by D. S. Dehel
She leaned back against the wall and surveyed the room again. There was so much eye candy in a variety of shades that she didn’t know where to start looking. Diamonds and Studs may have been an allusion to rich patrons and to the cleats the players wore, but these men were stud hot. India hadn’t realized that the team was gorgeous as a whole. She usually saw the players as sweaty bodies that ran around the television screen and whose collective performance determined how sulky Nolan spent the next few days, but even the homely ones outshone the non-soccer playing male competition in the room.
Each player wore a deep indigo suit and grey tie, echoing the Spirit’s team colors. India stood on the short side, but even in her heels, the majority of the men towered over her. Even better, though they were dressed in shiny shoes and expensive suits, tattoos peeked over collars and cuffs, sexy in their juxtaposition with the strait-laced elegance.
The reaction of the men to being the center of public attention charmed her even more than their incredible physiques. Some clearly adored the spotlight. Some smiled nervously at the people who approached them. Others stood in clumps, trying to hide their anxiety. She recognized one or two, but without jersey numbers, she couldn’t tell a midfielder from a defender, though she suspected the really tall guy was the goalie.
Zane made his way toward her, a glass in each hand. “Here’s your soda. Come over here.” He took her by the wrist and led her toward the buffet table still laden with food.
“I’m not hungry.”
“No, silly. Not food. I want to you to meet someone.”
Did he just call me silly? “Oh, okay. Who?” Nolan used to call her stupid names, too. India began to plan her exit strategy.
He pulled her around the edge of the crowd to a man standing dressed in the indigo dress pants of the Spirit team members, but instead of a jacket, he wore a grey V-neck pull over. She saw him stiffen at the sight of the two of them, then paste on a smile. Apparently, Zane’s schmoozing wasn’t so great.
“India, I’d like you to meet Maddox Lawson, the team’s new coach.” Zane looked really proud of himself. Too proud. Time to take him down a peg or two.
India smiled and stuck out her hand. “It is a genuine pleasure to meet you, Doc Lawson. You’ve already gone a long way toward healing the team.”
“Doc” Lawson had revived more than one ailing soccer team on several continents. Nolan had gone on and on about the man, and India had to admit, he had done good things.
The other man grinned at her. “It is a pleasure to meet you --” He flicked a meaningful glance in Zane’s direction.
Zane started. “Ah, this is India Roberts.”
“It’s a pleasure, Ms. Roberts. Call me Doc.”
“I’m actually India Jackson as of five this afternoon.” She couldn’t help smiling at him. The wrinkles at the corner of his grey eyes made him look like someone’s grandpa instead of a turnaround specialist that reportedly made multi-million-dollar soccer players cry.
“Oh?” Doc raised an eyebrow, so she plunged ahead.
“My divorce was final.”
“Ah, well then, congratulations, Ms. Jackson.” He patted her hand, then let go. “Divorces can be wonderful things.”
“Thank you.” She beamed back. “I agree fully.”
“So, the Spirit.” Zane rose on his toes then settled back down. “How do you see their prospects?”
Doc frowned, then smoothed it over. “Oh, they’re beginning to gel as a team, but it’s early in the season.”
Zane crossed his arms -- no small trick, since he was still holding his glass -- and cocked his head, looking for all the world like a prosecutor, and India cringed at his pugnaciousness. “How will they be able to make up for the loss of Sergio Manho?”
“Loss?” India couldn’t help herself. “He’s no loss. The best move Doc made was to trade him to Asia. The team got a pretty penny for him and got rid of the biggest drag on the team.”
Zane rounded on her. “Drag on the team? He was their number one scorer.”
“Yeah, because he hogged the ball. He has no concept of team play. There’s been young talent wasting away on the bench because what’s-his-face, the previous manager, kowtowed to that ass, and don’t get me started on how Manho would flop to the ground and roll around if someone so much as breathed on him.”
Doc’s hearty laugh boomed over the chatter of the crowd and heads turned. “At least one person in this room has got some sense.” His voice carried into the silence that fell when he laughed. India was certain he’d done it on purpose, and she could feel heat rise in her cheeks. “It has been an absolute pleasure, Ms. Jackson. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go talk to the owners who deigned to show up tonight.” He nodded at Zane and disappeared into the crowd.
Zane scowled at her. “I thought you didn’t know anything about soccer.”
“I don’t really. I can’t quote stats or anything. In fact, I can’t identify most of the team by looking at their faces, but Nolan never stopped talking about the Spirit. I had to have picked up some things.” And why the hell am I defending myself?
“Hmph.” He downed whatever was in the clear cup.
India set her own cup on a nearby table. “I need to use the ladies’ room.” Without even excusing herself, she strode through the assemblage, trying not to mutter aloud as she went.
Chapter Two
Men. What is with them having to be the boss all the time? I mean, seriously, Doc thought it was great I knew about Manho. Why couldn’t Zane do as much? Why? Because he’s a dick. And where am I going?
