Team Lucas (The Saints Team #1)

by Ally Adams

  “No!” I cut her off. “Spoiler alert, I’m only watching it now. Talk to me about it tomorrow,” I said.

  “Okay, pick you up at ten,” she said.

  “Ten,” I agreed, “but I will need to start with a coffee... you know how shopping stresses me.”

  “Fine, but that will slow us down,” she said, and sighed.

  She was right and so was Lucas; I did seem to get a double X-chromosome and a shortage of the female Y-chromosome. While I let down the female species, Alice was a master shopper. If shopping was a job she’d be the Bill Gates or Donald Trump of shopping—at the top of her tree. If it was an Olympic sport, she’d have the summer and winter medals... yeah, you get the picture.

  We said our goodbyes and I went to the fridge and pulled out my crisper. I grabbed a large stir fry pan from the cupboard, sprayed some olive oil on it and placed it on the gas hot plate. I got the cutting board out and a knife and began cutting vegetables. I could believe pretty much everything Ridge did, it’s a soapy after all. I loved the new Ridge, while Alice liked the old Ridge. We agreed to disagree since we couldn’t talk each other around.

  I heard a knock at the adjoining door and noticed I hadn’t locked it. I hesitated.

  “Come in,” I called, warily.

  Lucas stuck his head in the door. He at least had the good grace to look sheepish. He had changed into loose black track pants and a gray hoodie which made his eyes look dreamy blue.

  I didn’t say anything; it was his move. He’d left me at an empty club house in the dark. He entered and sank onto a stool at the bench where I was cutting.

  “Are you pissed with me?” he asked.

  “Would you care?”

  He bit his lip, obviously thinking about the best way to answer that.

  “Want a drink?” I asked.

  He looked at my Diet Coke.

  “I’ll have what you’re having. Thanks,” he said.

  I grabbed him a glass and the bottle from the fridge and handed it over the counter between us. He poured a glass, topped mine up and handed me back the bottle when done. I returned it to the huge refrigerator.

  “I’m sorry I cut out on you,” he said.

  I looked up at him, surprised. I didn’t think Lucas Ainswright big time, hot shot would apologize for anything. He hadn’t to date.

  “Was that the coach who drove you home?” he asked.

  I nodded. “He’s nice, Johan.”

  “I’m a dick,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you there.”

  I didn’t disagree, it was pretty fitting.

  “Is your friend Jase back?” I asked.

  “Yeah, they flew in this afternoon. They’re going to crash early.”

  I nodded. “Have you eaten?” I asked, continuing to cut up some carrot.

  “No.”

  “Want some stir-fry vegetables and tofu?” I offered. “There’s plenty.”

  “No meat?” he asked taking a piece of carrot from the cut pile and crunching into it.

  “No.”

  He shrugged. “Okay,” he agreed.

  Oh so gracious, thanks for deigning to dine with me. Seriously you’d think with all that stiff upper lip British upbringing and private school education he might have learned some manners. We sat in silence. I’d given up on small talk; if there was one thing I had learned from dealing with guys in my work experience and at college is they don’t need constant talk and they don’t need to fill quiet space with banter.

  “Nice pajamas by the way,” he said. “Where can I get some like that?”

  I gave him a wry look. “When was the last time you wore PJs?”

  “When I was about ten, I guess. I like to sleep naked.”

  “Yeah, too much information thanks. Do I look like a supermodel that cares?” I fell back into my old routine of sparring with him.

  “Cassie, her name is Cassie... oh you meant the blond one you saw in the driveway... that was Chloe.”

  “Of course it was,” I said with a bitchy tone, even though I did like Chloe and hadn’t met Cassie. “I’m sure they love you naked in bed, saves time I imagine.”

  His eyebrows arched. “I’m never in a hurry in there.”

  Seriously, shut up now. I was having a hot flush thinking of that gorgeous body, muscled and taut, and if everything was in proportion, and working in its own sweet time...

