On His Turf (2 page)

***

I follow Leigh through the busy locker room past a handful of players who are in various stages of undress. Other than one camera crew from the local news station there’s no other reporters in the room and definitely no other women. As we pass by a bank of lockers I recognize the player who scored two goals tonight. He finds my eyes and winks at me as he zips up his jeans and I think that he’s definitely cute with his black faux hawk, green eyes and his lean muscular frame.

“Is there anything I can help you ladies with?” his smooth voice glides over to us and I shake my head but Leigh answers.

“There are probably a few different things you can help me with gorgeous, but I’m actually looking for Shane Mitchell,” she purrs.

He smiles, sticking his thumb over his shoulder toward a closed door behind him. “He’s hiding back there as usual.”

As I walk to the back I literally have to tug on Leigh’s arm to pull her attention away from the hot guy who’s watching our retreat with interest.

“That’s the striker, Marco Hurtado. Yum. I should go back and get a statement from him - or a phone number,” she says distractedly while grinning over her shoulder at him.

“Focus please!” I shout a little too loudly because I’m wet and cold and more than a little irritated. “My shirt is still soaked and I need to go home.”

I yank on her arm again and she begrudgingly turns around to face me and knocks on the door. There’s no answer so we try one more time before she gives up and tries the handle. The door opens and Leigh walks right through with me following closely behind. As soon as we enter I feel the steam heat from the shower and hear a tap running in the distance.

“Shit,” I say at the same time Leigh exhales, “yes”.

“We are so not supposed to be in here,” I whisper fiercely and turn to go. As I whirl around I come face to face with Shane Mitchell himself, who is standing in front of me in all of his naked glory. His body is still damp from the shower and I can’t stop my eyes as they drift over tanned chest and across the hard ridges of his chiseled abdomen. I notice distractedly that he has a large black tattoo on his left pectoral that reaches over his shoulder and stretches part way down his left arm. I also notice that he has some wording scrawled on the inside of his bicep but I can’t quite make it out. Huh. He didn’t strike me as the tattoo type with his boy-next-door looks. My eyes travel down even farther to his waist and beyond and I can’t help the yelp that escapes my lips at seeing his impressive girth. I hear him chuckle and my eyes snap back up to his face.

“You’re wet,” he says and my face flushes guiltily at the thought of the dampness that’s growing between my legs.

“W-What?” I stammer.

“Your shirt is wet,” he says matter-of-factly, his eyes not leaving my face which I know must be beet-red by now.

“I spilled beer on it.”

“I saw,” he says, his lips curving up into a smile.

“Because of you,” I add.

“Sorry?” he says quirking an eyebrow at me.

“You should be,” I bite out and he chuckles.

“Sorry we barged in on you,” Leigh interrupts but she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m here for the interview and I only need a few minutes of your time. If you’ll have me that is?” she adds suggestively.

“I expected that you’d wait outside but now that you are here we may as well go ahead,” he addresses her while not taking his eyes off me. I shift my eyes to the floor, careful this time not to catch a glimpse of his tanned flesh on the way down.

“I guess I should put on a towel?” he says it like a question and I clear my throat nervously.

Leigh sighs. “If you must.”

He walks over to the wall and plucks a fluffy white towel off a peg, then wraps it around his waist. He slings it low on his hips and it looks to be in serious danger of falling off and again I can’t help but stare at the deep V that points a path downward to what lies beneath. I mean, Christ, the guy has an eight-pack. An involuntarily tremor passes through me and I close my eyes while I try to focus my attention on anything else.

Leigh takes out her handheld recorder and holds it up to his mouth before launching her first question at him. “What can you tell us about today’s shut out?”

“Just doing my job,” he flashes her one of his trademark grins and I watch as her pupils dilate slightly. His smile reveals a set of perfect teeth and dimples in both of his cheeks - and not the cutesy Mario Lopez kind of dimples but the manly kind that cut right down to his chin. Up close I also notice that he has a faint white scar on his upper lip but somehow it only manages to make him look sexier.

“You’re like a soccer rock star these days. Does all the attention bother you?” she probes.

“Not in the least. I’d rather have too much attention than none at all.”