She walked down a hallway so quiet it unnerved her. She had to be in the wrong place, but no, up ahead shone the international symbol for a women’s bathroom. She must have wandered to an off-the-track bathroom.
By the time she washed her hands and repaired her lipstick, India had a plan. She would take her time returning to the ballroom. Instead, she’d check out the auction, and then she would go find Zane, plead fatigue and a headache from the red wine, and ask to be taken home.
India tossed the paper towel into the trash and strode out the door. These heels really did boost her confidence. Nolan looked gobsmacked at her aplomb during the hearing. It wasn’t really aplomb, though. She’d been admiring her pretty new shoes. The judge blah blah’d on about things they had already decided and signed their names to in the stacks of paperwork. The divorce had taken almost eighteen months because of the house and the reams of forms that had to be filled out, not because of any animosity on their part. Yet the judge admonished them to be nice to each other.
Whatever.
She laughed at her use of such a flippant term, even if only internally. She felt free. She felt like herself for the first time in ages, though she wasn’t exactly sure who she was. It didn’t matter. She had the rest of her life to figure it out.
The twinkle of lights caught her eye -- not Christmas lights, but city lights. The hotel’s ballroom had been partitioned off on the far side, squashing everyone into a smaller space, making attendance look higher, but it also created a sanctuary of the unused portion. She stuck her head around the edge of the paper divider, and seeing no one, crossed the space to the wall of windows. This side of the city abutted a large park, one full of trees, grassy playing fields, several lakes, and an outdoor concert venue. Though lights dotted the open area, the vast majority lay dark, swallowing the bright buzz of the city. During the day, it would fill with runners and playing children. Tonight, it sat mysterious and brooding.
She walked right up to the glass and put her forehead against it, looking down the many floors at the cars rushing by, enjoying the sensation of floating above it all.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
India jumped and smacked her head against the glass. “Ow.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She searched for the source of the voice. In the corner, where glass met wall, leaned a man, arms crossed, a slight smirk on his face.
“I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.” She rubbed her forehead.
He came to where she stood, and though the light was still minimal, she could now see his purple-blue suit. His pale skin accentuated by dark brown hair made her think of a French schoolboy.
“I’m hiding from the party.” Not a French schoolboy. A British one, judging by his accent. And now that he stood closer, she could see stubble, so he was older than he appeared at a distance.
“I’m hiding from my date.” She turned back to the window, embarrassed by her bluntness.
He gave a low chuckle. “This is a good place to hide then.” He faced the window too. “What were you doing when I startled you? Looking for your car?”
“I don’t have a car. I was just looking, but…” She felt foolish for saying it, but his open expression made her go on. “The way I was standing made me feel as if I was floating.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you do it?” He moved so they were standing shoulder to shoulder, almost -- but not quite -- touching.
“Well, stand with your toes a little bit away from the glass because you don’t want them to block your view, and lean so your forehead is against the glass holding you up.” She demonstrated.
He was good at following directions, so after a moment, he gasped. “This is amazing.”
India laughed at the joy in his voice. “Yeah, it is.” She tried to focus on the tiny people below and not the handsome giant next to her, but her eyes kept sliding to his profile. Gorgeous face. Stacked body.
“I’m Matt.” He glanced at her sideways, and her heart did a strange thing. It skipped a beat.
“I’m India.” She hoped she sounded less gobsmacked than she felt.
“Nice to meet you, India.” He went back to staring at the sidewalk.
“Nice to meet you, Matt.”
They stood in silence for a while.
“Why are you avoiding your date?” This time he didn’t look at her.
“Why are you avoiding the party?” She stared at him unabashedly. Well, as unabashedly as one can sideways. His faint stubble added to rather than detracted from his looks.
His laugh held a warmth that made her think of fireplaces and cozy sweaters. “Good question.” He paused, biting his lip. “I’m just not good with people.”
His deprecation sounded genuine, not a flirtatious ploy. “You appear to have manners. At least, you haven’t bitten me yet.”
Another laugh, this coupled with a glance through his lashes that made her heart stutter. “Give me time. I might yet.”
“And you say you’re bad with people.”
Red crept up his neck. Maybe she’d gone too far. She returned to studying the passing cars.
“So, India, I see you’ve avoided telling me why you’re hiding from your date.” A flirty warmth suffused his voice. “Confess.”
“Well, he’s spent all night plying me with alcohol, and I’m the old-fashioned type who looks for more in conversation than him staring at my breasts.”
“Ooh, yeah, I can see where that might be a turnoff.” He sighed dramatically. “What a rookie mistake, and you have such nice eyes, too.”
I do? He noticed? “Thanks. Yours aren’t so bad, either.” The light green contrasted nicely with the dark of his hair.
“Why thank you. Now tell me, what’s your escape plan?”
“In a bit, I’ll tell him I’m tired from moving and feign a headache.”
“Hmm.” He stared at the ground. “Did you move today?”
“Mostly.” She couldn’t keep her eyes off his profile. “I still don’t have a sofa or a bed, but the rest got there okay.”
