Pippa's Fantasy

by Donna Gallagher

  “No, n-n-not Mandy, JT… Caitlin…it’s Caitlin. Mandy has taken Caitlin to the hospital—the baby is coming early. They didn’t want me to tell you till after the game, but I thought you needed to know now, Brodie… I’m sorry for disturbing everyone.”

  “Shit…shit…shit! Pip, I need to get to Caitlin.” Brodie dragged JT out of the way so he could speak directly to her.

  “What exactly did Mandy tell you? And thanks for coming straight away. I really would have been pissed if you had waited. What’s with that woman of mine, anyway, wanting you to wait?” Brodie, agitated but still in control, stood patiently while Pippa repeated Mandy’s telephone conversation and the plan—already put into action—for Riley to look after all the youngsters. Pippa did not even try to answer Brodie’s last question, though she didn’t think he was at all interested in her view of Caitlin’s reasoning.

  Brodie made hurried arrangements so he could join his wife at the hospital. He left JT to look after the team. There were only ten minutes of the game to go and the Jets were just in front on the scoreboard—it would go down to the wire.

  Pippa was left with the instructions to make sure the guys warmed down correctly and to take stock of any injuries, so she could give Brodie an accurate account later. Brodie promised he would call as soon as he had any news on Caitlin and the baby. JT would have to go to the after-match functions on Brodie’s behalf and make his apologies. Then, with a grin that resembled the iconic smiling face of Luna Park, Brodie bolted out of the door.

  “Well, that went well.” Pippa giggled as she left a slightly green-looking JT, obviously worried about his upcoming responsibilities—or was it the thought of childbirth? Pippa couldn’t be sure—and headed back to Rook and the busy after-game schedule ahead. She shivered at the thought of the shower she was still to help Rook have, in between all her other responsibilities.

  “Yep, I’m in way over my head this time. Well, no use putting it off, Pip. Take a mouthful of cement and harden up, princess. This is what you get paid the big bucks for,” she mumbled to herself as she jogged back down the stairs to the treatment rooms, trying to bring out the professional physiotherapist in her, the one she had spent years training to become.

  * * * *

  He’d missed the connection immediately—his body, which had been sparking at even the slightest contact with hers, had felt cold and empty the minute she’d left. It had reminded him that he was still lying broken and useless on a table under a grandstand, not sure of what his future held. Unlike Brodie and Caitlin, who would soon be happily welcoming the newest addition to their perfect life.

  A perfect life that Rook could not ever imagine attaining for himself—especially without Pippa. It seemed highly unlikely they would be together, given that she could hardly stand being in his presence. He wished he hadn’t blurted out all that stuff about her being around, but he had been so hurt at her look of distaste at the thought of helping him shower that he had wanted some revenge.

  “Wish Mum was here. I could do with some advice about now, not to mention some TLC. Fuck, I’m such a wuss.”

  And now he was even talking to himself. Rook groaned as he lay back and threw his arm over his eyes once again in frustration. “How the hell am I going to survive the rest of today, let alone the rest of my life?” he whimpered.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rook sat, leg propped up on a chair at Jetstream, feeling sorry for himself. Again! It seemed to be his regular mood these days. He had not yet figured out which was worse, the injury he was dealing with or being forced to spend so much time with, and in such close proximity to, Pippa. He was frustrated at having to use crutches to get around, frustrated at the slow progress his knee was making, frustrated that no matter how hard he tried, he could not keep his body from reacting whenever Pippa touched him, but mostly frustrated that she never acted anything but professional when she had her hands all over him.

  She had helped him shower, holding him up like some invalid as he’d quickly cleaned the mud and grass from his body—not that there had been much, hell, he’d only been on the field for less than a quarter of the game. Never once had she seemed interested or even slightly moved by his near naked body. In fact, distracted was more the vibe she had given off. Meanwhile, it had taken all of his control—and the occasional jolt of pain from his knee when he’d purposely moved it—to stop himself from getting a hard-on. It had been a mortifying enough experience without him sporting a woody and Pippa thinking it was because of her… But it was because of her, stupid, a voice in his head corrected.