“Born and raised in Austin you went to Florida State on scholarship then spent seven years with Real Salt Lake before returning to Austin. How does it feel to be playing back at home?

“I’m a Texas boy at heart and I’m so grateful to be back here with the fans that have supported me and believed in me over the years. Like the saying goes, ‘Never ask a man if he’s from Texas. If he is, he’ll tell you on his own. If he ain’t, no need to embarrass him,’“ he finishes then winks.

“Austin United has seen a lot of changes in the past year. How do you feel about the team that Coach O’Brien has put together?”

“It’s a close knit group with a great bunch of guys. I couldn’t have found a better club.”

“You recently celebrated your thirtieth birthday, congratulations. How long do you plan on staying in the game for?”

“For as long as the game will have me. I love playing,” his eyes flash as he says the last part and I don’t miss the passion that’s reflected in his eyes.

“If you weren’t a footballer what would you be?”

“That’s a tough question. I’ve always played soccer. It’s what I think about when I wake up in the morning and it’s what I think about when I lie down to sleep at night.”

“Speaking of lying down to sleep; is there a special someone in your life right now?”

“No,” his mouth twitches. “I don’t really do girlfriends.”

“That’s an impressive tattoo. Can you tell me what it means?” Leigh switches the topic to the ink on his chest and I notice immediately how his body tenses. His eyes shift to the wall behind her head as he speaks.

“I think that’s enough questions for now.” The way he cuts her off so abruptly it’s obvious that her question has touched a nerve.

“Oh, okay,” Leigh stammers, sounding a little flustered. She switches off the recorder and tosses it back into her bag before taking a step back. He seems to catch his blunder and recovers by flashing another panty-dropping grin.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, doll,” he says in a low voice and I notice that Leigh’s hand trembles a little as she grips his.

“You too,” she answers breathlessly. His eyes cut to me and my cheeks heat in response because I’m still trying my hardest to wipe the image of him naked from my mind.

“You,” he says and the words come out almost like a growl.

“Me?” I squeak.

“You were booing me.”

I study his face which is carefully blank. If I’d known he was going to call me out on it I never would’ve come into the dressing room with Leigh. “It wasn’t you specifically…it was more soccer in general,” I explain and a beat passes before he throws his head back and laughs.

“You have a problem with soccer?” he asks, wiping his eyes.

“It’s just not my thing,” I say on a shrug.

“Then what is your thing, beautiful? Other than lacy white bras,” he asks as his eyes travel down the front of my button shirt. I’m momentarily stunned that he’s referred to me as beautiful and I kick myself for being so weak. I know exactly how guys like him operate yet I can’t help the small tremor of pleasure that passes through my body at his words.

“Investigative Journalism. That’s my thing,” I answer.

“So you’re a reporter?”

“Hardly. I’m an Assistant at the Observer which means that most of my time is spent making coffee and occasionally proof-reading articles.”

“Sounds like you love it,” he deadpans.

“It’s a glamourous job,” I give it right back to him while tugging on Leigh’s arm to go. “Can we leave now?” I whisper as I turn around but his deep, rough voice stops me in my tracks.

“Wait,” he says and I’m forced to look back over my shoulder at him. “What are you ladies doing tomorrow night?”

Before I can speak Leigh answers for us both. “Nothing, we’re free.” She stresses the word
free
and the way she says it sounds so dirty that I think I might need to push him out of the way and jump into the shower myself.

“I’m having a party at my place downtown. I’m in the lofts on third down by the lake. You two should come.”

“No, thank you,” I say at the same time she Leigh says, “definitely”.

“Give me your phone and I’ll program in my number so you can text me for the address.” He looks at me as he speaks but I’m saved by Leigh who thrusts her phone in his face. He grits his teeth in obvious displeasure but he takes her phone and plugs in his number. He hands it back and his eyes come up to meet mine.

“I expect to see you both there.”

The way he says it, so dominantly, I find myself nodding my head even though I know in the back of my mind there is no way in hell I’m darkening the door of a party thrown by all-star playboy soccer player Shane Mitchell.

***

It turns out that hell has other plans for me, I think to myself as I survey the entire contents of my closet spread out on my twin bed. After much begging, pleading and cajoling on Leigh’s part I finally agreed to attend Shane’s party on one condition - that we bring Matty with us.

