by Ally Adams
Team Niklas
A Saints series book
By Ally Adams
PUBLISHED BY: Atlas Productions
Copyright © Ally Adams 2015
ISBN: 978-0-9943762-2-0 (ebk)
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with unless you purchased with a one share agreement. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedicated to the office girls from the Bears. What good times!
Chapter 1
“Stop moving or I’ll accidently put it in the wrong place,” I ordered Nik. You would think a guy who had done military conscription at home in Berlin, and stood at attention for long periods of time in all sorts of weather, could stand still for a few minutes.
“Sah-sha, is it even possible to put it in the wrong place?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow. I couldn’t help but smile—the way he said my name with his German accent always caught my attention; it started like sarsaparilla and finished like a dance.
Niklas Wagner, star midfielder for the national soccer team the Santa Ana Saints, had come to me for a suit adjustment—yep by day I was the media officer for the Saints and by night I designed; it was my hobby-cum-passion. Nik was standing in front of me wearing only the black suit pants and the jacket, no shirt—I could see all those well-developed abdominal muscles just waiting to be touched and I wouldn’t mind tracing those grooves with my tongue either, up and down, tight and tense. Is it getting hot in here? Then I accidently did what I had been threatening, jabbed him with a pin.
“Ouch,” he yelped and stepped back.
“See? What did I tell you? Stand at attention,” I barked.
He stiffened and stood straight… for about five seconds.
“I like the gym gear you’re wearing, Sah-sha, did you make that?” he asked looking down on my fitted black gym pants and matching tank top. It was easier to do fittings in fitted gym gear, easier to get around the fabric and the client, if that makes sense.
I shook my head. “I don’t make gym gear yet. But I am going to do a gym workout when you leave,” I said, with a glance to my home gym in the corner of the room.
“We should work out together,” he said.
I laughed. “Stand still and stop looking down, it makes the pants longer.”
“What? Why is the idea of working out together funny?” he asked, frowning.
“It’s funny because I would lift a thimble compared to you and you’d give me a hard time.”
“Never,” he said. “I respect any workout; I’d love to see you in action Sah-sha. We could put some music on, work up a sweat, you know? Okay, I have to stop thinking about that now,” he said, and wiped a hand over his mouth.
Oh yes, he did indeed need to stop thinking about it. The bulge in his pants would change the line of them and the amount I had to take up.
“Should I readjust the measurements or assume when you wear this suit, you won’t have a hard-on,” I said looking up from the floor at him, trying to get a reaction. I could barely see past his erection.
He grinned. “It depends. Will you be coming to the Best and Fairest Awards with me?”
“I’ll definitely be there, working that night,” I said. “So I’ll leave the measurements as they are. Okay, you’re done, get it off.”
He grinned again. I swear everything I said had a sexual connotation to this guy. He extended his hand like a gentlemen and helped me off the floor. Phew that was a rush, coming up past his bulge, then past the muscles in his bare chest and standing full height with my hand feeling so small in his. I think I just orgasmed. I looked away quickly.
“Thanks, you can let my hand go now,” I said, he did so slowly, running his fingers up my palm. Holy fuck.
I guess we had been flirting—if you could call it that—for a few weeks now and Nik was trying to get me to go out with him this weekend on our first official date. Tonight, however, the suit adjustment was business only. Maybe and it was a big maybe, on Friday night Niklas Wagner could take me out for dinner. Apart from deciding if I wanted to go out, I was considering whether to have sex with him before then and whether to order an entrée or save room for dessert. All tough decisions.
“C’mon Sarsh, aren’t you going to help me take it off?” he said.
“So we’re on nickname terms now?” I said, and narrowed my eyes at him. “Sasha, Sash-a,” I said, rolling it off my tongue. “C’mon, practice.”
“Sarsh like sarsey?” he said.
“Never mind,” I said. “You know the way to the change room.”
He looked a little dejected as I pointed him towards the guest room which I had set up for clients. It included hanging racks, mirrors, a sofa and a small en-suite bathroom.
“Look even Prada thinks you should help me,” he said, with a glance at my black Bombay cat who had moved closer to us and now sat watching Nik warily.
I smiled at Prada, such a handsome puss. “Trust me, he’s not giving you that look because he is on your side,” I warned Nik, “he’s deciding whether to jump on your head or not. He’s not very social.”
“Oh,” Nik said and moved a step farther away from where Prada was perched near the window. “This is a great place. Is that your bedroom up there?” His eyes looked to my lofty room.
“Yes, that’s where I sleep and entertain my lovers,” I teased him and he laughed. “Now get changed.” Even though he towered over me I tried giving him a direct order and pointed to the guest room. Call it girl power… maybe not, he was still standing there frowning at me. Man this guy was persistent; he was trying every trick in the How to trap a girl before you take them on an official date book. I studied him. He was the biggest potential ‘boyfriend’ on my scene for some time, maybe because I had removed myself from the scene some time ago. And when I say big, I’m not just talking height from the sneak preview I’d had—you can get very close to the anatomy when you’re pinning a client.