  Pippa had then efficiently organised Gareth to drive him and his car back home. Gareth had hardly said two words to him during the whole drive home. Rook had been expecting some show of pity or sympathy about his injury, but the cowboy hadn’t said a thing. And that had pissed him off—yeah, he’d whinged about not wanting anyone to make a fuss, but shit, a consoling comment or two might have been nice from his teammate. But no—Gareth had sat stony-faced, eyes on the road the whole way home, only breaking his silence to ask Rook where he wanted the car parked.

  Then, to add insult to injury—literally—he’d had to watch, peering out from his living-room window like some kind of stalker, as Pippa had picked Gareth up and headed, Rook guessed, back to the club for the after-match function. While he had been left alone with his misery and a noisy nightclub downstairs full of strangers who had, in conjunction with the pain from his knee, kept him awake all night.

  The results from the scans taken the day after the game had been favourable. Rook had been relieved that as there was only a slight tear to the tendon, he was not going to need surgery, just time and rehabilitation. That was the part that was killing him—he hated all the time he was spending doing nothing but thinking. He was driving himself, and those around him, insane. Rook knew he had to do something about his attraction to Pippa, but what? That was the question.

  Rook was thankful that he had such good friends. Brodie, JT and the boys had eventually all shown their support, offering assistance and advice for both his injury and running his nightclub. There had been more Jets players frequenting his bar than ever before, all ready to lend a hand. Yeah, all but Gareth, that is. Rook still hadn’t found out what was wrong with him, what was getting under Gareth’s usually happy-go-lucky persona.

  Rook had also discovered that Mick didn’t really need his help. He was a hell of a bar manager and barman. Rook thought that most of the time he was just in Mick’s way, propped up like he was. And that was another cause of his dark moods. His bar ran without him, the team was still managing a few wins without him, and the new rookie was getting better and better.

  His mum, Laura, had also been underfoot constantly, fussing and generally getting under his skin. Finally Trevor, Laura’s new husband, had come to Rook’s aid and taken her back home, giving Rook some breathing space. Trevor was one of the good guys. Forced to retire early from the game, he had turned to a career as a sports commentator, and had been a constant in Rook’s life for a while. But the reminder that Trevor had retired early due to a leg injury had only managed to darken Rook’s mood further.

  Rook had been overjoyed when his mum and Trev had got together, even if it had seemed a little weird at first that his mum had been dating. Rook had just tried not to think about the details too deeply. Of course, when you had nothing to do but think, those deeper, darker thoughts came crashing to the fore.

  Rook had never met his father. His mum had raised him single-handedly. When he was younger he’d hated the stigma of being from a single-parent family—not that Rook had really missed out on much. His mum had put his needs before hers every time. Rook knew she had made many sacrifices on his behalf. Laura Harris had worked hard cleaning other people’s homes to feed and clothe him. The work had also meant she had not needed childcare or babysitting expenses. As a youngster, Mitch—as he had been known before his footy nickname had taken hold—had accompanied her to work.

  As a teen, he
had been embarrassed by the fact that his mum had cleaned the homes of some of his fellow students. He had been forced to weather the storm of teasing comments about her, but he had really hated being taunted by the words from the song Sadie the Cleaning Lady, which had come from the mouths of the more vicious students when his mum had been around.

  It had been playing rugby league that had changed all that for Mitchell Harris—he had quickly risen from the ranks of the bullied to those of the most popular when he’d been signed, while still in high school, to the Jets team. He had become ‘the Rookie’ and everyone had wanted to be his mate or his girl. Everyone had, all of a sudden, loved him. Best of all, Rook had been able to help his Mum set up a cleaning business—she now only took the bookings, did the bookwork and organised her small staff to do the physical aspects that were involved in cleaning a house, and she had blossomed in her new career as a small business owner.

  The fact that the Jets team was once again, en masse, at Jetstream celebrating another team win was grating on Rook’s nerves, as well. If one more person came over and commiserated on his injury and mentioned the fact that the Jets were still winning, despite his absence, he would rip their head off and shove it up their backside. The imagery of doing just that soothed Rook’s dark mood for a few glorious moments.

