“Hi.”
Pierce looked up from his phone to see Abby standing there. His eyes traveled over her in quick appraisal. She wore a blue-and-white striped boat neck top and navy capri pants. Simple, casual, not a hint of vulgarity. She looked . . . wholesome. Softly beautiful. So different from the brash, overly made-up, scantily dressed groupies who waited by the sidelines of the stadium and doors of the locker room. Abby’s girl-next-door normalcy was a breath of fresh air.
Her straight, blond hair was down and loose; the first time he’d seen her without it up in a ponytail. It was cut in a bob that fell maybe two inches lower than her jawline—and she was obviously a natural blonde. Those dark blue eyes, a dazzling smile, and a great body . . . small but deliciously round breasts, soft curves . . . something about her set his body humming and his fingers itching to touch her. Damn. So cute. Deliciously cute.
“Hi yourself,” he said with a friendly grin. “Have a seat.” As she settled into the chair across from him, he quickly texted, You owe me ten bucks. Don’t wait up. Then he put the phone down on the table. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she said with a nonchalant air. She set her cell phone on the table, too, and looked out at the water instead of directly at him. His eyes caressed her profile.
The night before, he’d caught her studying him with a sideways glance once or twice, but she hadn’t flirted with him at all. If anything, she’d been standoffish. Usually, women threw themselves at him.
But in the last few months in England, while the casual no-strings flings were still easy, he’d realized something with a vengeance: The women he’d hooked up with were so boring. Empty-headed and empty inside, leaving him feeling the same way. He’d wondered if he was finally growing up. He started looking at women differently, and not being as reckless. After being burned by Victoria Huntsman and that whole mess, he hadn’t even wanted to be around women at all. The self-imposed break had definitely been what he’d needed.
But Abby McCord interested him. He hadn’t been able to get her off his mind all day, and had been looking forward to their date-that-wasn’t-really-a-date. Yeah, she was gorgeous, but that wasn’t why she intrigued him. There was softness beneath that steel. She’d been great with the kids at practice. Patient and sweet, easy to laugh, not afraid to sweat and get a little muddy with them. And though she was wound a little tight, even that amused him in an engaging way, something of a gauntlet thrown down. He wanted to loosen her up. And the more he looked at her, the more wicked ways he conjured up to do so.
He liked her. She, however, didn’t seem to like him. He didn’t think it was because he’d made something of a spectacle at the game where they’d first met, or that he’d encroached on her territory with the coaching. They were pretty different, that was obvious. But his bet was that his bad reputation had preceded him. If she’d Googled him, it wouldn’t be too hard to find out about him and his colorful past, much less the recent scandal that’d made headlines. He cleared his throat and said, “Nice view, isn’t it.”
She turned her gaze back to him and gave a small smile. “It is. I’ve always liked this place. Thanks for suggesting it.”
He smiled back. “Thanks for coming.” His phone buzzed and he quickly looked at it. LOL, Troy had written. Have fun.
A waitress appeared and handed each of them a laminated menu. She took their drink orders and left them there to maneuver the landscape of awkward small talk.
“So Dylan’s your nephew, huh?” Pierce said.
“Yeah. My older sister’s son. Her only child.” A light breeze blew off the water, sending the ends of Abby’s hair dancing around her chin. “Dylan’s dad is long gone. So my parents and I all help out with watching him. Fiona’s a nurse and works long shifts, weird hours.”
“Ah. Well, that’s nice of you all.” Pierce watched her silky golden strands sway on the breeze, mildly mesmerized by the way they stroked her skin. “You live in the same town, then? You and your parents?”
A hint of a rueful grin lifted Abby’s mouth. “You could say that. A few months ago, I moved back home with them, and Fiona and Dylan. Now we’re all in one house. It’s easier that way.”
Pierce stared. “Wow.” He was taken aback. The thought of a family caring that much about one another was an alien concept to him. “Back home. As in, you’d moved out, had your own place, but moved back home?”
“Yup. Exactly that.”
“Wow. How old are you? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t mind,” Abby said, shrugging. She smiled up at the waitress as she placed two glasses of water on the table, then Pierce’s beer and her ginger ale. “I’m twenty-eight.”
