For the Win (4 page)

“Locker rooms are supposed to be off-limits! Would you have sent flowers to a male athlete's locker room right before a game?”

Sweat seeped into his Armani shirt collar. Why was it so difficult to impress her? He'd never met a woman more immune to his charm. The club had gone ominously silent, with all attention on Gabe and Lukas. Chen no longer looked like she wanted to fight her captain. Instead, she had her hand perched supportively on Lukas's shoulder. “No, it's—”

“Then what? You think that just because you have some magical penis that you're automatically better than us?” She slapped a palm to her forehead. “Oh my god. You really believe that, don't you? That's what this is all about. You think men are better athletes than women.”

Gabe hesitated. He knew he shouldn't answer that question, no matter how much Lukas's expression dared him. But at that moment the stupid male part of his brain clicked on. The same part that convinced him he could disassemble electronics without destroying them, and drive anywhere in the continental United States without a map. The part that compelled him to truthfully answer questions like “Do I look fat in this?”

“Well, it's just a simple fact of biology that men are stronger and faster . . .”

He really should have bit his tongue.

“You think you could outrun Chen, a world-class sprinter? She's one of only a handful of athletes to medal in two sports at the same Olympics. You think that fancy Nike contract of yours is going to come with turbo boosters?”

Jaime looked shocked at Lukas's praise but quickly raised her eyebrows in a cocky display of agreement, egging on Gabe to answer. How the heck did he just become enemy number one? Chen and Lukas were supposed to be one of the greatest rivalries in women's soccer, but all it took was one honest comment from him to unite them.

“I could outrun her any day!” Zazu shouted, coming to Gabe's side. The club was dividing up like
West Side Story
. Women were gravitating to Lukas's side, and the male patrons were trickling toward Gabe's.

“Not helping, buddy,” Gabe cautioned. Provoked women were as dangerous as any wild beast. They needed to step away calmly without making eye contact. He tried to telegraph this to Zazu while keeping his glance focused on his shoes.

“Oh yeah?” Chen challenged.

“Yeah,” Zazu responded foolishly while Gabe mentally face-palmed himself and kissed his plans of an early evening good-bye. “We kick harder, run faster, and play tougher than you ever will.”

“You couldn't get a penalty shot past me if I were wearing a blindfold,” Lynn Dunkers yelled.

“Come on, Lynn, that's not fair,” Lukas interjected calmly, giving Gabe the faint hope everyone might get out of this alive. “Zazu would have to able to shoot on target first, and everyone knows that's pretty much impossible these days.”

Even Gabe flinched. As much as Zazu probably deserved being taken down a peg or two, the bro code kicked in, compelling Gabe to defend his teammates. “Well, there's an easy way to prove it.”

“What's that?” She stepped even closer to him, arms akimbo. Even in sensible ballet flats, Lukas was tall enough to easily look Gabe in the eye. He almost gulped, but his manly pride was on the line. This woman had rejected his flowers, insulted his manhood, and belittled his friends in public. He'd never live it down if he cowered now.

“We meet on the field. Head-to-head.”

“Count us in if that's all it takes to show the world that you're just an insecure caveman who thinks women belong in the kitchen. Anything you can do, we can do. And better.”

“Ha! Everyone knows that men are better chefs, yo. The only thing you're good for is looking damn fine. Am I right, Gabe?”

Gabe bypassed Johnny's high five–awaiting palm, smacking him on the side of the head instead.

Not that it mattered to Lukas. The damage was done. She stepped closer to Gabe and dumped her drink over his head. “Anytime, anyplace. We'll run faster, kick harder, pass sharper, and do anything better.” A pregnant hush fell over the club as everyone awaited Gabe's reaction.

Well, there was really only one way to prove he considered women his equal. He wiped the sticky liquid from his eyes, then raised his glass in a salute to Lainey and tipped the contents onto her shiny brown hair.

“You didn't,” she hissed as the dark liquid dripped down her face.

“Sure did, sweetheart. Wouldn't want to give you the impression that I don't consider you my equal.”

