Team Russian (Saints Team Series Book 4)

by Ally Adams

  Chapter 7

  Matchday ... Saints and Suns match day that was, and I was due at the media box for the Saints’ game at eleven o’clock. Sasha and I had organized to meet in the parking lot fifteen minutes earlier than usual to transfer the dress from her car to mine. I couldn’t wait to wear it; I was nervous just thinking about the night – nervous-crazy, excited that is. Plus, I was kind of hoping The Russian might find his way to the media box to say ‘hello’ today. That would mean he was thinking of me and I wasn’t just a bet he had lost, making him go to the Ball tonight.

  I drove into the parking lot and saw Sasha there, waiting by her car. She always looked so eccentric – a classic car, a mod haircut, she was an original. She waved, opened her car boot and pulled out a long dress covered in a white plastic sheet ... at least I was hoping there was a dress in there. I pulled my car into the parking spot next to hers and turning it off, I leaped out; I couldn’t see the dress itself but I couldn’t wait to slip it on.

  “Sorry, were you waiting long?” I asked.

  “About a minute,” she assured me. “Ta da!”

  I grinned at her as she carried the dress to my open back door.

  “Sash, I can’t wait to wear it, what would I do without you? Thank you, thank you,” I gushed.

  She grinned and we settled the dress across the seat.

  “I’ve transferred the funds to your bank account,” I assured her.

  She waved her hand. “All good. Now I want the scoop ... the least you can do is send me a photo of the two of you before you leave home and let me have the first tweet ... I am the Saints’ media officer after all, as well as the designer.”

  “The least I can do,” I agreed, excited that she even wanted the shot. “I’ll have my flatmate Josh take the shot and send it to you straight away. Plus, I’ll promote your label, I promise. Thanks again Sash. If I can ever return a favor ...”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” she said, then she narrowed her eyes. “There is one small thing, a favor sort of ...” she said.

  “Sure, anything.”

  She moved to her car, locked it and leaning on it, crossed her arms across her chest. “I want to know how The Russian gets to the coffee van before the rest of us. He always knows when it is coming and beats me every day in the office.”

  I laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, I bet he gets a text in advance from Wendy our coffee van lady, but they’re both saying nothing,” Sasha said.

  “I’m onto it,” I said, assuring her that my investigation would be intense. “Just call me Scoop.”

  “Thanks Scoop,” she grinned, and moved away from the car. “I’ll see you in the media box soon. I’ve got to go meet a journo in the training rooms.”

  “Sure,” I said, giving her a wave as my phone rang. It was my boss asking if I’d do a few TV crosses as well as my newspaper and online pieces. Our sister company’s journo had called in sick. Yes! Well bad for them, but good for me. A few pieces-to-camera would be good to mention when I had my job interview tomorrow for the basketball commentator role. I raced up the stairs to the media box, and found Dave, an online reporter setting up. We made a bit of small talk as I set up my laptop and then I quickly freshened up my makeup and raced downstairs again to meet the television camera crew. They wanted the first piece to be a generic story before the game, then an update at half-time and a wrap at the end of the game. Easy.

  I found the crew, we picked a location which showed the crowds pouring in behind me and the cameras rolled. I swear I must have done something good in the world, because Karma caught up with me. Just as I started to wind up, someone approached me—that was pretty normal, people always ran up to cameras and carried on—walking within a foot of me on his way to the training room was Captain Fantastic – Lucas Ainswright. The cameras caught him and he greeted me by name. Go my CV!

  “The Saints Captain himself, Lucas Ainswright,” I said, grabbing him, talking to the camera. “How do you feel about today’s game Lucas?”

  “We’re in good shape, we’ve got our Defender, Eddie Mosley back from injury, and our track record against the Chicago Cats is solid.”

  “Thanks Captain,” I said, as he squeezed me on the shoulder and kept walking. “That’s the Saints Captain Lucas Ainswright. Today’s match starts at one p.m. and you can watch it right here on the Sports Channel.”

  “And we’re out,” the cameraman said. “Nice one. Friends in high places, huh?”