It would be very easy to fall for Niklas Wagner. He looked as though he was still in the military with his super short blond crew cut. My hair was almost the same color, only messier—I had decided to grow it again and now it was that awkward in-between length. Nik’s haircut, along with his tan, set off his bright blue eyes and even though he was fluent in English, his German accent still made for a direct manner of speech. We were suited there too—I was always in trouble for being too direct. That’s where the similarities ended—I was five-foot-eight to his six-foot-plus and I was pale to his tan.
“What if I accidently get stabbed by a pin when I take it off?” he asked, his lips curling in a smile. “It could penetrate an artery and put me out of play. The coach would be very upset with you Sah-sha.” He put his hands in the pockets of his suit pants and rocked back on his heels. Sexy as all fuck.
“Niklas.” I tried not to smile, which didn’t work, while I crossed my arms across my chest. That only served to bring his eyes to my chest. “You managed to put that suit on all by yourself, taking it off is pretty much the same only in reverse. You can do it, I have full faith in you. Should I do a Saints’ war cry for motivation?”
He looked vaguely interested in the idea but that look changed to a d
ifferent expression—one that said he wasn’t quite beaten yet. His jaw locked with frustration as he planned his next move—I suspect he was a man used to getting his own way with the women and trust me, since his arrival there were no shortage of women throwing themselves at him at the club and wherever the team socialized, from what I heard. I wouldn’t know; being a groupie wasn’t my thing.
He slipped the jacket off in front of me and strode off to the bedroom. I breathed out. I had won that round and enjoyed the spectacle of his muscles departing the room. Moments later he started up again.
“Sah-sha,” he called out from the guest room, “I need your help.”
I shook my head. Men. I’ll give him help in a moment. Ha, I sounded like my mother then.
“Coming,” I said. Yeah, he’d make something of that too I bet. I’d love to come by the hand or tongue of Nik; again with the sex thoughts. I really was too frustrated for my own good but it was impossibly hard not to think about sex when you have a perfect specimen of manhood in your guest room.
I stalled him while I packed my sewing kit. I was just a little bit impressed that Nik wanted to get his suit adjusted because he had lost weight and didn’t want to buy a new suit for a club award night. I liked the fact that he was on a contract worth more than this week’s lottery draw, but he still wanted to get a suit adjusted rather than buy a new one, I hated waste too. When he mentioned he needed to find someone to do the adjustments, his housemate Alice—who happens to work with me at the Saints—told him I sew, wasn’t that handy? Since they began flatting together, Alice had become the unofficial source of all Nik gossip, telling me all his movements even when I didn’t want to know.
I had met Nik at the office of course before I played with his inside leg—a dressmaking term. You can’t be media officer for the Santa Ana Saints soccer team and not know the players or at least talk to them by telephone to organize media interviews. He had only joined the club late last year, but we had spoken on the phone heaps of times when I was setting up pre-publicity for his arrival—Germany’s hottest recruit signed to the Saints, the Berlin wonder boy or ‘wunderkind’ if you translate it. Everyone wanted a piece of the ‘Kaiser’ and he was very obliging, doing all my telephone interview requests and there were heaps of them. His management team was really helpful with photos too and as soon as he got off the plane, Shayne the Saints’ football manager had Nik in the Saints’ jersey and getting photos done before the poor guy even had time to unpack.
Nik cost the club a fortune so I know he had a shitload of pressure on him to perform on-and-off the field for the club. Guys like Nik, the team’s captain Lucas, goalkeeper Tomás and our forward The Russian; they had the pulling power to bring in memberships and ticket sales and to make the club big. Nik was definitely big. I wondered if he left someone behind in Berlin.
We finally met in the flesh for the first time when he came in to see Alice about a housemate position. He gave me an electric shock, way to make a first impression! Alice said it was an omen that we were suited and that we would always have a spark between us. Sounded like crap to me, but whatever, if it makes her happy to dream up this shit.
“Sah-sha? Are you coming in here?” Nik called again.
“Any minute now,” I answered, “just cleaning up.”
“Can you make it quick?” he yelled back.
“Sure,” I said, slowing down. Man must think I’m an idiot. Which reminded me of the next time I saw Nik in the flesh when I came off looking like the idiot… it was at a home game a few weekends back. Unfortunately that didn’t go well either. My job on match days is looking after the media and one of the journos from the daily paper wanted to talk with Nik before the game. Sometimes the coach allowed that. I chased down Shayne the football manager, who said Nik was getting iced and strapped so just go in and ask him. Unfortunately his groin was getting strapped when I walked in, so that’s more evidence of how I know he’s big all over. Yep, a fine import from Germany. Now on our third encounter, I’d stuck a pin in him, no wonder he was completely taken with me, what man could resist? Makes you wonder why he persisted; that guy must love a challenge.
