“Jude, I’m not a virgin,” she exclaims.
My randy knob perks up at the word virgin. The bastard. “Oh.”
It’s the daftest thing I could have possibly said, but she kind of shocked me, and now I roll over to face the ceiling and contemplate how heroic I was trying to be by saving her virginity from my corrupting ways.
Aria clears her throat. “I had a boyfriend in secondary school before my dad got sick. We were pretty serious, or serious enough that I’d thought, naively, we’d be together forever. But … I respect you for trying to honor my virtue.”
Only this girl could make me crack up laughing at a time like this. “I was trying hard, wasn’t I?”
Her head rustles on the bed as she nods. “You were. And … it’s not that I don’t want to. Truly, I do. It’s just … I reserve sex as something special. I’m not ready for all the weight that comes with it. I hope you understand.”
“I’m not a caveman, love. Of course, I understand.”
“Well, you never know with you, Davies.” Aria snickers.
Pulling her to me, I nuzzle my nose in her hair playfully. Me, Jude Davies, being playful with a girl. Are pigs flying over the house?
“Yes, you can stay,” she answers the question I didn’t even ask.
So, for the first time in a very long time, I snuggle up to a woman and fall asleep, no funny business about it.
22
Aria
When you’re young, say nineteen, the attention and lust that a boy directs toward you is all-encompassing as it is. But add a personality like Jude Davies, and it’s a wonder I can even think about anything else.
Our relationship is blinding and intense, inking out every other aspect of my life if I am within a twenty-foot radius of Jude. He leaves notes on my sew house station, telling me to meet him in the tunnels at a certain time. Or he shows up in a different location each night of the week during my janitorial shift to distract me into taking off my shirt … or something more scandalous.
I’ve never been so brazen. It feels taboo and … almost illegal. Which only makes me want to do it that much more.
And the time we do spend together that is planned … I never want it to end. Being close to him gets my heart racing and leaves me in a trance.
Ever since the night we slept, just slept, together at Vance’s parent’s house, it’s been a whirlwind. Every spare second I have to give goes to Jude. When he’s not practicing or doing the seven hundred other activities that go into becoming the most incredible football player in the world, he’s with me. We communicate constantly, and it all happened like the flick of a light switch.
One minute, my world was work and trying to save my dad’s life. And the next, I’d condensed what little room I had left, packed it up and gave it to the boy I’ve been dangerously attracted to from the day I laid eyes on him. Which was naked, in the locker room.
We still haven’t had sex, but from the way he explored my body in the locker room the other night, I know we aren’t far from it. He might have put his hands all over my breasts, and blimey, did he know how to use them.
I am afraid to do much more than that and rounding third base with our mouths or fingers is included. Not because I don’t want to have sex with Jude, I very badly do.
But I know that, just like he said, once we start, we won’t be able to stop. For me, when it comes to Jude, it is all or nothing. Something in the back of my mind recognized that the minute we took our clothes off in front of each other, it is going to be all the way or nothing at all.
This week, though, Jude is in Italy for a friendly match that the RFC first team is playing against the Rome club team. He’s already been gone for two days, and I am watching the match this morning on the tiny TV Patricia keeps in the sew house.
“Look at the chap run.” Patricia shakes her head appreciatively as Jude darts across the screen.
Due to good behavior, or so Jude told me, Niles Harrington decided to start him in today’s match. I am so happy for him, as I know he’s been down on himself lately for his lack of playing time in the premier league. In the back of my brain, however, I know that if he does well today and manages to keep his off-the-pitch antics to a minimum, it will only be a matter of time until he is called to London for good.
Louisa nods emphatically. “He has some legs on him.”
Patricia, her old brows wrinkling, shoots her an annoyed glance. “That is not what I meant. I meant that being witness to that much talent … a player like Jude Davies only comes around once a lifetime if you’re a lucky supporter.”
I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to sway one way or the other. The two ladies I work with have no idea that Jude is my boyfriend.
Am I allowed to call him that yet? I was the one who said I’d decide if and when we had those titles, and bloody hell, it’s probably time. As much as my doubtful heart wanted to resist, and as much as I fought it tooth and nail to the point before that switch flipped, the reality is, I want Jude in my life.
The reality is, I am falling in love with a boy who threatened to take my heart and keep it forever. And I am willingly letting it happen.
“She’s right,” I pipe up, unable to help myself. “He’s going to be the best player this generation has ever seen.”
My eyes and hands stay focused on my work, but I can feel Louisa looking at me. “When did your tune on golden boy change?”
I shrug. “Who said it has? I just … he seems to work hard.”
It’s a lame excuse, and I can feel both of them staring at me now.
“Do you have the flu?” Patricia asks, her expression one of utter confusion.
“Can we just get back to work?” I huff.
“There she is! The slave driver at her finest.” Louisa wipes pretend sweat from her brow. “I was getting nervous there for a second.”
So was I, as sweat trickles down the length of my spine. Jude and I might have unofficially given ourselves the title of boyfriend and girlfriend, but we haven’t discussed the logistics of our relationship.
Can we be seen in public together?
Does the academy need to know?