  Of course, watching Gareth dancing with Pippa to just about every song put an end to any fleeting glimpse of happiness Rook might be able to conjure.

  He hated that feeling of jealousy when he saw the couple together. It wasn’t as if they looked all that romantic—more comfortable in each other’s arms—but just the fact that Gareth could touch Pippa was enough to make Rook see red. He wanted to drag her away from the man, carry her upstairs to his bed and fuck her till Pippa screamed his name and promised to be his. Which, considering he was still half a cripple, would be hard to achieve.

  Having done nothing but think over the last few weeks, Rook had come to the sad conclusion that he had spent his whole adult life searching for Pippa. All the blondes that he had thought he was attracted to had been just poor imitations of the young girl of his dreams. How ironic that she now had dark hair, and he was now more attracted to her than ever. He was still lamenting the fact to himself when a familiar voice broke into his thoughts.

  “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel, Rookie?”

  Brodie and JT stood at the bar next to Rook. Both men patiently waited for him to answer the question.

  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, JT. Tell who how I feel?” Rook finally answered, shocked that his coach was aware of his feelings towards the team’s physio—the same girl Brodie had warned him away from back in the early days of his professional footy career. Rook had understood the threat and the fact it would have been the end of his contract if he went near her.

  “Take it from men who have worn that same expression on their faces—there is no point in trying to fight it. Once a woman has gotten under your skin, it’s fatal. There is no cure.” JT laughed, punching Rook in the arm so hard he nearly fell off his stool.

  “C’mon, Rookie, you’ve had the hots for Pip Rodgers for years. You don’t think I know, all those years ago when you were warned off her, how much it took for you to walk away? You were a hell of a man back then, and you still are. Take it from me, Rookie, finding Caitlin was the best thing to ever happen to me. After all the shit with my ex, I had given up on the idea of marriage and kids. Now I have a beautiful new baby girl, a feisty little son and a gorgeous wife. That’s what it’s really all about!”

  Rook was trying to comprehend what Brodie was saying to him. They knew how he felt about Pippa, and had for some time. What was more, they were giving him the go-ahead to try to start something with her.

  “What about your ‘no fraternisation’ rule?” Rook asked his coach.

  “I think this relationship was well on its way before Pippa started working for the Jets team, so it doesn’t really count. What do you reckon, JT?”

  “Yep, don’t think it has any bearing in this instance. These two have been destined to be together since way back. I remember my Mandy telling me just that, years ago,” JT answered.

  “So what are you waiting for, Rook? You’re not a Rookie anymore—step up, stop wasting time and go get your woman, before Gareth cowboys up and drags her back to some outback country town and turns her into his cowgirl. Actually, they make a nice couple, don’t you think, JT?” It was Brodie’s turn to give Rook a good-natured slap on the shoulder as he finished his teasing pep-talk with a laugh. Again, the slap—this time from Brodie—nearly knocked Rook right off his stool.

  “I really wish you apes would stop whacking me. I just about fall off this stool every time. If I’m to fall on my face, it might as well be trying to woo my woman, rather than my coaches beating me up,” Rook said, his spirits lifting at the thought of him and Pippa together, finally.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pippa was glad that Gareth was acting normally around her again. They had not discussed his admission, that first game day, of wanting more than just her friendship. She had worried later, as she had reviewed her eventful day, that he might pull away from her, embarrassed by his admission. Pippa valued Gareth’s friendship a great deal, and she really held great affection for him. She couldn’t help but think of how much easier her life would be if it was Gareth’s body she desired.

  As they danced, Pippa tried to imagine Gareth’s lips on hers or his hands cupping her breasts, tugging at her nipples or teasing her clit, but to no avail. She could not feel any sexual heat at all towards her friend. As much as it frustrated her—she knew that the man holding her in his arms was one of the good guys in life, someone a girl could really lose her heart to and depend on—it was Rook who sent her pulse rate racing and stole her breath from her lungs with just a glance.

