Team Tomás (The Saints Team #2)

by Ally Adams

  Team Tomás

  A Saints team book

  By Ally Adams

  PUBLISHED BY: Atlas Productions

  Copyright © Ally Adams 2015

  ISBN: 978-0-9943762-0-6 (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.

  For The Russian

  And to Jenny, the best, best friend ever.

  Chapter 1

  Open your eyes... no, no wait. Okay, deep breath, ready... almost. I might have had a bit too much to drink last night, fine then I was pissed, but so was Tomás, I think. Actually I can’t be sure about that either because Tomás ‘Pez’ Carrera—the gorgeous goalkeeper for the Santa Ana Saints soccer team—has a lot more experience than me at having a drink or ten. And now I was lying in a room that definitely wasn’t mine; in a bed with someone next to me; and, it was time to turn and face the music. On the upside, at least I was still wearing my underwear.

  God please let it be Tomás next to me—I’ll go to church every Sunday for a month, honest. Good grief, now I was attempting to bribe God... I had sunk to a whole new low. It was the hangover or at least I think I had a hangover... can you get a hangover from four or five margaritas? I wasn’t a big drinker and I had never really been absolutely shit-faced drunk so a hangover would be a first.

  I consoled myself that it had been a night of firsts, but I kept one of the firsts for another time. Damn it. I took a shallow breath so I didn’t wake the person next to me. Just get it over with.

  I rolled over slowly and... what the fuck?

  Beside me were three pillows propped up to run the length of the bed. Was that supposed to be like one of those fake pillow guys? I quickly glanced at the first pillow, nope, no face printed on it. I’d been spooned by a pillow! It actually wasn’t bad.

  So, I was in a room, which was definitely a guy’s room—no self-respecting chick would mix stripes with a pattern. The bed was huge, king size with a big four-poster bed frame around it. I saw my red dress hanging over a chair. Did I take it off? Seriously, that’s it, I’m never drinking cocktails again, ever, I decided. Not more than two anyway.

  I rose, quickly dressed, turned to the mirror and patted down my hair. The good thing about having super straight hair is that the only thing that sticks up in the morning is my cowlick which was now on some weird angle protruding perpendicular to my head. Whatever. Bag... I saw it beside the bed and grabbed it. I reached in for my phone. There was a text message from my best friend Mia; sent about thirty minutes ago.

  “Goin 4 a run, call me when U can. Was a gr8 nyt! Mx”

  Huh, I scoffed. Clearly she didn’t help finish the pitcher of margaritas. I brightened—I’m glad we had a good night. I started my deep breathing, motivational talk again and elected to face the music. I picked up my strappy sandals, opened the bedroom door and peered out. Wow, nice place, really nice. I hadn’t been to Tomás’s place before but I was guessing that’s where I was—Mia wouldn’t have let me go home with anyone else and this place definitely had a South American influence: exposed timber ceiling, wrought iron railings, lots of earthy tones, white colored walls and terracotta tile flooring. Looks like a woman had a hand in the choice of rugs and cushions in bright red and yellow... hmm.

  I wandered down the hallway, listening carefully, but the place was pretty quiet. I found the living area and then the kitchen.

  “Hi... you must be Alice?”

  I jumped a foot high in fright as a woman’s voice greeted me. She stepped out from behind the cupboard with a spoon in her hand and an apron on.

  “Sorry, did I scare you?” she asked, with a smile.

  I clutched my heart. “Only a little.”

  She laughed a big wholesome laugh.

  “I’m Valentina, Tomás’s sister. I live downstairs but we share the kitchen.” Even though she looked younger than me, she was all woman; tall, full-bodied with dark flowing hair and deep brown eyes. I stood about a foot shorter and maybe three cup sizes smaller—I felt like a kid next to her.

  She continued, “Tomás has gone to training, but he said for you to stay as long as you like. Tea?”

  “Yes please,” I said, feeling only a little embarrassed that I was the morning leftover.

  She studied me and smiled. “Sit, please.” Valentina motioned to a chair beside the kitchen bench. “I heard it was an enjoyable night.”

  “Did you hear anything about me?” I asked hesitantly.

  She smiled. “No, but Tomás mentioned this morning that you were sleeping in. He slept in the guest room,” she added.

  I closed my eyes for a second and breathed a sigh of relief. When I opened them, Valentina gave me a smile that said ‘been there, done that’. The guest room. Right so I didn’t spend the night with Tomás, just the night in Tomás’s bed. I shook my head as she raised a spoonful of sugar above a tea cup.

  “Don’t worry, nothing happened and I tucked you in with the pillows just to make sure you were warm enough,” she said, reading my mind.

  I think I went three shades of red. “Thank you,” I said. “I don’t usually get drunk.”

  She put up her hand to silence me. “I’m no saint in that department; you don’t owe me an explanation.” She filled the teapot with boiling water.

  I grinned. “I appreciate that,” I said, “but I really am a two-glass screamer. I don’t know what came over me—a pitcher of margaritas I think.” I sighed.

  Valentina laughed again.