  I grinned. “All in the timing,” I said. I looked around, no sign of The Russian yet; I just needed to see him, a glimpse would do. I organized a time to meet the camera crew at half-time for a rundown on the match thus far and returned to the media box. Sasha was there when I got back, along with Dan from K-talk radio, and a few of the other online journos that I had seen at our Suns games but not met yet. We introduced each other. They asked me all the inevitable questions about my injury – if I was going to return, did I think the Suns would make it to the finals, blah, blah, blah.

  I couldn’t focus; I just wanted The Russian to drop in. Or Nik to come up and see Sasha and maybe The Russian would come along with him. But in my heart of hearts I knew he wouldn’t come to the media box ... I wouldn’t either. If I was playing that day, I would be totally in the zone ... I wouldn’t allow any distractions, there was too much at stake. Damn him. But at least it would make tonight even more special ... I’d be dying to see him by the time he came to pick me up for the Ball, if I hadn’t died from withdrawal symptoms by then – I was so not dramatic at all.

  My laptop was open, I had the Facebook and Twitter pages open for the media groups that I fed and I had the Suns Twitter page open so I could watch the results from my team as they came through ... well, I hoped the girls would win, it would make for a better night at the Ball. I looked at the clock – fifteen minutes until the match started so no hope of seeing The Russian now. Thank God Sasha wasn’t a girly-girl and didn’t ask me a whole lot of questions, I was already on that thin wedge of love, fear and loss. I was totally taken by The Russian and I knew I was up for the biggest fall if it wasn’t mutual ... and I was pretty sure it wasn’t.

  *****

  By half-time there was good news, great news and brilliant news. The good news – my beloved Suns were well in the lead and looked like they were going to bring the match home ... it relieved my guilt that I couldn’t be there, but also made me feel a little superfluous. Such is the life of a professional athlete I guess. I hated not being there but the team understood work was work and we weren’t paid the big salaries like the male sports stars, we had to take it when we could.

  The great news was that the Saints were comfortably in front ... in soccer, a couple of goals was super comfortable, and the Chicago Cats were in bad form. I did look at other players besides The Russian, honest, but he was having a great game so I was forced to look at him a lot – just one of the things you had to endure as a sports journo. It also meant he would be on high tonight if they won ... a win-win all round.

  The brilliant news—I know I saved the best for last—is that The Russian acknowledged me. It might not sound like much but it was huge ... really huge. At the end of half-time as the team went to their respective tunnels and training rooms, he glanced up at the media box. I swear he looked right at me, right through me and gave me just the hint of a smile. I almost forgot to tweet the halftime score I was so excited. Once I stopped blushing and my breathing returned to normal, I raced downstairs to meet the camera crew and do the half-time piece. The day was looking up – even in the middle of a high-pressure match, Alex was thinking of me. I would feed on that for hours until he arrived at my door that night in that mind-blowing tux and we would make some more unique memories.

  Chapter 8

  Josh stood back and looked at my eyes. He was doing my make-up and just knew how to do it so perfectly so that I looked natural—my eyes sort of popped and my lips looked luscious—I was hoping that would be how The Russian saw
it.

  “Okay, I think you are done,” he said.

  “Josh, you’re the best, thank you,” I said, glancing in the mirror. “It looks brilliant.” I jumped up from the chair in front of the main balcony windows—Josh liked to have plenty of light when he was working—and folded up the makeup clothes protector he had draped around my shoulders.

  “I am dying to see this dress on,” he said, “then we’ll get a pic, send it to Sasha and let the tweeting and sharing begin. And another with Alex when he arrives,” he added almost as an afterthought. The Russian was my every thought at the moment.

  With a glance at the clock, I raced in to change; The Russian would be arriving in twenty minutes. The only time I could remember feeling that excited was playing in our Suns grand final the year before. I had bought new underwear during the week too ... not that I necessarily expected to be sharing it with The Russian – it was officially only our first unofficial date, but I wanted to be prepared.