Matty is my very best friend in the world. He’s also quick-witted, funny, fabulous and always obliging when I need him to play the part of my date for the night. I glance at my phone and see that it’s already 8:35 which means that Matty will be here in less than half an hour and I’m still not dressed. But it’s been awhile since I’ve been to a party and choosing an outfit has proven to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. Between my part-time job at the club and my full time job at the paper I haven’t been living it up much lately and my usual Saturday nights consist of takeout pizza, craft beer and HBO. What an exciting life I lead.

I look out my second story window at the sky that is quickly turning a shade of dark blue and I know that I have to get move on but I’m stuck on what I am supposed to wear to a star-athlete’s downtown loft. A dress might be too over-the-top and I don’t want to send the wrong message so I settle on my white skinny jeans and a sleeveless black blouse that dips low at the back. It’s one of my favorite tops because it keeps the girls mostly covered, which for me is always a hard thing to do, and instead highlights my back which is an area I’ve been working hard at the gym on toning. I pair the outfit with some strappy black high heels and simple silver jewelry and pile my long hair on the top of my head in a high ponytail. I hear Matty let himself in as I’m applying a layer of gloss and when he sees me he whistles.

“I should take you out more often,” he says as I do a little twirl, then he comes over to wrap his arms around my waist. “You’re beautiful, Carm,” he adds sweetly.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I say and it’s true. He’s wearing his usual hipster uniform of fitted jeans, a gray V-neck and high top converse but it’s a look that he’s always been able to pull-off, even before it hit the mainstream. His straight black hair is gelled up into a pompadour and his thick-framed black glasses set off his delicate, angular features. I take a step forward to cradle his face in my hands so that I can look into his deep set blue eyes. “Thank you for doing this for me,” I say sincerely and he chuckles.

“Hey, all I’m doing is taking a gorgeous woman to a celebrity party. It’s not really a chore.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call him a celebrity,” I shoot back and he laughs.

“Touchy, touchy. We don’t see a shit ton of action here in Austin so to me he’s a celebrity. Comprende?”

“I hate it when you speak Spanish to me,” I whine and he laughs again. He thinks it’s hilarious that I don’t speak a word of it and tries to rile me every chance he gets.

“I can’t help it, especially not when you’re looking like a hot little tamale,” he teases and I roll my eyes and change the subject.

“Was Kyle okay with us going out tonight?”

“Who cares what he thinks?” Matt answers shortly.

“Matthew Jeffery Dawson, what happened this time?” I groan. Matty is a hopeless romantic who seems to love falling in love but has a hard time staying in it. He is constantly in and out of relationships for one reason or another and I’m a little disappointed since Kyle and he seemed so good together.

“Nothing happened. There just wasn’t any spark.”

“But I really liked him,” I whine.

“You like every guy I bring by. I’m starting to think that you’re a beard in training,” he laughs and I shove him so he falls back on the bed. At the last second his arms grab around my waist and he pulls me down with him.

“You know I love you, right?” I say into his shoulder and he grunts. “I only want you to be happy.”

“I could say the same thing to you miss hasn’t-been-out-on-a-Saturday-night-in-months. You are going to work yourself into an early grave. I’m glad we are going to this thing tonight. You need to live a little,” he chastises and I pull away from him and climb off of the bed.

“God, we are a pair aren’t we?” I say, picking up my clutch and slipping into my fitted beige leather coat.

“The best pair.” He follows me off the bed and kisses my head, then grabs my hand and leads us out of the bedroom to the front door.

***

The evening air is chilly and I’m instantly glad I brought my jacket as we make our way down the two flights of stairs. I live in a three story low rise on the east side of Austin in an area called Pleasant Valley. The neighborhood is mostly working class with some low income housing and it is pretty safe during the day, but at night there’s lots of property crime which is why I still have a club on my crappy Honda hatchback. I climb into the driver’s seat before Matty can even offer to drive because this way I’ll have to stay sober and can make a quick escape if I need to. It takes a few turns of the key before my twenty year old crap bucket shudders to life and when it does I hit the gas and we both fly forward in our seats before the car jerks and stalls.