Gabe couldn't help but let his gaze drift to her chest. The wet material clung in a perfect outline of her pert breasts. Everything about this woman turned him on. The closer she got, the more his desire flared. He tried desperately to think of something that would keep the evidence from rising in his pants, but it seemed like little Gabe was just as resistant to his will as Lukas was.

Too late. The Mars rover had just made contact.

Lukas's eyes widened. Her body went rigid and she stumbled on the next round of insults she had loaded. Isn't this interesting? It seemed Lukas had a weakness after all, one that Gabe was more than willing to exploit. He slipped his hand to the nape of her neck and brushed his cheek against hers.

“It's on now,” he whispered. “No turning back. I'm going to show you exactly what a real man is capable of.”

6

www.youtube.com/watchlukashavelakfight

Lukas and Havelak Epic Club Brawl

Posted by stlscrfan_42

1,091,458 views  1 day ago

GABE HAD BEEN A
nervous wreck from the moment he got the call to show up for an eleven a.m. meeting with the Surge's owner that morning. The players usually only saw Carson Chester once a year at the formal party he threw to kick off each season. When Gabe stepped into the plush office with floor-to-ceiling windows and saw his agent, his GM, and a dozen other suits sitting in the leather chairs, his heart dropped into his stomach.

He was being traded.

That was the only explanation for the impromptu meeting. The powers that be finally decided that his graying hair and bum knee, which was one bad twist away from major surgery, were no longer worth his salary. The thought gave him chills. Even Gabe had to admit a trade made sense with the new salary cap rules. He was thirty-three, practically a dinosaur of the soccer world, and the Surge could pick up three up-and-coming stars with his salary.

The thought of moving to a new city and away from his family made him feel like his heart was being ripped out. Soccer was his life, but Seattle was his home. The adventure of pursuing his dreams overseas had been exciting at the beginning of his career, but after a few years of loneliness, he'd wanted to come back here. Now he was once again going to have to make a choice between his home and his career, and this time he had no clue which path to choose.

Carson pointed a stubby finger toward a seat at the end of the long oval conference table. With a quick nod to his agent, sitting along the left side of the table, Gabe dutifully obeyed Carson's request, holding his breath with every slow step he took. It wasn't until he settled into the leather chair that he noticed Lainey was sitting stiffly right next to him. The knot in his stomach unclenched a fraction. Why was she here?

She looked like she'd just come from practice, wearing a hoodie, shorts, and flip-flops. Mud was caked on her thighs, stopping abruptly below her knees where her shin pads had protected her pale, muscular calves. Somehow, she managed to look just as sexy in her practice gear as she did last night at the bar. The knot resettled in his stomach.

Carson twisted his computer monitor to face Gabe and Lainey. “As you all know, Chester Pharmacies is a family company. People throughout this great nation choose us because of our wholesome reputation.”

Gabe knew better than to point out that Carson's eighteen-year-old son's recent and highly publicized arrest for solicitation of an underage prostitute with a giant bag of meth didn't exactly jibe with the image Carson described. He just nodded and bit his tongue.

Lainey, however, did not. “No, sir. I was unaware of Chester Pharmacies' reputation, other than it sponsors kick-ass soccer teams.”

A bold move, but Carson was one of those old, rich men who liked a little spunk in people. His glimmer of amusement, however, waned quickly. “Regardless, it is unbecoming of my players to demonstrate unsportsmanlike conduct. Especially team captains.” Gabe and Lainey nodded. “So explain this.”

Gabe silently cursed as he watched Carson click play on the video of last night's confrontation. The picture was grainy, but the audio was excellent. Damn Steve Jobs. When Gabe moved back to Seattle seven years ago, he never had to worry about twerps with iPhones capturing his most cringe-inducing moments on-screen for the world to see.

