“Yes thanks,” I answered, reminding myself to stay calm.
“Another night at home alone?”
“Well, we don’t all have an endless parade of desperate groupies following us around so we can have meaningless sex.”
Dammit.
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Oh, but I do. In the morning, the world will be treated to another detailed news story about some bimbo’s night of passionate love making with the great Radleigh McCoy, complete with photos of said bimbo exposing too much of her cleavage and complaining about how you never called her, but hopes you’ll be in touch soon to rock her world again. Sounds divine.”
McCoy’s grin faded, his blue eyes turning cold. I’d only ever seen him use that look out on the field when someone crossed him and it was usually followed by a spectacular foul. The chances of him tackling me in the middle of the restaurant were pretty slim so I gave him my most charming fake smile until he took the hint and walked away.
“Well that put him in his place,” Freya giggled. “Urgh, I can think of nothing worse than spending a night with him. He’s so self-involved, I bet he shouts out his own name when he reaches orgasm.”
My mouthful of coffee burned the back of my throat as I choked out a laugh.
I didn’t want to pick a fight with him but if he thought I was going to let him attempt to degrade me, he had another think coming.
****
The morning passed without any major problems. As soon as the clock struck twelve, Freya, Will and I got changed and headed out of the training ground for some retail therapy.
Rodeo Drive thrilled me more than any place I’d ever been. It was a work of art for people who love to shop with its pristine stores and palm tree lined pavements. I wouldn’t be able to afford anything for a while, but just walking along the immaculate paths and breathing in the air of wealth was a dream. Freya and I dragged Will in and out of designer clothing stores, browsing the rails for things I could buy when my first pay check came in.
After three hours, I’d purchased a $1000 dress.
Call me weak, but I hadn’t splurged on anything so frivolous since I lived in London and discovered Manolo Blahniks. Before I could spend any more of my savings, I pleaded exhaustion and we went home.
I still struggled to think of Freya’s apartment as mine. She insisted I spread my personal belongings around so I’d feel more comfortable and it helped, but I was very aware that almost everything had lived there long before me. It was a gorgeous place to live though. The building contained six flats on three floors, all overlooking the ocean. The view seemed to stretch for miles. For a beach lover like me there was nothing better than looking out at the endless blue, listening to the calming sound of the waves.
Any thoughts of relaxing flew right out the window when we saw Radleigh McCoy waiting by the entrance to the apartments, casually leaning against the wall. The moment he spotted me, he straightened and squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle.
My stomach lurched.
“Freya, does he usually lurk outside your apartment?”
She shook her head, her blonde ponytail swinging wildly. “He’s never been here before.”
“Oh joy. This should be fun.”
As we approached, McCoy smiled and eyed our insane amount of bags. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“What do you want?”
Unfazed by the bluntness in Freya’s tone, he said, “I wanted to talk to Leah.”
“Can’t it wait until work?”
He shrugged. “I guess, but I’m here now.”
Freya silently asked if I needed her to stay and I shook my head. How much trouble could he cause in broad daylight? She took my bag from me and headed inside, glancing back before she ducked into the lift.
The second she disappeared out of sight, McCoy stepped towards me, pressing me against the door. He placed his hands either side of me, trapping me, and my breath caught in my throat at the suddenness with which he’d advanced. He leaned in closer, not with any force, just so our bodies lightly touched.
Oh, he smells good.
He usually smelled like the other players, a weird aroma of grass combined with sweat. I’d never been close to him when he was freshly showered. The scent and his unexpected nearness made my head spin a little.
“We need to talk.”
“So talk. But get the hell off me unless you want to hear me scream.”
With a hint of a smile, he dropped his hands to his sides. “I think we should make a deal.”
“What could you possibly offer me that I would want?”
Apart from you not to smell so good.
“I’ll leave you alone and be a good little boy and in return, you start being nicer to me in front of my friends.”
“You’re kidding?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. “You came all the way over here because I made one tiny dig at you in front of Bryce? He should be aware of what you’re like without me having to enlighten him.”
“Well, he’s known me long enough to accept all my faults, not that I have many, but that’s not the point. Some people don’t kno
w me so well. You included.”
“I know enough.”
“Maybe you’re wrong.”
“Sure. You shoved me up against the door because you’re a kind, sensitive guy, not because you get horny every time a woman so much as looks at you.”
“Not all women.”
His eyes locked on to mine and it became glaringly obvious how he charmed so many into bed. With well-timed words and a face that would have made Greek gods envious, Radleigh McCoy possessed all the skills to charm a girl’s pants off.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” I said. “But if you make even one more inappropriate suggestion towards me I will not be responsible for my actions.”
A filthy grin spread across his face. “Is that a promise?”
“You can’t stop for a second!”
“Sorry,” he said, holding his hands up. “I’m sorry. Starting now, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”
Without another word I turned away, tapped in the security code and leapt through the doors into the building. My heart was pounding unnaturally fast. The moment I stepped into the lift, I sagged back against the mirrored wall.
What the hell just happened?
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that I’d stumbled across the kind of man I used to find irresistible, or that he’d managed to stare right inside my brain to locate my weaknesses. The thrill of being wanted while pretending not to be interested was a game I’d played over and over during my youth. I’d grown up since then. I’d done more than my share of getting mixed up with men who were all ego and muscles, and he reminded me exactly why I’d given them up.
Unfortunately, my body hadn’t got the memo yet.
.
Chapter 2: Mini Clones Of Bree
“Ahh, that’s freaking cold!”
“Sorry, Jesse. It will be better soon, I promise.”
“I’ve never had an ice massage before. Now I know why!”
The blond soccer player writhing with discomfort on my table had suffered a Grade 2 ankle sprain during the last Warriors match after an aggressive tackle. He’d taken a nasty fall, and with the weight of his opponent’s boot stomping down on it, he was lucky his ankle hadn’t broken.