  I slipped on the cream and lace brief and matching strapless support bra; they were a gorgeous set and felt beautiful on my skin. I slipped my feet into my strappy, high heel, silver sandals with just a hint of bling, and then the dress. I unzipped the long zip at the back and removed it from the coat hanger. I carefully stepped into it and slid the smooth and slinky gown up my body, placing the thin straps over my shoulders. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. With Sasha’s dress and Josh’s make-up, I felt like I was the best I could be ... this was me, highlighted. Does that make sense? I might never be as good as I was at that moment ever again.

  I grabbed my small, matching clutch bag and checking I had a compact, tissue, lipstick, comb, mirror, credit card and house keys, proclaimed myself ‘ready’. I opened the door and Josh gasped.

  “Oh my, just stunning,” he said, clasping his hands together.

  “It feels amazing, Josh, and with your make-up too, I’m blown away,” I said. “Zip me please?” I asked, turning around. I felt the zip close the dress snugly around me, and I turned to swirl the skirt as the generous layers of fabric swelled out from my hips down. “What would I do without you and Sasha? I feel like a million dollars.”

  “You look gorgeous,” Josh said again. “Quick, a couple of pics of you in the gown first so Sasha can put them up on her designer website.”

  I glanced at the clock again; the closer it got to The Russian’s arrival time, the more nervous I became. I wondered if he was nervous at all or if he would be like he always was ... cool and calm.

  Josh snapped a few shots with me doing glamour-type poses, front and back, and then, the intercom buzzed.

  I breathed in and moved to answer it. I could see the small image of this beautiful man in a tuxedo in my doorway. He’s here, thank you God, thank you – I said my silent prayer of thanks.

  “Hi Russian, come on up,” I said, and buzzed him through.

  Josh went to open the door to The Russian while I raced back into my bedroom to fuss a bit more, check my hair, dress and make-up once again. I heard their voices outside, and taking a moment to prepare myself – seriously I was more nervous about going to the Ball with The Russian than I was about getting up on stage later and making a speech.

  I walked through to the living area. I saw his face light up, really light up. He’d had a haircut – super sexy short back and sides which showed off those beautiful high cheekbones and chiseled jaw, and he was holding a dozen long stem red roses ... he knew how to take a woman on a date.

  “Wow,” he said. “You look absolutely beautiful.” He just said it so naturally, no spin, that I heard myself laugh.

  “Thank you, Russian. You look gorgeous too.”

  “You do,” Josh agreed, “you both do. Now photo, come on, Carla promised Sasha the scoop.”

  I saw The Russian wince.

  “She made a dress for me in four days and she is the Saints media officer, I kind of promised her,” I said.

  “She’s a pain in my butt,” he said, good-naturedly, “but she’s done a mighty job on the dress.” He handed me the roses.

  “They’re stunning, thank you.” I inhaled the roses, they were perfect, just past the bud stage and almost ready to bloom.

  “I’ll put those in water,” Josh said, taking them off me and putting them down on the kitchen counter. “Let’s get a quick photo, and get you two out of here,” he said.

  We found a neutral wall to stand against and as I went to place my hand on the Russian’s arm, he put his arm around my waist instead and pulled me in closer. Forget going out, I could just stay there. He smelled beautiful, he was groomed to within an inch of his life, his haircut really suited him, although I liked the longish hair on him too and that tux .... I was hoping I would get a chance to get it off him. Josh framed up the shot.

  “Alex and Carla dressed by ...?” Josh asked.

  “Tom Ford and Sasha Saxon, make-up by Josh Turnbull,” I said, with a grin.

  “Done,” Josh said. “Now have fun kids and behave,” he teased. “Have her home by tomorrow?”

  The Russian smiled, opened the door for me and I stepped through. My dream night was finally here.

  *****

  The Russian opened the car door for me and I slid into his silver Mercedes sedan, well it felt like I slid in my slinky dress. He leaned down and tucked my skirt in ... so gentlemanly. As I waited for him to join me, I inspected his car. Very luxurious, very big and the back was half-full of sports gear – at least it wasn’t smelly. He slid into the driver’s seat looking so gorgeous it took everything in my control not to throw myself at him. The fact that I was so nervous and was a bit rooted to the spot helped. He turned on the ignition and then, before belting up he turned side-on to look at me.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Sure. Why?”