Pierce reached for his bottle. “And you moved back home. To help your family.”
“That’s what I said. Several times now.” Her brows furrowed. “Is something wrong with that?” A hint of defensiveness edged into her tone as her eyes held his.
“No! Hell no,” Pierce said quickly. “I think it’s admirable. I wouldn’t do that, not at twenty-eight. I don’t know many selfless people, much less someone who’d do that for family. You all must be really close.”
She sipped her water before saying, “Yes, we are. And we’re all Fiona and Dylan have now.” She peered at him. “You’re not close with your family?”
He couldn’t hold back the snort. “No. Not at all. Just with my sister. Tess is the best. But the rest of them . . . no.” Glancing out at the water, he lifted his bottle to his lips to take a long swallow of dark beer.
“Who’s the rest of them?” Abby asked.
“Just two older brothers. Parents divorced when I was six, and it was really ugly. Mom took her hefty settlement and split. I rarely see her, none of us do. My father . . .” He shook his head. “We can’t stand each other. Never got along. Lots of fights, that sort of thing. So . . . yeah, not close with my family.”
“That’s too bad,” Abby said softly. “Sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be,” Pierce shrugged. “Not every family gets along.” With that, he effectively ended the line of discussion as he set down the bottle of beer, leaned in a bit, and said, “So tell me about soccer, Coach. What can you teach me?”
She laughed in surprise. “Me? Please. You taught the boys more yesterday than I have in a month.”
“No I didn’t,” he said modestly.
“Yes. Yes, you did.” Her fingers played with the discarded straw wrapper, twirling it around her fingertip. “They seemed . . . more focused. Not so all over the place. Just your being there boosted their morale. Sometimes, a morale boost is just as important as actual skill improvement. Don’t you think?”
His eyes traveled over her face. Damn. She had real heart. “I agree.”
Something about Abby genuinely resonated with him. Down to earth, obviously smart, and genuine. Not trying to be someone she wasn’t, or climbing over his back with an agenda. Added to all that was the fact that she wasn’t flirting with him or working him in any way—and he had to admit, the whole package intrigued him more than if she had put herself in his lap.
“So tell me you brought your clipboard,” he said, leaning in on his elbows and grinning. “I’m dying to see what you’ve got there. All those papers. So very organized.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as her head tipped to the side. “You’re making fun of me again.”
“Only a little,” he said with a wink. “What do you need all that paperwork for, anyway? Just coach ’em.”
She stiffened. “But that’s exactly what it’s for. I have the team roster, and lists of what I want to get done during practice, and I’ve written out strategies, directions—”
“You don’t need them,” he said, sitting back as the waitress returned.
“You guys ready to order?” she asked, smiling.
Abby huffed out a frustrated breath before turning to the waitress, and Pierce swallowed a chuckle. Teasing her lightly enough to get her wound up amused him. And the more wound up she got, the more temp
ted he was to do whatever it’d take to get her unwound. But also, she needed to see coaching from a different angle.
After the waitress left again, he said, “Abby, you’re a teacher. You know how to teach kids. You don’t need so many notes. I mean, you don’t walk around your classroom with a clipboard hugged to your chest all day, do you?”
Spots of pink blossomed on her pale cheeks. “No, of course not. But I do plan all my lessons. So while it’s not a clipboard, I do have a lesson planner, right there on my desk. It’s got every part of the day scheduled, in detail, with what I need to do. I also keep it all on my phone, on the off chance I ever lose that planner.”
“Your plans have plans,” he remarked with a lopsided grin.
The corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m extremely organized.”
“You certainly are.” He leaned in on his elbows again. “I understand about the team roster, sure. But maybe . . . now that I’m on board to assist, you won’t need all the other crap on that clipboard. Just be able to go with the flow a little.”
Her mouth set in a tight line. She blinked twice. Then she nodded. “Fine.”
Ooooh, yellow card. When a woman said “Fine” like that, it was so not fine. “Okay, wait. I’m not trying to piss you off, Abby. I’ll stop teasing you. But if the kids see you having fun with it, they’ll have more fun with it too. That’s all I’m getting at here.” He couldn’t read her, but she seemed rigid as she stared out at the water.