“Sah-sha, seriously I need your help,” he called again, his voice a bit muffled this time. What the fuck, has he got caught in his zip or something? I smiled at his persistence, I love a man on a mission, and I headed to the guest room. Nik sat on the end of the sofa, the suit completely off and he was wearing a very nice pair of black fitted boxers. Blood poured from his nose and he cupped his face with one hand and used the other to keep himself upright on the bed. His tanned face had turned pale and his eyes were a little hazy.
“Holy fuck,” I said, and ran to the adjoining bathroom. Thank God my towels were navy in color. So not important right now I knew but later, I’d be pleased. I ran back to his side, spread one across his lap covering his prize bounty and gave him one to hold against his nose.
“Sit up straight and tip your head forward,” I said, and when he had done this, I pinched the soft part of his nose with my thumb and forefinger. I knew that first aid course Aunty Sandra gave me for my birthday would come in handy—I love practical gifts.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” he said with a muffled voice.
“Take over the pinch and I’ll get an ice pack,” I said, removing my hand. I glanced into his eyes and they were not focusing on me.
“Think I should call Chris?” I asked him, referring to the team doctor.
“No,” he said, firmly, his eyes finding mine. They weren’t clear, not good.
“Hmm.” I studied him.
“Really, no,” he said again. “The ice pack would be good, thanks.” He sounded as though someone had punched him in the nose. I gave him a look that said I wasn’t convinced but from what I knew of Nik already, he probably thought that look said I thought he was hot even when bleeding on my sofa. He kind of was actually, it was the boxer briefs and the muscles in his arms as he leaned forward… right, get the ice.
I raced into the kitchen, and decided to ignore Nik—I made a quick call to the team doctor. Talking quietly under my breath to Chris, I grabbed a tea towel and broke the ice cubes out of a tray from the freezer and into it. I balled it up, thanked the doc, hung up and took the ice back to the room. Nik was lying flat along the full length of the sofa now, his head propped at one end, and his legs overhanging at the other end. I could see all his muscles defined lying like that, including the main one in his boxer briefs.
“Nik, you need to sit for a while,” I said, kneeling in front of him.
“I need to lie, bit dizzy,” he mumbled. He held out his hand for the ice pack and I gave it to him and watched as he pressed it against his face.
“Doc should know about this,” I said, concerned, and with the quick reflexes Nik had developed from being a central midfielder, he grabbed my wrist, assuming I was going off to call, when I was really justifying my actions.
“It’s okay,” he said, and pulled me down beside him. “Just stay next to me for a minute.”
I pulled away and grabbed the red cotton blanket from the end of the sofa—another excellent color choice for the occasion—and brought it up and over Nik to his waist given the ice was chilling him. I sat on the ground beside him, watching him. I instinctively rubbed his back—I’m very supportive of the ill—and scanned his face.
“How did this happen?” I asked.
He kept his eyes closed and shook his head slightly. “Don’t know, it just did. It’ll be over in a minute.”
“Shh, just relax, you’re not going anywhere,” I said. I’m sure he wanted to hear that earlier, not now when he was groggy and bleeding. I noticed some scars on his chest. I hadn’t noticed them before, maybe because his tattoos run over some of them, but I could see now they were small and he had quite a few. Strange. Not the best time to ask him about it while he was bleeding.
Ten minutes later, I heard the buzzer to my apartment and jumped up to let Chris in. The team takes all player injuries
very seriously, especially when we’re talking the big contracted stars like Nik. I showed him through to the guest room. Nik groaned on seeing him but the doctor said I was right to call.
“It’s nothing,” Nik was muttering to the doctor. “Sah-sha shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“Let me be the judge of that. Sasha did the right thing,” Chris was saying. “Look at me, Nik.”
I left them alone while I went to get Nik some water. He might be staying the night after all, in the guest room. I doubted he could climb the stairs to my loft in his current condition and I’m guessing he weighed more than I’ve ever pressed so I wouldn’t be carrying him.
When I got back, the doc had righted him on the sofa and propped him up in sitting position, several of my decorated pillows behind him. The colors in the guest room really were working well for brides and nose bleeds; good to know I got that right. Nik was still a bit pale and he accepted the water and drank. Doc was taking his blood pressure. The next minute, there were two paramedics at the door and Nik was going out on a gurney. He was protesting but looked groggy.
“Should I call anyone?” I said, half to Nik and with a glance to the doc.
“No,” Nik answered quickly and tried to rise.
Doc pushed him back on the gurney. “Nik, I’ll meet you at the hospital. Just relax, you’re not getting out of going,” he said, and gave the paramedics’ a nod.
“Thanks for calling me,” Doc said, turning to me.
“But what happened? Is it serious?” I asked, watching them wheel Nik out.
“His blood pressure is really low. That’s probably why he’s dizzy. I suspect it’s nothing to worry about but they can observe him overnight just to be on the safe side and release him in the morning,” he said. “Sorry to ruin the date.”
I shook my head. “He came over to get a suit adjusted.”
Doc gave me a look that said he hadn’t heard that one before. I saw him out and went to clean up the room.