  “I thought tonight might be a bit hard on you ... the end of a very impressive era,” he said, gently.

  “Thank you,” I said. Tears welled in my eyes and I blinked them away, turning away from The Russian so he didn’t see. He was right but I hadn’t allowed myself to go there. I lost myself in the excitement and euphoria of going with The Russian and not the reality that tonight was my swansong event.

  He squeezed my hand, kissed it and released it as I heard him turn to belt up. For a big guy, he was hugely sensitive. I pulled myself together. The Russian started the car and we headed off.

  “Big car,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, I hate those small cars that you have to fold yourself up to get into,” he said. “Plus, I ferry my sisters around a bit so I want them to be safe. Nikki thinks I’m an on call taxi service, Ana did too until she got her license thankfully.”

  “Has she got a car?” I asked, remembering my first car bought on my first basketball salary which hadn’t been much.

  “I bought her one just to get her off my back.”

  “Aren’t you the sweetest brother?” I grinned at him, knowing full well a new car wouldn’t make a dent in one month of his contract fee. “I’m surprised Nikki’s not hitting you up for driving lessons.”

  “Oh that’s started but I’m not sure I have the patience,” he said.

  “You come across as a very patient, methodical type,” I said, studying him.

  “I am with things I can control. Nikki driving is not one of them unless I get dual controls.”

  I didn’t realize I was biting my lip and tapping my fingers until The Russian’s hand wrapped around mine.

  “You’re nervous? What time is this speech?” he asked.

  I drew a short breath and looked at him. “To be honest, I’m nervous with you.” I didn’t know why I’d said it ... I’m a reverend’s daughter and I guess Dad had always pushed me to be honest about my feelings.

  “Of course you are, I’m gorgeous,” he said.

  I wasn’t expecting that and laughed out loud. He gave me a grin.

  We traveled on the roads I knew like the back of my hand to the Suns’ grounds where the Ball would
be held in the VIP club area. Five hundred tickets had been sold so it was going to be a big night, plus there would be dancing.

  “You know as well as speeches, there’s going to be a fund-raising auction and dancing tonight?” I warned him.

  “I assumed as much. I’ve been to a few club Ball nights and Best & Fairest Award ceremonies in my time.”

  “Won any?”

  “Two,” he said. “One for the Saints and one for my first club when I first went pro.”

  “Bravo you!” I grinned at him.

  “And you’ve won four,” he said.

  “Good job, stats man.”

  He grinned. God he was beautiful. Even his expensive watch looked gorgeous on his wrist, somewhere between where the white cuff of his crisp shirt finished and his beautiful hand began.

  “Do you dance?” I asked, pushing my luck.

  He threw his head back and scoffed. “Do I dance? Are you kidding? Just wait and see ... but it won’t be a tango like Tango,” he said, referring to the team’s Latin lover Tomás Carrera.

  “I was at that lunch when you and Tomás were the guests of honor and he tangoed with his sister.” I stopped myself just in time before I said he was hot! “I’d love to hear you on your guitar doing some rock,” I said, remembering that he played but wouldn’t do it that day.

  “Yeah, well I’ve got to have a few rums under the belt before I do that,” he said, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “I didn’t see you at the lunch, where were you?”

  “On a table right over near the windows ... I was a guest of Sasha’s, and the media always get bad tables at those events because they’re freebies.”

  “Fair enough you freeloader,” he teased.

  The Russian turned the car into the Suns’ large parking lot and word did travel fast – there were photographers lining the entrance and on the road.

  “Do you always get a media turnout like this for your Ball? Impressive,” he said.

  “No, never. Um, I’m thinking Sasha’s tweets and Facebook posts might have done the trick,” I warned him. I wasn’t sure how he would react to being hassled and his photo and mine appearing everywhere, especially when we had both agreed earlier that we were a little social media shy, and I was very conscious of not taking up where his ex-girlfriend had left off in that regard.