  “Stop thinking, Pip.” Gareth gave her a little shake as he held her in his arms while they danced. “I guess it’s time we talked about my big mouth.”

  Pippa shook her head.

  “No, Gareth, let’s not. I’d just as soon forget about that whole day. I really love having you around—you’re becoming one of my dearest friends.”

  “It’s okay, Pip, I understand. Really, I do. I don’t know what got into me, blurting out my feelings like that. I think it was watching Rook leave you looking hurt again that did me in. I’m not blind—I can see I’m not the cowboy for you. But it doesn’t hurt a guy to imagine what it could be like. I’ll always be here for ya, Pip, and if it is as just friends than I can deal. I’d rather have you as part of my life in the big city than not at all. Who else would protect me from all those bold city girls, eh?”

  “Oh, Gareth, it would be so easy for me if I could feel more for you, you know, in that way, but I can’t. You’re one of the good guys, Cowboy, and I’ll tell you a little secret—I’ve tried to imagine you and me like that, have even thought about kissing you just to see if I could spark up some attraction, but it just doesn’t work. I love you, Gareth, I really do…”

  Pippa dropped her head on Gareth’s chest as she whispered to him the words she knew he didn’t want to hear.

  “Just not in that way.”

  “C’mon now, Pip, don’t get all weepy on me. We’ll be right. I’ll live—hey, I’ve taken a few hits in my time, on the footy field and in the paddock. I’ll survive. But let’s make a deal, you and me. If we don’t get our love lives sorted by the time we are old and grey we’ll marry each other. We can rock away in wicker chairs on my front porch back at the farm and reminisce over chances missed. Whaddaya say, Pip? Will you marry me then, ’cause I already know there will always be a place in my heart for you. Love you too, Pip.”

  “Yep, sounds like a good idea to me, Cowboy. It’s a deal. It’ll be our secret.”

  Rook could not believe his ears. He had hobbled out onto the dance-floor—sans crutches—to cut in on Gareth. He had rehearsed what he was going to say to her. It was time Pippa knew how long he ha
d cared for her, perhaps even loved her. He could finally come clean and tell her how weak he had been, letting her think he wasn’t interested in her.

  God, if she only knew how hard it had been to turn away from her back then—how many frustrating times he had imagined that the younger Rookie hadn’t fled. Hell, he still had dreams about her and that night. He’d always imagined the feel of touching her youthful, inexperienced body, caressing and kissing those pale breasts, making her writhe and moan beneath him as he took her innocence. Rookie was convinced she had still been a virgin when she had approached him that night, so long ago.

  But then he had overheard them, out there on the dance-floor, as they’d whispered their words of love while wrapped in each other’s arms. He’d managed to catch snippets of their conversation as they’d moved around him, unaware of his presence.

  Could Rook trust his hearing over the loud music? It sounded pretty much like Gareth had proposed to Pippa. Not all that eloquently, in Rook’s opinion, but he couldn’t dismiss the fact that Pippa had said yes—or more precisely, “It’s a deal,” adding her personal endearment, ‘Cowboy’, to the acceptance.

  But it was a secret for the moment, apparently.

  “Bit late to be worried about breaking the rules now, princess—you’re making a habit of it,” Rook mumbled bitterly as he backtracked quickly to the bar—as quickly as he could manage, anyway, given the brace on his injured knee.

  “What happened, Rook?” JT laughed. “Did ya get cold feet? Thought you were going out to claim your woman?”

  “Fuck off, JT. Just ‘cause you’re happy with your picture-perfect life—wife ’n’ kids and picket fuckin’ fences—doesn’t mean I have to want it. Came to my senses. See you later, Brodes… I’ve got a business to run here.”

  Rook grabbed his crutches, leaving his long-term friends, now his coaches, behind. He could almost feel the burn from their eyes on his back as he stormed off towards his office—well, hobbled with angry purpose, that was, as he was too angry to make use of the walking aids that were tucked under one arm. On the way, he noticed a busty blonde giving him the eye.