by D. S. Dehel
She racked her brain for information. The name Matt Bettony did ring a bell, which meant that Nolan had talked about him. All she could remember is that Matt was relatively new to the team and had not been on the field much, but Doc would have purged Matt with the others had he not seen something worthwhile. Bored, India dug her phone out of her purse and poked around for a bit.
Before she could process what was happening, the chair to her right slid back and a solid bulk filled it. “Hello, I’m Salé.” A large paw accompanied the statement.
This was the player standing with Matt. Though he was shorter than Matt by several inches, he was more solid, and his personality took up even more room.
“Hi, I’m India.” She shook his hand.
A smile lit the cordovan brown eyes. “That’s what Matt said.” He glanced up behind her.
She turned to see Matt standing behind her. A shy smile crossed his face. “Can we join you? Salé should have asked, but he has the manners of a rhinoceros.”
Salé’s laughter nearly drowned out her response. She pointed to the chair. “Sure. Have a seat. How goes the mingling?”
Matt pulled out the chair and sat instead of flopping into it, as Salé had. “It’s very interesting.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “We’ve spoken to someone running for your congress who knows nothing about soccer, but wants us to vote for him.”
“Even though we can’t.” Salé shook his head. “We tried to tell him.”
“There was the group of older women who asked really personal questions.” Matt shook his head.
“Like whether Matt wore boxers or briefs.” Salé’s grin went from ear to ear.
Pink flared along Matt’s cheekbones. “It didn’t help that you told them what you wear.”
“Which is nothing.” Salé nudged her and winked. “Then there were the pretty girls who tried to score our digits.”
“Oh, really?” She wasn’t sure what to do with the brief flare of jealousy she felt. “How did that go? Did you give your number out?”
Salé looked scandalized. “Dios mio, no. Andrea would kick my ass.”
“And you?” She glanced at Matt.
His eyes rounded. “Of course not.”
India gave a half shrug. “Why not? There’re some rich people here. Not bad looking, either.”
He mirrored her shrug. “I’m not interested. Speaking of rich people, how’s Operation Date Exit going?”
“Zane’s not really rich. He’s here on the firm’s dime. They sponsor your half-time contests for the local kids’ teams.”
Salé looked around. “He left you alone?”
India nodded at where Zane was now head-to-head with another lawyerly looking type. Whatever they discussed was intense, judging by the scowl on Zane’s face. “No, he’s still here, and as far as Operation Date Exit goes, I haven’t had a chance to get a word in edgewise. Not that I’ve tried very hard. Anyway, I want to stay through the auction results, since the bids close soon.”
Matt glanced at his watch. “Very soon.”
“And we get to go home after that.” Salé sounded relieved.
Across the room, Zane ended his conversation with a flourish of his hands and stormed off. India watched as he stalked around the perimeter as if he searched for something.
She hoped he wasn’t looking for her, but she feared he was. “So, it looks like I just need to negotiate the ride to my place. I suppose I could take the subway.”
“Not this late.” Matt shook his head. “I mean, this part of town is safe as houses, but the trains not so much.”
“Oh well, I just live across town. I’ll take a taxi.” The thought of getting back in a car with Zane suddenly gave her the willies. “There’s bound to be a taxi stand outside the hotel, or I’ll have the concierge call one.”
“Just be safe.” Matt looked around. “Which one is Zane?”
India pointed. “The guy headed our way. You might want to leave before he corners you.”
When Zane saw who sat at the table, his scowl melted into his most lawyerly of grins that somehow managed to look feral. Does this guy have a genuine smile?
Salé went to stand, but a look passed between him and Matt, and Salé sank back into the seat.
“There you are.” Zane’s voice was too loud.
“Right where I said I’d be.” She let a smile screen her sarcasm. Matt snorted.
Zane pulled out a chair on the far side of the table, and to India’s horror, he turned it around and sat astride it, like the bad guy in an 80’s teen movie. “I see you’ve made some friends.” He rose partway and held out his hand. “Zane Warner.”
Matt glanced at India then leaned over. “Matt Bettony.”
“The team’s central midfielder.” Zane flicked a glance at India that said, See I speak soccer, too.
“One of them.” Matt didn’t return Zane’s too smooth smile.
“Zane Warner.” He directed his attention and hand in the other direction.
Salé’s massive paw swallowed Zane’s diminutive one. “Salé Reyes.”
“Nice to meet you.” Zane shook forcefully, as if asserting his tiny manhood.
A factoid bubbled up to the surface of India’s brain. “Salé is a Striker.”
Salé flashed a brilliant smile. “That I am.”
“I hope to see you both play for a change, now that Manho’s gone. Unlike Zane, I’m glad he’s been traded.”
Zane frowned, then covered it over. Matt must have caught it because another look passed between the friends.
The awkward silence that followed was broken by the sound of someone tapping a microphone. “Hi, um, hello everyone.” A stout woman about India’s age beamed at the audience. “This is a reminder to place your bids in the Silent Auction. We close bidding in three minutes.”
“We were just talking about the auction.” She waved her hand toward the room. Sure, it was far from a smooth segue, but it got everyone talking again.