“No car, no bed, no sofa. Where do you live? A cardboard box?”
A genuine laugh shook her. “No, a new apartment. It’s just taking time to get it all together.”
“Well, happy moving day, and that’s a good excuse for leaving. I’d buy it.”
India shifted her gaze from the sidewalk to the distant park. Fog rose and stalked among the trees. “Look at the mist.”
“That happens a lot.”
“Oh, really?” She stole a glance.
“Yeah. There’s something about the combination of terrain and the ponds that causes it to get foggy all the time. I like to hang out in Hansford Park when I have free time. It reminds me of home.”
“Home? You live on one of those Austen style estates?”
“No.” He snorted. “I live in Milton, a town in the East Midlands that no one has heard of.”
“It was worth a shot. I mean, if I could live in a cardboard box in the city, you could be heir to a great estate.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, milady. I’m just the son of a working man.”
“Alas.”
“Bettony, what are you doing in here?” A voice she knew from somewhere shattered their repartee.
Matt jumped, hitting this head as India had not long before. “Doc!”
That was how she knew the voice.
“Why are you hiding in the dark?” Lights came on, making India shield her eyes from their fluorescent brightness. “Oh, hello, Ms. Jackson. I didn’t notice you standing there.”
“Hey, Doc.” India gave him a half-hearted wave. One look at the anxiety on Matt’s face made her realize that he might actually be in trouble.
“Bettony, you should be out there talking to people.” Doc had his hands on his hips. All he needed was a whistle dangling from his lips to complete the intimidating high school Phys Ed teacher look.
“He was talking to me.” India raised her hand, then realized what she was doing and lowered it. “Matt was just pointing out how the mist in the park reminded him of home in a not-so-subtle attempt to get me to bid on his photo in the silent auction.” God, I hope it’s his photo or that Doc doesn’t know the difference.
Matt turned and stared. “Uh, she’s right, Doc. I thought I was smoother than that, though.”
Doc snorted. “Okay then. If you’ve finished chatting her up, get out here and circulate. People are waiting to meet you.” Then he turned and stalked off.
“Chatting me up?” India shook her head.
Matt colored. “Who knows with Doc? I guess I better get out there.”
“Probably.” India’s heart sank. She’d been enjoying herself.
They made their way around the screen and stood contemplating the crowd. “It was nice talking to you.”
Matt stuck out his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, India Jackson.”
“Indeed, Matt Bettony.” His hand was warm and the shake firm. He hesitated before letting go, or she did. India didn’t want to analyze the moment and discover she’d clung to him.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” He shrugged and pointed to the crowd.
“See you around.” She pointed to the auction but watched as he walked away. She doubted he’d even remember meeting her after a few moments, but it was nice to pretend he would.
Zane stood talking to a group of people in grey suits. Congress Critters. She didn’t want to talk to any politician -- they gave her the creeps -- and she definitely wanted to avoid Zane, so she scooted as fast as she could in heels towards the small room that held the silent auction.
In general, India didn’t like auctions, mostly because she hated to lose, but she took another look at some of the items. She understood why no one had bid on the strange Dali-esque papier mâché figure. The bulbous eyes followed her around the room.
The handmade ski hat in Spirit colors caught her eye, though she doubted Gustavsson actually knitted it like the sign claimed. Probably his wife did. Her experience with fiber told her it was worth far more than the measly sum offered, so she added twenty-five dollars to the current total.
On the far side of the room sat the picture she liked so much. It was framed in oak, highlighting the golden light that painted the edges of the morning mist. Though the landscape was partly obscured, the green
grass dotted with bluebells made her wish she could walk into the picture, and in the corner in gold marker, she could just make out the initials MB.
The high bid sat far short of its worth, and that left aside the fact that it was Matt who had taken the picture. She picked up the pen and did mental math.
What am I doing? Matt was just being nice, not flirting, and even if he was, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he asked for my number or anything. I could be his mother.
No, probably not. I could be his older sister. His waaaay older sister.
But he had made her feel alive, that sweet rush that got her heart beating. Nolan hadn’t done that in years. Zane hadn’t even been close. And anyway, she liked the picture.
Before she could stop herself, India added a hundred dollars to the top bid and scrawled her signature next to it. Then she dropped the pen and walked away, resisting the urge to go back and cross it off, resisting the urge to think about Matt’s smile, resisting the urge to overthink everything like she usually did. Thinking too much had kept her married five years too many. Besides, she had a date to end.
Zane had left the politicians and now harangued a group of women. One of them actually wore blue leggings and a shirt so short that India could see more than she desired. They appeared enthralled with his smarmy charm.
Good. They can have him. She got herself a diet soda and ensconced herself at a table, relishing being off her feet.
Matt stood out to her now that she had a name to put to the face. Across the room, he and another player chatted with women about their age. His friend animatedly waved his hands, clearly describing some exploit from the soccer pitch. Matt smiled and nodded, but didn’t seem as interested in the conversation, or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part.