  “Is that The Bold and the Beautiful?” He swiveled on the stool to face side-on and see the television.

  I fanned my face while he looked away. Just having him nearby was restricting my breathing. If you had said to me a month ago I’d be living in Lucas Ainswright’s beach house and cooking a stir-fry for Lucas, I would have said, get real. Actually I probably would have said “who’s Lucas Ainswright?” but it appears the rest of the world knows.

  “Is this on now?” He frowned, watching the TV.

  “No, I tape it every day.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because it is good escapism.” I shrugged. “For thirty minutes I get to watch something that requires no concentration and the problems aren’t mine. I read a psychology report once that said people who watch soapies felt more connected because they adopted the communities of the ones they were watching—you know, they felt like they were part of their lives.”

  “That so?” Lucas said.

  I took the chopping board full of vegetables and the diced tofu and pushed them into the pan. Lucas rose, came around and ignited the gas. He opened a drawer, grabbed a wooden spoon and began stirring.

  I looked at him surprise.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. I grabbed some oyster sauce from the fridge and put it beside him to add once they were almost done. Lucas Ainswright was stirring vegetables for our dinner.

  “You’re looking at me again. Why? Haven’t you seen a man cook before?” He frowned.

  I thought about it. “No, not really,” I realized.

  He shook his head. “You need to get out more... stop swabbing good folk and get a life.”

  Seriously, he was such unpleasant company that if he wasn’t so goddamn gorgeous you wouldn’t bother. Luckily I’m the kind of girl who is prepared to overlook some flaws and work on others.

  I grabbed cutlery and serviettes and with a couple of glasses and the jug of water from the fridge, put them on the lounge coffee table, assuming we were eating on the couch. Heaven spare us from having to sit opposite each other and make conversation.

  Lucas sprinkled in the oyster sauce.

  “It’s ready,” he proclaimed after a few rounds of stirring. Just like a guy at a barbeque. The chicks do all the preparation; they turn a steak on the hotplate and take all the glory. I swear the heat I was giving off was way more than the hotplate.

  I served up in two bowls, giving him the larger serve, and we moved to the couch—sitting at opposite ends with the middle clearly evident—to watch the rest of The Bold.

  He didn’t elaborate on the fight with the doc or why he left. I glanced at him but he was staring fixedly at the TV. He even looked sexy lounging on the coach eating a mushroom out of his vegetable bowl. Damn him. Still, I was kind of pissed that he was nice to me when it suited him and shit to me the rest of the time. Why didn’t he call supermodel or her friends if he wanted company?

  “What?” he asked. “You’re staring at me.”

  “How’s the stir-fry?”

  “Needs meat,” he grumbled.

  “Well BYO next time,” I suggested. I reluctantly returned my gaze to the TV but it was really hard to eat with him beside me; I was super self-conscious.

  “You know what I don’t get?” Lucas asked.

  “No, what?”

  “I don’t get why they don’t go out and meet new people,” he said.

  I frowned at him in confusion.

  “On The Bold,” he said, like I was a simpleton. “Why do they have to marry each o
ther’s exes and work their way through their connected families? There’s something like sixteen million people living in Los Angeles where they live, so let’s say half of those are adults and....” He stopped mid-sentence seeing my expression.

  “I’m over thinking it aren’t I?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I’m not getting how you even know they all date each other. Do you watch The Bold?”

  He scoffed. “Not likely but I’m an in-touch guy.” He returned to his vegetables and added as an afterthought, “The coach says I over-think most things.”

  “Really,” I said, surprised. Could have fooled me, he seemed totally impulsive. “Did you over-think whatever you were arguing about tonight?” May as well plunge right in.

  He selected a snow pea and chewed on it. “We were talking about my father,” he said, reluctantly.

  “Right.” I had to be so careful with Lucas... if I showed too much interest he clammed up but I wanted to encourage him to talk. “Does the doc know him?”