While the men exchanged small talk about the items and the Children’s Hospital, India focused on her escape. So far, Zane had been respectful, if not exactly a gentleman, so she had no reason to believe he would do anything other than pout when she demanded to be taken home and left at her front door. Just to be on the safe side, she pulled out her phone and texted Mara, explaining the situation and asking her sister to check on her later.
“Is everything okay?” Matt’s green eyes reflected concern.
“Are you all right?” Zane’s concern did not seem so genuine.
India forced a smile. “Yes, it’s all fine. I just texted my sister asking her what she recommended for a headache. I’ll probably have to stop on the way home, since I don’t know where anything is in my apartment.”
“Doc’s wife might have something.” Salé patted her hand and got to his feet.
“No, I --”
But he just smiled and walked away. Matt raised his eyebrows, then stood and followed. “We’ll be right back.”
Zane had his back to the room, so he didn’t see Matt catch Salé’s arm and whisper in his ear, gesturing at India and the table. Salé’s eyes grew wide, and he said something to Matt, then the two disappeared into the crowd.
“What do you think caused the headache?”
India couldn’t read Zane’s expression or tone, and that bothered her. “Maybe the red wine. Maybe it’s just the stress of moving and, you know, going to court today.”
Zane nodded sagely. “Maybe your friends will have something to help. It’d be a shame to end our evening so early.”
Alarm bells went off in India’s mind. This is not good.
More tapping on the microphone caught their attention. The same woman stood near the entrance to the room where the auction items were held. “Bids are closed.” Her cheery voice didn’t need a microphone, but she used one anyway. “We’ll announce the winners one by one. You can go to Joyce over by the double doors to pay for your merchandise. Let’s begin with lot one.”
/> India tuned out. She’d only bid on two items, and those were mid-range numbers. The squeak of the chair next to her being pulled out brought her back to the moment. Matt pushed a glass of water in her direction. “Sorry, Doc’s wife didn’t have anything.”
“We tried a few people, but nothing.” Salé gave her an exaggerated wink.
“Thanks, guys.” India kept her voice low.
“No worries.” Matt stared meaningfully at Zane’s back, then raised an eyebrow. India shrugged.
“Lot Fifty-two. A hat knitted by Axel Gustavsson.” She peered at the paper. “The winner is India Jackson.”
“Oh, that’s me.” She’d forgotten bidding on the indigo and grey Fair Isle watch cap. Paying for the hat took just a few minutes, and she returned just in time for Zane to be named as the winner of a signed soccer ball.
“What do you think?” India plunked it on her head even though it would destroy her hair. She just didn’t care anymore.
“Suits you.” Matt beamed, and she couldn’t help smiling back.
“Nice.” Salé applauded. “Axel worked hard on it.”
“He really knitted this?” She tugged the hat off and admired the intricate pattern. “I thought maybe his wife did.”
“He’s not married. He lives with rest of us single international guys.” Matt pointed, warning her that Zane approached.
Matt is single. Her foolish heart leapt, though she tried to keep it in check.
“What happened to your hair?” Zane frowned as he returned to his seat.
“Nothing.” Feeling like a chastised child, she smoothed what was left of the curls.
Matt leaned forward. “You look fine.”
“Thanks.” She folded the hat, trying to calm her raging feelings. Zane was as much of a dick as Nolan, and she was grateful for Matt and Salé’s presence, but the auction would be over soon. Then she’d have to deal with Zane one on one.
I’m definitely taking a cab home. Having made the decision, she felt better.
“Lot seventy-three. A photograph taken by Matt Bettony.” More paper peering. “Won by India Jackson.”
A gasp came from her left, and she refused to look at Matt, afraid he’d be angry or appalled at her bidding on his picture, but she couldn’t avoid him on her way back. Zane stared at his phone, Salé clapped, but she couldn’t read Matt’s expression.
She laid the carefully bubble-wrapped picture on the table and took her seat, painfully aware of Matt’s silence and Salé’s gushing at how wonderful it was that India had won that picture because it was one of Matt’s favorites. She stared ahead and watched the hoopla surrounding the announcement of the largest packages up for auction. The blood pounded in her ears.
Why do I care so much what he thinks? But she hid the answer from herself out of sight and buried deep.
“Maybe this will help you get that heavy thing home.” An indigo and blue object dangled just on the edge of her peripheral vision. Joyce -- the payment taker lady -- handed her a reusable shopping bag with the Spirit logo emblazoned on it.
“Thank you.” India took the proffered gift.
“Welcome.” Joyce waved to the soccer players and left.
The auction over, the party began to break up. Some vague announcements about people sticking around until two were made, but India didn’t pay attention because now she had to leave Matt and stay with Zane. She took her time putting the picture into the bag.
“Here, let me help you.” Matt took the heavy frame from her grasp and held it while she wrested the bag into place. The one time she met his gaze, he gave her a small smile.
“Thanks.”
“Ready to go?” Zane rose on his toes and settled back.