  I was secretly relieved that Tomás and I didn’t do it. If and when I slept with Tomás Carrera, I wanted to be completely sober and remember every single glorious moment of it.

  Chapter 2

  The day before... and how I ended up in Tomás’s bed

  The Shaken Not Stirred bar was crowded with Saints’ players, WAGS (the wives and girlfriends), playing staff and its usual crowd. My best friend Mia was officially a WAG now that she was going out with the Saints’ captain, Lucas Ainswright—the very same Lucas who was on the other side of the room from us and watching her like a stalker. So intense that guy, and so cute.

  I had a foot in both camps tonight... my college friends were here, plus I was sort of with the team if being a WAG equals one kiss, two dances and a major crush on goalie Tomás Carrera. Mia calls it a WRAG—a wife, girlfriend and ring-ins.

  The Saints’ post-match parties were always pumping especially when they won and the object of my desire, lust and dreams, Tomás, played a major part in this week’s win. All the social media was tweeting that he was going to be the name to watch. Oh, and I was watching my potential Latin-lover with the warm golden skin, dark bedroom eyes and full lips as though I was his biggest fan, who just so happened to want to tear his clothes off and kiss every inch of that golden skin.

  Where was I? Oh yeah, he had a great game... that boot of his and the foot in it worked some magic. He prevented the opposition from scoring with great style. Being just on six foot, he covered a lot of ground with his athletic, nimble body. I fanned myself thinking of him. And given most professional goalkeepers don't hit their prime until they are
into their thirties—according to my dad—the media was pumping Tomás up for a big future.

  Mia arrived back at our table with a jug of margaritas—bad news. She filled my glass, then Cassie and Melissa’s. Caleb, the thorn amongst us roses, held up his beer, opting out.

  “Lucas is watching you like a lion watching his prey,” I said to her over the loud music.

  She glanced towards him, their eyes locked and his face softened. They had it bad. I looked for Tomás and had lost sight of him. I heard a loud cheer and turned to see the game being replayed on the screen. Lucas and Tomás were heroes at different ends of the ground… Lucas kicked them in, Tomás kept the opposition from doing the same. It would be kind of weird if Mia and I were dating them—like dating two bookends, weird in a good way that is.

  “Where’s Tomás?” Mia asked bringing me back to earth.

  I shrugged.

  “What’s the story with you two?” she asked.

  I noticed Melissa and Cassie moved in closer to hear my answer.

  “I hate to say it but… I just don’t think he’s that into me.”

  Mia bit her lip and didn’t respond. I wonder if she knew something I didn’t, but wasn’t telling me to protect me. Why did I have to fall for someone who every chick wants to be with? Why couldn’t I fall for the barman or D.J., which only every second chick wants to score with?

  Cassie sighed. “Story of my life. I’m always in love with someone who is not into me, and never in love with the ones who want me. Seriously, what’s wrong with me?”

  “The same thing that’s wrong with Alice, clearly,” Melissa contributed. Big help.

  I looked at Cassie with her beautiful glossy red hair and ice pale blue eyes and doubted that any guy would fail to notice her; then again, Cassie, Melissa and I were all single.

  “Right then, tell us the story from the top,” Cassie said. “We need to be the judge of this for ourselves.”

  I took a deep breath. “I met him at the pre-season party at Lucas’s place and he danced with me a few times and said we should hang together some time.”

  “Then,” Mia interrupted, “at training a week later he asked after Alice again.”

  “But didn’t ask for my phone number,” I reminded her. “Then he saw me again here after their last game, got my number and said the same thing again...”

  “We should hang together some time,” Cassie said, finishing the sentence for me.

  I nodded. “Then he texted me to go out and have a coffee.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” Melissa asked.

  “Absolutely,” Mia agreed.

  “Except it’s coffee,” I said. “Not dinner, or a drink. You know coffee says ‘I’m not taking a big gamble on you… not putting in much time… not sure you are worth more… I’m just sucking and seeing’, so to speak.”

  “I’d love to be sucked.” Cassie sighed. We all giggled—I blame the margaritas.

  “Coffee might just mean he’s a bit short of money this week,” Melissa offered.

  We all looked at her, frowning. Melissa was a real, genuine blonde. No streaks, no bleach and sometimes we had to allow for that.

  “This is Tomás Carrera,” Mia reminded her. “His contract for one year is probably more than we’ll earn in ten years.”

  “He can afford coffee,” I agreed.

  “So...” Cassie pushed on, “... did you have coffee?” Two guys came over to our table and Cassie moved them on. “I need to hear this story,” she said, reading our surprised expressions.

  “We went out for coffee last week and it was great. I spent four hours getting ready; he came in jeans and a T-shirt and looked like he’d just stepped off a billboard. We talked, like really talked and he was so hot. He played with my hand on the top of the table and he said I was cute at least three times. We stayed for nearly two hours—we had two rounds of coffee—then he kissed me on the cheek and said we should do this again. I didn’t hear from him all weekend and then he texted me yesterday to ask if I’d be here tonight and I said yes and that’s it.”

  Cassie and Melissa sat back, and looked at each other.

  “What?” I asked looking from one to the other. “What does that look mean?”