Will we have to hide until I leave my job or he’s promoted to the first team?
Even then, what would the papers say about us?
These are all questions I should probably ask Jude but don’t have the courage to. Being together, it is so fresh and new … this is the time where we are supposed to enjoy the honeymoon of it all without getting so bogged down in the questions and heaviness of life.
Unfortunately, when you’re dating someone like Jude, that luxury doesn’t seem to exist.
23
Jude
If ice baths aren’t already included in Dante’s seven levels of hell, they should be.
At this point, my bollocks are probably shriveled up to the size of prunes, and I’ve lost the feeling in my toes so long ago, I’m not exactly sure they are still there. But, it is true when they say soaking your naked body in a tub of half-frozen water helps it recover more quickly. And with the brutal practices Gerard has been putting us through, and the rumor that I’ll get to play with the first team next week, finally, I need to use every trick in the book.
My phone begins to ring on the table next to me, and I glance over to see it’s an unlisted number.
Bloody hell.
“Hello?” I pick it up and rage begins to bubble through my veins.
“Mr. Davies, thanks for taking my call,” a strange voice says on the other end.
“Who is this and how did you get this number?” I growl, annoyed that I’ve got another leak on my hands.
Five times … it’s happened five times where a paparazzo or mental fan has gotten my phone number and called it like mad. I’ve had to change it, block people, make sure I’m unlisted and even then there is this shite.
“No, no, I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself sooner. I’m Ian Rethal, we met at the open mic night in London? When your friend
was on stage?”
A blurry memory comes back to me, because it was weeks ago, just after I first met Aria and asked her to accompany me to London. The pieces of my recall situate themselves in my mind, and I do remember the low level A&R guy coming up to me and asking about her.
“Yes, what can I do for you?” Now I listen, when I was two seconds away from hanging up and returning to the pain of the ice and the rest of the rugby match I had on.
“Sorry, it’s taken me so long to get around to calling or reaching out to your friend. At first, I spelled her name wrong and couldn’t find anything on social media. So I did some light detective work and traced her back to Rogue through her connection to you, but then I couldn’t find any videos on YouTube or talent show mentions or … well, anything about her singing.”
My head shakes with annoyance. Not at him, or at Aria, but at the world. The reason he couldn’t find anything online about Aria, or her incredible voice, is because she has no time for such things. The universe has thrown her a wicked punch by gifting her the tone of an angel, and the luck of the devil.
“No, you wouldn’t be able to find her. She’s off the grid, unfortunately.”
“Yeah, kind of realized that. Anyway, I did snag a clip of her song at the open mic night, and it’s taken a little bit of convincing for my bosses to want to lend me the budget, but I want to bring her in to record a demo.”
This has me sitting up a little, the ice rattling around my frigid bones. “You do?”
In my mind’s eye, I see Ian nodding on the other end. “Yep, and we’d like to bring her in right away. I haven’t heard a voice like your friend Aria’s in a long time … it’s a wonder she hasn’t been picked up by a label, yet.”
It’s not a wonder, but I’m not going to tell a stranger the inner workings of her life. “Let me talk to her. In the meantime, can you email my manager your number and the label you work for? I’ll give you his email, do you have a pen?”
I rattle off Barry’s contact information as Ian tries to go through dates to record with me. But I shut him down, repeating that I need to connect with Aria first.
We hang up and I readjust in the tub, my teeth chattering together. Some of my teammates can remain in the ice baths for extended periods of time and be comfortable after the first few minutes. But me? It’s always a struggle, no matter how often I immerse myself in this torture chamber, it never gets easier.
That’s a feeling I’m not accustomed to. My entire life, I’ve been able to learn a skill and master it in a matter of a day or two. With each new technique on the football pitch, I’ve excelled at receiving the knowledge and being able to repeat it back perfectly. My talent, they say, was born with me … but so was my ability to quickly pick up on things. Fame has been the same; I’ve learned the dark corners and lay of the land and chosen which way to point my feet. My party-boy attitude may land me in hot water at times, but at least I know the score.
Except … with Aria, I can judge her mood and her actions about as well as I know which way the wind will turn. If I go to her with this news, will she be happy about it? Will she tell me to fuck off because she simply has no time to go somewhere to record a demo?
Or will she understand precisely how much this could change her life? The times we’ve spoken about her singing, and the confession she made to me about her mother’s reaction … it’s a touchy subject for her. I hope she knows that not only could a demo, and a record label hearing said demo, launch her music career and a dream she’s yet to believe she can have, just my assumption, but … this could mean serious money.
She’s breaking her back working all these shifts at the academy. If one song or one album could net the kind of profits I think her voice is capable of, Aria could provide for herself and her father in ways she never thought possible.
As soon as I can walk properly after removing myself from this self-imposed tundra, I’ll figure out exactly how to word it so that Aria will take this as an opportunity, and not just another burden to add to her plate.
When had I become the supportive guy who cares if the girl I am trying to sleep with follows her dreams or not? Before Aria, I rarely cared if those girls had dreams. Or a name.
Apparently, my feelings for her are just another part of Aria Lloyd that I can’t quite grasp. But I am plunging full force ahead, even if the waters are bloody frigid.