“It's my fault,” Gabe said. To his surprise, Lainey uttered the exact same words at the same time. Although he hadn't started out with the intention of goading her into a fight, if he was being honest with himself, that was exactly what he was doing by the end of the encounter. Besides, he was accustomed to spinning some public bad-boy behavior into a well-crafted media image. The fact is, the media didn't treat women the same way, and bad press wouldn't roll off her shoulders the way it did his. “Ms. Lukas isn't to blame. I started the fight.”

“I dumped the drink on his head first,” she said, looking more proud than remorseful.

“I don't care who's at fault. I want someone to explain to me why I shouldn't trade both of you right now for this.” Carson's giant nostrils flared with anger.

“Because we're your best players, and no one in Seattle would forgive you if you traded us over something so silly,” Lainey said assuredly. Gabe smiled, appreciating that she included him in that assessment.

“Listen, young lady. I'm rich enough to not care what anyone thinks,” Carson responded.

“But you just said your reputation—”

Gabe cut her off with a discreet touch to her elbow. Pointing out the circle of contradictions Carson was spinning wouldn't do them any good.

“Tell me how you plan to fix this,” Carson said. Gabe's agent, Bill Smith, tried to jump in, but Carson cut him off. “No. These two screwed up, and these two will figure out how to fix this or they'll be riding the benches so hard they'll be pulling splinters out of their asses for the next three months.”

“I've been planning to make my annual donation to the Hearts and Hands Charity Gala. I'd be happy to triple my usual amount if it helps with publicity,” Gabe said with an easygoing smile. The Hearts and Hands charity was Carson's pet project that was kept up with the sole purpose of distracting the rest of Seattle from his offspring's growing list of criminal convictions.

“Still not enough. What are you going to do about that video?”

“We'll issue a joint public apology immediately and make an appearance at the Hearts and Hands charity gala.” Negative publicity was nothing new to Gabe, and he knew exactly how to work his way out of it. He'd been down this road many times before in his younger partying years. Being benched was almost as bad as being traded, but he was willing to bet Carson was bluffing, and since Gabe had actually planned on attending the gala regardless, he figured it'd be the perfect opportunity to finagle a date with the frustrating but intriguing Lainey Lukas.

Carson clasped his hands together and rested his chin against them. “As captains of your respective teams that are both owned by Chester Pharmacies, your presence at my gala is greatly important. But that's not enough to make up for your actions. You're only thinking about damage control. We need a more proactive approach to remind Seattle that our soccer stars are local heroes, and that Chester Pharmacies is a good, upstanding company . . . Ahem. What was that, Ms. Lukas?”

Lainey looked momentarily surprised that Carson noticed her muttering.

“I said we should just go through with the stupid bet. It's the first bit of real publicity the Falcons have gotten.” Everyone in the room turned in her direction. Carson prompted her to continue with a subtle head tilt. “A battle of the sexes to let the public determine the better team. Falcons get publicity, maybe even a television sponsor, and Havelak gets, well, he gets whatever the hell he's getting out of this whole thing.”

A dissenting uproar rose among the suits in the room. Carson silenced them with a wave of his hand.

“Can I make money off this?” he asked in the direction of his lawyers sitting in the corner.

They nodded in unison, like a set of pinstripe automatons. Chester pressed his fingers together and gave his final summation. “I like it. Publicity, charity, money. Channel 7 said they needed more excitement before they sign on as sponsors. This could work.”

Bill Smith finally piped up. “My client's contract stipulates he is to attend three charity events on behalf of the Surge franchises, make six promotional appearances, and film one series of television advertisements in conjunction with Channel 7 Sports. Any additional appearances would require a fee based on the 2011 collective agreement scale, which, by my calculations, would be one hundred fifty dollars per hour. Now, if we estimate the time associated with this event by that scale, then—”

Chester cut him off while sending Gabe a long look. “What do you want, Havelak?”

It was just the moment he was waiting for. “I'm willing to do this pro bono if you agree to give the Surge back its practice space. I want off Cricket Field.”

Lainey bristled beside him.