“Zane, I --” But he grabbed her wrist and dragged her through the crowd. She tried to free herself, but couldn’t. The press of people separated them to arm’s length, and she didn’t dare shout she was taking a cab home. A small, scared part of her brain kept pointing out how tightly he held her wrist and that getting into a car with him would be a very, very bad idea, and she better not do it.
The lobby to the ballroom teemed with people waiting for one of the five elevators. Finally at a standstill, India yanked her arm hard enough to get his attention, then she dragged him off to the side where they could speak in relative privacy.
India expected Zane’s perpetual scowl, but instead confusion reigned. “What’s going on?”
She held up her arm. “Let go.” Even she was surprised at the spikes in her voice.
Zane dropped her wrist.
“Thank you very much for this evening, but I’ll be taking a taxi home.” Her tone held fewer spikes, but more disdain.
“But…” Zane’s face fell.
Perhaps this would be easier than she thought. Then the muscle in his jaw bunched and her stomach dropped. “I brought you. I will take you home.”
“That’s not necessary.” And I don’t want you knowing where I live.
“I insist.” If his jaw got any bunchier, he’d look like Popeye.
“I’m pretty certain I heard her say she was taking a taxi.” Matt’s gentle voice was now a growl.
And not just Matt, it looked like half the team had piled into the vestibule, fencing her and Zane off from the others.
“That’s what I heard.” Salé threw his arm around Zane’s shoulders. “Don’t be a carajo, man. India is a nice lady.”
“We’ll see she gets a taxi.” Matt maneuvered himself between Zane and India.
Zane looked from one to the other, then at the wall of players. “Fine.” She could see he wanted to say more. Instead, he shoved his way through the men and disappeared into the crowd.
“Wanker.” Matt shook his head.
“I imagine he is.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Matt smile. “Thank you. Both of you.” She gestured at the Wall. “All of you. I appreciate your help.”
“No problem.”
“I hate assholes.”
“Men shouldn’t treat women like that.”
She couldn’t tell from whom the responses came, but she smiled and thanked everyone again and again as they got into the elevators. Matt put his hand on her back, then dropped it, then tried again. And she was charmed by the awkwardness of it all.
The empty hotel lobby sparkled quietly under a pall of Muzak piped in from speakers in the ceiling. For a brief moment, they stood staring at one another.
“I think the taxi stand is this way.” India pointed to the main doors. A quick discussion ensued, where everyone announced where their cars were. Half of the group had parked in the lot and half parked on the street near the hotel.
She waved at the group. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you coming to my rescue. Good night.” Then before the moment grew any more awkward, she strode across the lobby toward the revolving door.
“India.” Matt jogged up beside her. “Did Zane use the valet or park in the garage?”
“He parked in the -- damn.”
“What?” His brow furrowed.
“I left my jacket in his car. Oh well.” The blazer was a sacrifice she was willing to make.
“Oh, okay. That’s good. I just didn’t want you to walk out the doors and right into him.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I should be fine.” Behind them, Salé stood half the way between Matt and the rest of the group of players.
“You know, I think I’ll make sure you find a hack, if that’s all right with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Mateo, I’m gonna go home with these guys.” Salé called across the lobby. “Nice to meet you, India. I hope to see you at a game.”
“Nice to meet you. I’ll try to get to one this season.” Though she had never voluntarily gone to a game, she might this year.
Salé held up his hand and walked in the direction of the ramp to the car park.
“I appreciate you staying with me.” Since it looked like he was waiting with her, not t
hat she minded. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“That guy… he gave me the creeps.”
“Me, too.”
Outside, the sidewalk was empty. No valet. No bellhops, and worst of all, no cabs waited near the sign proclaiming it to be the taxi stand.
“I guess the other partygoers took the taxis.” She dug in her purse. “I’ll just call a cab or rideshare, whichever is closest.” She tapped on the relevant apps.
Matt shoved his hands in his pockets again and stared at the lone vehicle making its way down Randolph Street. “India…”
“Hmm?” The nearest ride was at least fifteen minutes away. Apparently, everyone else had the same idea as she did.
“This is foolish. I’ll take you home.” He gestured across the road. “I have a car.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ve caused you enough trouble as it is.” But I really want to say yes.
“You’re no trouble, and you said you live in the city, right?”
“I do. Near the Fashion District.” She clicked her phone off.
“C’mon. It’s no trouble.”
“If you’re sure.” She bit her lip, genuinely indecisive. He’d already gone out of his way for her.
“Come on.” He stepped off the curb and gestured across the street. “The car’s this way, and let me carry that bag for you.”
Am I really going to get into a car with a man I barely know? Why yes, yes, I am. She slid the bag off of her shoulder and held it out. “Lead on, Macduff.”
Chapter Three
“Where exactly is your car?” They had crossed the street and walked part way down the block. Her feet began to ache
“Every place was full when I got here, so I parked in the lot in Hansford.” He pointed to a path that led into the distance.
“And you like walking the park.”
“I do.” He grinned. “It’s not far. Are you okay? You’re wearing heels.”
“I’ll be fine.”
The park itself was not fenced, and it consisted of large fields with few stands of trees. India supposed it was safe enough this time of night. Police call boxes and bright lamps dotted the winding path.