  “He knows of him. They consult, and that’s how you came on the scene,” he said, finishing his bowl of vegetables and placing it on the table in front of us. He put his feet up on the coffee table, extending his legs out in front of him; I guess it was his furniture.

  “Does your dad want you to come back to the UK?”

  “I don’t give a fuck what he wants. He doesn’t get a say in anything I do,” he snapped.

  Well this was going well. He stared at The Bold, watching it without watching it, his jaw locked and his eyes narrowed. He cricked his neck to the side and back to center, closing his eyes.

  I put my bowl down and walked around behind him.

  “Stay still and I’ll try and relax your neck and shoulder muscles,” I offered. This was becoming an occupational hazard for me. You’d think after he said I enjoyed working his calf muscle and seeing him get a hard-on last time that I wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot soccer fan but the offer came out of my mouth instinctively.

  I worked my hands beneath his hoodie, onto his black T-shirt around his neck and shoulder muscles. Bad hands, but they wanted him and ignored all the messages from my brain. He sat up a little, giving me better access to his shoulders. If he was any more wound up he would have imploded—bits of Lucas everywhere.

  He groaned at the slightest touch, so it must have been a little painful. I pulled back a bit, making my touch lighter, and kneaded the area. All the while I watched him, studying his beautiful profile as he sat with his eyes closed.

  “That’s so good,” he moaned, encouraging me when I hit the right spot.

  It was so good, trust me.

  The intercom buzzed, wrecking the moment, and we both glanced to it on the wall. From the visual feed, I could make out the outline of an attractive woman—again.

  “Oh no, who the fuck is that?” He bolted upright, pulling away from me and went to the edge of the blind. “Fuck, it’s Miranda.”

  “Another model?” I asked.

  “Actress,” he answered, without looking at me.

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t feel like seeing anyone tonight,” he muttered.

  “What am I? Tofu?”

  He gave me a look that suggested tofu was better.

  “Didn’t you invite her over?” I whispered.

  He shook his head. “Just because they’re gorgeous doesn’t mean I ordered them.”

  “She might be good for you... relax you for the night, help you with that... um problem,” I said, glancing to the very noticeable bulge he now sported. He pulled his shirt down as low as it would go.

  “Don’t answer it,” he said.

  Poor Miranda buzzed again.

  “She’s going to wake Jase and Sarah,” I reminded him.

  He shook his head. “They don’t have an extension on their level.”

  Miranda hit the buzzer again and stood back so we could see her full length in the video panel of the intercom.

  This was crazy. I moved to the intercom to grab the hands-free phone and let her in but Lucas slid across the room in record speed to stop me.

  I ducked to the other side of the couch with the phone.

  “Mia, give me the phone,” he said.

  “Not unless you let her in,” I teased.

  “Mia!” He waved his hand at me for the phone. “It’s my intercom, give me the phone.”

  “It’s my temporary abode,” I reminded him. “Besides, you can’t leave her out there; she’s all dressed up to see you. She wants to play.”

  Lucas smiled. “Don’t make me come over there, Mia.”

  I went to answer it and Lucas dived to the left of the couch and bolted around to my side. Just as quickly I ran to the right and we stood on opposite sides of the couch to each other again.

  He narrowed his eyes and I did the same.

  “Mia, phone,” he said and held out his hand.

  I shook my head and lightning fast he reached over the couch, grabbed me and pulled me forward and down onto the couch, falling on top of me. I grabbed the phone to my chest.

  “Give it to me.”

  Lucas wrestled the intercom from my hands. I felt his erection against my leg. Was it for me or Miranda?

  “You’re squashing me.” I got the words out. Not to mention he was about to impale me on his erection.

  “Sorry.” He moved off me taking the phone intercom and smirking as if he had won a major victory. Then his phone rang in his pocket as she attempted to ring him.

  “Fuck.” He scrambled for it.

  Miranda must have heard it ringing and buzzed again. “Lucas, it’s me,” she said.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swore. His bulge would be a nice welcome present for her.