Chester let out a deep belly laugh. “Still worried about the curse, huh? Look, I don't give a rat's ass about who practices where. The AWSL negotiations insisted we give the Falcons adequate practice space. If you don't like the situation, then be a man about it, Havelak. Ask Ms. Lukas yourself if she's willing to trade practice space. We'll leave it up to the lady to decide.”

Before he could even twist his head in her direction, Lainey spit out her reply. “No way in hell.” She crossed her arms and glared at Gabe with a look that said she'd love nothing more than for him to challenge her.

“Tough luck, Havelak. Bill and I will work out the details, but get one thing straight”—Chester pointed a long, fat finger at Gabe—“you will go through with this competition.”

LAINEY WAS ALMOST SHAKING
as she walked out of Carson Chester's office right after she and Gabe were abruptly dismissed so the gaggle of PR dudes could take over the planning. Never in her life had she been chastised like that! She was a good girl. A hardworking girl. Not the kind of person who got summoned to the principal's office. She scowled at Gabe, wanting to blame him, but she'd tossed the first drink and she knew damn well she was just as guilty. Maybe more. Probably more. And then the bastard even tried to take the blame for it all. Dammit! Couldn't he just do her a favor for once and let her hate him?

Since she couldn't rightfully be pissed at Gabe, she directed her frustration at Carson Chester instead.

“What a douche-canoe.”

“Yeah, Carson Chester is a total douche-kayak,” Gabe responded with his easy smile. “Complete with the stupid little rubber skirt.” She couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the insult. Lainey was starting to understand why women fawned over Gabe. He had a rock-solid body with dreamy eyes, but those ears made him just goofy-looking enough to give him a hint of attainability and a whole lot of charm. And he always seemed like he was in a good mood, even when he was pissing her off. Which he did, a lot. She could barely sleep last night after those sparks flew between them at the club. She was certain there was no way a playboy like Havelak was actually interested in her, and in no way was she interested in him. It must've been just a little misplaced passion from their standoff. And there was no time to waste on pointless distractions like a man. That was way down on her list of things to do after winning the season. Behind learning to cross-stitch and getting her legs waxed.

“A douche-tugboat,” Lainey countered. “Hauling a load of garbage behind him.”

Gabe stroked his chin, as though deep in thought. “A douche–cruise liner. Weighed down with tons and tons of shit.”

“A douche-
Titanic
!” Lainey said, unable to resist even the silliest competition with Gabe. “Who ought to ram himself headfirst into an iceberg and sink into an abyss.”

“All right, all right, you win this time. But you won't be so lucky on the field.”

“I don't need luck. I'm the best.” Lainey walked down the long hall toward the elevators and pressed the call button.

“Ha! We'll see,” Gabe said, trailing behind her as she stepped into the elevator. “Of course, it's all just a good-natured competition in the name of charity.”

It had taken all her resolve not to roll her eyes. It was so easy for rich people to throw around money. Sure, it was a good thing if it went to a real cause, but Lainey doubted that Gabe, a man who seemed to spend most of his off-field hours partying with a rotating gaggle of women, had ever done anything that wasn't self-serving.

“Right. Charity,” Lainey intoned while pushing the ground-floor button. The doors to the elevator closed, trapping her and Gabe in the small space for the next twenty-six floors.

“Are you suggesting we make this more interesting?” he asked, stepping closer to her.

Lainey's pulse picked up, which, she rationalized, had everything to do with the excitement of competition and nothing at all to do with how he smelled like a cedar forest after a fresh rainfall. “Why not?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Our salaries are crap, and we didn't get any new gear when we signed onto the Falcons. Some of the players can't even afford to buy a spare pair of cleats. How about you pull in a favor with some of those companies you endorse and outfit our team with new gear if we win?”

“You want new cleats?” Of course he looked amused. He probably never had to play in cleats wrapped in duct tape in his life.

“Not just cleats. Have you seen how expensive good sports bras are? I'm talking full-on training gear. High-tech yoga pants, sweatshirts, shin guards, soccer shorts. All of it. If I'm going to kick your butt, I may as well get something out of it.”