24
Jude
Sure enough, the following weekend, I’m asked to come to London and dress as a sub for the match.
Which means I won’t be starting, but Niles is warming up to the idea that I can bring Rogue Football Club wins in spades.
It’s a night game, and I arrive in London at nine a.m. with Aria snoozing softly on my shoulder as the driver of our town car pulls into the underground garage of the hotel. I convinced her, along with help from her dad after a sneakily placed phone call, that she could spare one night and come with me. After guilting her brilliantly to think I would lose the match if she wasn’t present to watch me play, she finally relented.
She fell asleep with her headphones in on the drive, and I gently took them out and watched as she dreamed peacefully. I never noticed how the worry lines she always wore went away when she slept … and wonder if it’s the only time she feels at peace in her life.
I’m hoping I can make her this happy all the time.
With a few hours to kill before I have to be at the RFC facilities for pre-match strategy, warm-ups, and getting stretched by the massage therapist, I know just what I want to do with Aria.
“You’ve never been shopping in London. I figure it’s time to get you a gift.”
My girlfriend shifts uncomfortably next to me as we walk down the street. “I’m not sure about this. I don’t need anything, and … Jude, I don’t want to spend your money.”
I knew she’d say that. “Which is why I’ll spend it for you. On you, rather. We’re going out tonight and while you’d look bloody sexy in a paper bag, I want you to feel incredible. And don’t give me that, ‘expensive clothes are only a facade,’ thing. I know they are. I’m not trying to make you fit in, but posh clothes make us feel posh … that’s all I’m trying to do.”
Aria blinks up at me. “That was … actually a very convincing argument.”
“Good, I didn’t feel like getting called a git at this moment.”
Stopping in the middle of the pavement, I frame her face with my hands. Her sun-kissed hair floats on the wind, the silk of it tangling in my fingers as they dive into her scalp. Her round hazel eyes dance with a smile as I lean in, my lips on a very focused mission.
Aria’s mouth bends to mine when I slip it over hers, the sweet sting of her vanilla citrus scent filling my nose. Is it a wonder I’m enraptured with this girl? The way she matches my kiss, melting into me as I lead us in the gentle rhythm of it.
The blood in my veins begins to boil, and if we weren’t in public, I’d be tearing at her clothes right about now. That’s the thing about our trysts … we never have a place alone for them. It’s a curse and a blessing; I can respect that Aria isn’t ready for sex, and it makes it easier that we don’t really have a place to do the dirty deed. But it also means that I am prone to humping her in barely concealed places.
Everything about her, from the dip of her waist to the blush that creeps over her cleavage when I nip at her neck. From the way she giggles at insignificant things, to the constant hum of her new favorite song she whistles throughout the day. Aria intrigues me in ways a woman never has.
I pull my lips from hers because if I don’t I’ll be mauling her in the street in two seconds and mirror the smile she’s pressing to my mouth.
And since she’s in such a good mood, it’s probably time for me to broach the subject of recording a demo. It has been three days since I received the phone from Ian Rethal, and since we’re in London, I’ve taken action without Aria’s consent. Hopefully, she’ll come around to my thrusting this news upon her.
“I
meant to talk to you about something, love.” I slip my hand into Aria’s as we continue our walk down Bond Street.
There are probably people all over who will catch sight of me kissing, and strolling along with, an unknown female and begin to snap our picture, post them all over the Internet, and then the speculation will begin.
Who is she, where is she from, is she pretty or not, do they make a good couple?
Honestly, I don’t care about any of it. I never have, and, especially haven’t given a fuck about the public knowing that I’m actually dating someone. The only thing that concerns me is Aria’s safety, and I’ll do everything to protect her.
I’m good at that, protecting the people whom I love.
Wait … did I just … do I love Aria?
“Jude? You were about to talk to me about something?” she reminds me, snuggling into me as we pass posh shop after posh shop. “By the way … should we be, um, walking like this?”
Her eyes flick to our conjoined hands, and I can feel the stares of those on the street starting to notice. We haven’t discussed our press strategy or what we’d tell the headmaster or higher-ups in the academy if they found out we were dating. Barry didn’t even know yet, although he’d find out from Twitter in about five minutes if my calculations were correct.
Like most things in my life, I decide to wing it. Squeezing Aria’s hand, I wink at her. “Who bloody cares, love? You’re my girl, that’s all they need to know. I’ll deal with the flak from Headmaster Darnot, if there is any.”
My answer is matter of fact, and we didn’t need to dance around the subject any longer.
The blush that creeps across her delicate face is worth it. “So, back to you needing to tell me something …”
A store, one I know has the reputation for designer clothes and expensive clients, pops up in our path. It’s the kind of shop with girly, sparkly dresses in the window, and I duck us inside. Immediately, the ladies working the cash registers look up, and their mouths fall open. I feel Aria roll her eyes next to me, that’s how accustomed I am getting to her, and I smirk my famous smirk while asking them to find the perfect dress that Aria could wear for our club outing tonight.
The Second Coming (Rogue Academy Book 1) Page 10