  I got off the couch and returned his smirk to him as he glanced back at me from the doorway. His was a glance that would have frozen hot curry. He strode down the hallway to the front door. I heard them go upstairs as I locked our shared door. I collected his bowl and went to the sink.

  So that’s what it is like to have Lucas Ainswright on top of me—Lucas Ainswright with an erection and so little fabric between us. I closed my eyes, feeling a little overwhelmed by the whole foreplay.

  Within fifteen minutes I heard the sounds of sex floating down the stairs and through my thin wall. No small talk then.

  I wished he was pressing me to his bed instead of Miranda. I’d even put up with his up-and-down miserable personality for that.

  Chapter 10

  When I stumbled out for a morning run there was a note slipped under the door from Lucas.

  “M, Jase and Sarah want to have the housemates for dinner, third floor at seven. Text me if you are free. P.S. this is their idea, don’t get used to it.”

  Fuck you global sports superstar. It was sweet of Jase and Sarah and as luck would have it I was free. I texted him that I’d love to come—hmm, couldn’t help myself—and asked what I should bring. I grabbed my keys and headed out for a run. On my return there was no reply text, what a surprise, not.

  I would have to put the discussion of Lucas’s father on ice as we wouldn’t get a chance to talk again with the group dinner tonight and the party tomorrow night. It would be a challenge getting back to the topic anyway with Mr. Frosty.

  More importantly I had survived a whole week and the weekend would mark ten days. Yeah, I was good; I was going to beat the record of living with and monitoring the unbearable but sexy Lucas Ainswright. Plus for every week I survived, I got a bonus... yes a bonus and that bonus would nicely pay for my new party dress and Alice’s too. I was feeling benevolent.

  My phone beeped with an incoming text and I surprised myself at how I tensed expecting it to be Lucas. Wow, he must be stressing me out more than I thought. I looked at the phone and he had texted two words: “bring nothing.” Good, well you have a good day dickhead and I look forward to seeing you tonight. Seriously would a bit of civility kill this guy? I was so going t
o draw blood from him for his next drug test.

  But priorities first: Alice and I had to go shopping, and that we did. That girl shopped like it was her last shopping trip ever; she was doing a Ripley—determined to get a dress that made her look hot if it was the last thing she did on this planet. The concept of shop until you drop was alien to me. Before lunch we had found me a dress, thank you universe... did I mention I hate shopping? I got a fitted black dress with a bling thread through it so it sparkled. It sat nicely above the knees and well over my butt, and showed off my running curves. Whatever, it was in budget, new and would do nicely.

  Finishing my dress shopping made Alice panic.

  “We’ve only got five hours until the shops close,” she said, looking around as I ate my zucchini and pineapple open grill toast.

  “For the love of God, tell me we’re not going to be here for five hours,” I panicked. “I can’t do that Alice, I just can’t. Besides I have to go to dinner tonight with the third floor tenants and I need some downtime in a bath first.” Now we were both panicking.

  Alice gulped down her smoothie. I took another tactic. I’d been studying the coach, so I could do this morale boosting stuff.

  “Alice,” I said calmly, ensuring I had her attention. “You’re the best shopper I’ve ever known. You can see how an outfit will look and come together before it is even off the hanger. You can do this.”

  She nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I can do this.” Alice looked out to the shops as though inspiration had landed on her shoulders.

  I continued. “We’ve seen nearly everything at least once, and now you just have to bring it together, narrow it down and make that decision.”

  I studied Alice. Her brown eyes were huge and a bit glazed as she took in my words; her dark black hair was sleek and sat perfectly in her shoulder-length bob and her skin was translucent. She could have stuck on any frock and walked straight into a glamorous event and pulled it off. I went for the kill.

  “You are great under pressure and you can do this. You’ve got one hour.”

  She gasped. “One hour.” Alice loved a challenge.

  “You’re on. Let’s go.” She rose and grabbed her handbag, pointing her nose in the direction of the first shop we looked at two hours ago.