“I’m . . .” she started, then shook her head.
“What? Say it.”
“I’m not a very ‘go with the flow’ kind of person,” she said. Her eyes finally met his. “You fly by the seat of your pants, don’t you?”
“All the time.”
“And that obviously works for you. But not for me.”
He gave a slightly smug grin. “So . . . tell me whatever you wanted to tell me about the team. I’m listening.” He took a swallow of beer and sat back to hear what she had to say, savoring the lost look on her face.
Abby’s gaze fell to her drink. He frowned, wondering if he’d pushed too far with his teasing. But before he could say anything, she looked back at him and said, “You think I’m just a prissy little nun, don’t you.”
He choked on a laugh. “What? A nun? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean. A Little Miss Priss. Small town, reserved, and uptight.” Her hands folded on themselves on the tabletop as her gaze and tone sharpened. “And you certainly seem to think I’m ‘funny’ with all my plans and papers and routines.”
Shit. Definite yellow card. “No, Abby, I don’t think it’s funny. Well, wait, maybe I think it’s a little funny. But in an . . . endearing way. I think it’s cute. You’re cute.”
“Cute?” She spat out the word like it was dipped in poison.
“Yup. Adorable, in fact.” He put down his beer bottle, leaned in close, and said, “Look. You are from a small town, you are a little reserved, and yeah, you’re a little uptight. So what? But I don’t think you’re prissy, and you’re way too gorgeous to be a nun. If you were . . . that’d make me a sinner.” Holding her gaze, eyes twinkling, he whispered, “Because of the very impure thoughts I’ve had about you. Gotta admit, Abby . . . there’ve been a few.”
Abby felt the heat rising on her skin and knew she was turning bright pink. From her chest, up her neck, up to her damn forehead. He was brazen. Cocky. “What a line,” she murmured. “Does it work on all the women you hit on?”
His grin didn’t budge. “Don’t know. First time I’ve used it.”
“Make it your last.” She sat back as the waitress brought a plate of baked clams to them and set it on the table.
“Your appetizer,” she chirped. “Entrees will be out shortly. Enjoy!”
Abby waited until she walked away before lifting her eyes to Pierce again. “Let’s get a few things straight right now, okay?”
He nodded, not saying a word.
“We’re coaching a kids’ soccer team together,” she said curtly. “And that’s it. So I’d appreciate it if you kept things professional.”
“I can’t help it if I think you’re gorgeous, Abby,” Pierce said. “You are.” He grabbed his smaller fork and scooped two of the clams onto his plate.
“Well, thank you for the compliment.” She fought for her cool, collected teacher voice, ignoring the little thrill that roiled through her. With delicate fingers, she also moved two baked clams to her plate. “But I think we should stick to talking about soccer. And I definitely don’t appreciate your taunts.”
“I wasn’t taunting you,” he said. “Well . . . okay, that’s not totally true.”
“No, it isn’t, and you know it.” Abby speared him with a look. “Is that your game, Pierce? A little teasing and taunting, then wallop her with a surprise compliment and a come-on, and expect her to fall at your feet? I’m not amused. And I’m not playing. You’re bored, so you want a brainless bimbo to play with while you’re in New York? I’m not her.”
Something fierce flashed in his bright blue eyes, and she held her breath.
Pierce leaned in, his gaze locked on hers as he said quietly, “I don’t know what you’ve read about me, but I’ve treated you with nothing but respect since I met you. Did I tease you a little? Yes. Did I flirt a little? Yes. Did I know it’d piss you off so much? Hell no, or I wouldn’t have. I’ll be the very model of detached civility from here on in. No worries, Coach. Got the message.”
“Do you even realize you don’t simply talk to me?” she demanded.
“What?” His frown deepened. “What does that mean?”
“Everything you say to me is loaded with sexual innuendo and flirtation. Just talk to me.” Abby peered at him, and as it struck her, she said it aloud. “Or is that the only way you know how to talk to women? That’s the only way you interact with them?”