  Caleb leaned forward. “It means he’s just not that into you.”

  “Shut up.” I hit his arm.

  Caleb laughed and rose. “Got to go, a cheerleader needs a drink,” he said, and made his way towards a couple of the Saints’ cheerleaders standing at the bar. Caleb was a bit of a hottie himself if the cheerleaders decided they were tired of sporting guys and wanted a college student who couldn’t kick a ball. Speaking of sporting guys, Melissa nodded towards the door.

  “Don’t look now but half of the college football team just entered. Didn’t you have a crush on Finn Lalor last season? He’s here,” Melissa said.

  I tried to look without doing an obvious turn. Yep, it was Finn. Until Mia met Lucas through her part-time job and opened a world of Saints to her friends, securing a date with Finn—hero of the college football team—was aiming high for a college girl like me. But now thanks to Mia, soccer star Tomás ‘Pez’ Carrera—with his handsome Latin ways, beautiful face, long legs and toned torso—was on my radar.

  Finn waved my way and I waved back. Oh the injustice of the world... last semester I would have wet myself because he noticed me. Now, comparing Finn and Tomás... hmm, we’re talking the difference between handsome and godlike. If only Tomás would either totally ignore me or totally like me! He was doing my head in.

  I sighed. “My round,” I told the girls.

  I grabbed the empty margarita jug and headed to the bar, leaving them to talk about my sad and sorry situation. I drew up at the bar next to three gorgeous models; well I’m guessing they were models by the manes of hair and long legs. The Saints always had a collection of beautiful women hanging around. I ordered another pitcher and then my ears pricked up at their conversation.

  “He’s gorgeous and that accent is adorable, but he’s a caveman,” Blondie One said. “Twice he has taken me from behind, did the hair pulling thing and even smacked my ass. Turned me right on,” she said, and giggled.

  Blondie Two laughed. “He does like it rough. I don’t mind a bit of rough but I want sweet too.”

  “Sweet and sour,” Blondie One agreed.

  Eeww, had they both slept with the same guy? I guess they looked alike and maybe they just wanted casual sex. Lighten up Ms. Judgmental, I told myself.

  “Tomás hit on me too, but I had to work that night... hostess job at the jewelry launch,” the brunette said, and the other girls nodded knowingly. “But I’m still open to it,” she said, suggestively.

  OMG, they were talking about Tomás, my Tomás. The caveman, apparently.

  Blondie One said, “he’s a wham, bam and thank you ma’am, guy. I was still sore two days later.”

  “He told me that he didn’t want to look after anyone,” Blondie Two said, “so he didn’t want a relationship.”

  “Maybe that’s why he doesn’t do sweet talk and tenderness,” Brunette suggested. “He’s worried someone will fall for him and get all clingy. He gives great gifts though; I got a beautiful necklace with a drop diamond. Maybe it’s his way of softening the blow when he fobs you off.”

  “He bought me a watch I was admiring as we window shopped on our date. Seriously though, would it kill him to not be so agro? Nik is so much better, such a sensitive lover,” Blondie One said.

  The waiter pushed the pitcher of margaritas in front of me and I thanked him. I gave the models one last look—so they were doing German Nik too—the midfielder. Mia really liked Nik, said he was very sweet, but I didn’t know him that well.

  So my Tomás is a man-whore, I mused; a caveman man-whore who justifies his actions by buying off the girls afterwards with gifts—kind of like prostitution but no money changes hands. I sighed. I was so barking up the wrong tree. Maybe he knew that after coffee... maybe he smelled that I was a virgin an
d not worth the effort required. Maybe he just liked them long, tall and glamorous.

  I arrived at the table, put the pitcher down and then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  I turned to see Tomás standing there in all his Latin glory.

  Chapter 3

  “Hello bella,” Tomás Carrera said, and leaned down to kiss me on the cheek. He was breathtakingly beautiful—a chiseled jaw, the darkest of chocolate-colored eyes, a radiant smile with white teeth that belonged in a toothpaste commercial, and he rocked a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He was strong, but not over-built.

  I think I lost the power of speech and my memory was wiped clean of everything the ladies at the bar just said.

  “You look cute,” he said, running his eyes over my legs and red dress. Even sitting down, I think I had just appeared naked in his eyes—an amazing skill. I stood up.

  “Hey Tomás,” I began to introduce him to my friends but he gave them a charming smile, grabbed me around my waist and we were gone.

  “Dance floor, come dance with me, bella,” he said holding me so close that I don’t think I walked there. He shuffled into the packed floor and we swayed together. I didn’t get to show off any of my great dance moves because I was pressed against him, but it was a small price to pay. I’m a girl who knows when to make sacrifices.

  “Al...iss, Al...iss, Al...iss,” he said my name with that sexy Spanish accent, smiled and shook his head.

  “T... oooo... mmmm…ass...” I dragged his name out and looked at him suspiciously.

  “You haven’t called me,” he said, with surprise in his voice.

  I pulled back the few inches I could to study and frown at him. He had this teasing, sexy, dejected look on his face that I just wanted to kiss off.

  “Um, I think you’re meant to do that calling thing,” I said.