His jaw dropped open, then snapped shut and tightened. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and he murmured angrily, “Is this a date, or a psychoanalysis? For fuck’s sake, Abby. You’re gorgeous, and I flirted with you. But I don’t . . . I mean . . . fuck.” He sat back in his chair, grabbed his bottle, and took a long, hard swig. Shaking his head, he stared out at the water. “Pick apart someone else.” His icy tone made her cringe. “Not interested in that, sorry. I just came to have dinner and talk soccer.”
Abby felt the blood rise up into her face yet again as she watched him stare off into the distance, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. She’d struck a nerve, that much was clear. And he was mad now. She hadn’t meant to piss him off. “Pierce . . . I may have been a little harsh.”
“More than a little, and unwarranted, if you ask me.” He set the bottle down, flicked her a glance, grabbing a fork as he added, “Just for the record? I didn’t ask you out because I’m bored, and I don’t think you’re a brainless bimbo, and I didn’t think mildly teasing you or flirting with you meant I was treating you like one.” A short huff flew out of him. “So just stand down. We’ll have a nice, quiet meal. Talk shop. And I won’t flirt with you anymore, okay?”
Her gaze fell away as her throat tightened. Well, he’d told her, hadn’t he? “I’m sorry I made you angry. I am.” She took in a deep breath, fumbling for the right words. “It’s just that I’ve been burned, and I know your . . . well, your reputation. And I don’t—”
“My reputation,” he repeated flatly, glaring now.
Flustered, she nodded and fiddled with her fork, not knowing what to say. Every word dug her in deeper. She hadn’t been this uncomfortable in a long time.
“Glad to see you did your homework on me.” That muscle in his jaw jumped again, his tell of when something fired him up, and his gaze seared her. “You know what? Considering your education and obvious intelligence, I didn’t think a woman like you would be so quick to believe what she read on Internet gossip sites without giving the person in question a fair shake first. My mistake.”
Abby cringed inside. Well, this
had gone to hell fast. But she wasn’t going to lie or backpedal and make it even worse. Her chin lifted a notch. “Yes, I read up on you. This is the twenty-first century, everyone does it, so don’t act like I committed a crime of ethics. And no, I don’t believe everything I read. I don’t know you; that’s why I Googled you.”
“You have an unfair advantage. I didn’t Google you.”
“Doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t have found anything. I’m just a first-grade teacher from Edgewater, living at home with her parents. I’m no star.”
“Neither am I, for the record. Not really. Certainly not in the US. No one here knows who I am, or gives a shit.”
“But you are a public figure, Pierce. Come on. Those parents swarmed around you at the game, the minute they knew who you were. And even if you’re not famous here, you are in the UK. There was some information online, and a lot of pictures, and I’m not going to pretend I didn’t see them. And . . . it couldn’t all be untrue. I mean . . .” She was utterly unable to stop herself. “What I keep asking myself is: Why would an internationally famous millionaire football star give a crap about a small-town kids’ soccer league? I can’t figure it out.”
He nodded slowly, disappointment and something else shadowing his eyes as they burned into her, blue flames of disdain. “You’ve really decided I’m an asshole, haven’t you. A stereotypical rich boy, pro athlete, manwhore asshole.” He raked his hands through his hair as his mouth pressed into a hard line. “You don’t know me at all, Abby. You know nothing about my upbringing, or my life in England, except for things you’ve read that may or may not be true. So yeah, that’s all pretty insulting, and I don’t have to answer your questions.”
Her face burned with embarrassment and her throat felt like it was closing up. She looked out at the water. Swallowing hard, she said, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Pierce felt his heart pound as he reined in his emotions. Frustration percolated inside him, dangerously nearing a boiling point.
On one hand, Abby had hit on a truth that he hadn’t even realized until she’d flung it at him. Was flirting the only way he knew to interact with women anymore? Had he become that kind of man? The way Abby’s words had set off furious heat in him meant it might be so. It was something he’d have to give some thought to, and particularly where Abby was concerned. He liked her and didn’t want to put her off. She was genuine, so he had to be genuine with her in return. But what exactly did that mean for him?
Someone Like You Page 7
