Page 60 of Floored

"I'm pretty sure your brother said the very same thing to me the night we met."

He took a slow drink from his cup, only glancing at me once before he seemed to come to a decision. "You're not like anyone I've ever seen Jude spend time with."

So many questions popped into my head.

About the kinds of women he was with in the past, about the number of women, and if anyone had crossed the impenetrable moat that seemed to surround their family. And like the secure, confident woman I was, I did not ask a single one of those questions.

I simply smiled. "Is that so?"

Lewis nodded, leaning closer so I could hear him while the team captains shook hands in the middle of the pitch. "Don't get me wrong, my brother hasn't dated anyone of consequence in years. And even when he did, back when he was first in the league, it was exactly the kind of woman he shouldn't have been with. They fawned over him, and it just ... it didn't help keep his feet on the ground. And Jude struggles as it is to do anything else with life beyond football, so people like that make it worse."

Groupies. Every sport had them. Every celebrity faced them at some point. I'm sure my brother had too. But according to him and Paige, he never wanted anything to do with that lifestyle. It was a house of glass built on the edge of an unsteady cliff.

"Athletes are just normal people who do abnormal jobs." I grinned at Lewis. "It's one of the things my brother drilled into our heads growing up. And the more people who elevate that athlete to a god-like status, the more they believe it."

"That's right." He nudged me with his shoulder. "I'm glad he has you, Lia Ward."

I wasn't able to answer because the ball went into motion, and for the next ninety minutes (plus stoppage time, which ... I was still trying to understand), we yelled and screamed and clapped and stayed on our feet while Jude and Shepperton FC absolutely left their hearts out on the field. As the clock kept moving forward, and Lewis explained that the whistle could blow any time once stoppage was met, I found myself breathless with the rhythm of the game.

It wasn't boring.

It was beautiful.

The stamina of the players, the way they passed with precision and ruthless accuracy, and the strength they were able to hone in their movements, I almost cried when Jude snagged the ball from a Chelsea player and took off toward the opposite end of the field. He kicked it in front of him as he ran, passed to one of his teammates to the left, who handled the ball with his feet so deftly, I almost lost sight of it.

It shot back toward Jude as he charged the waiting goalie, whose arms were outstretched in anticipation of what might come next.

Jude's right foot drew back, and he caught the ball just as it flew in front of him. It arced, perfectly, beautifully, impossibly into the top corner of the net, and the crowds erupted.

Lewis swept me up in a giant bear hug as we screamed, and the little old lady next to me wrapped her arm around my waist while she did the same.

The whistle blew, and the high of the win felt like I'd done drugs or something.

All my senses were heightened, my skin buzzed, and my heart pounded.

And for the first time all match, I saw Jude look up in the direction of our seats. His hair was a mess, and his jersey was filthy, but his smile was blinding.

I waved frantically, and he lifted a fist in the air.

"Want to go with me to meet him when he's done? Maybe we could grab a bite to eat at your pub?"

Lewis smiled, face flushed red from the celebrations. "If you two want to popover later, I'd love to say hi, but I have to get back. Tell him congrats for me, will you?"

He gave me a brief hug and followed the crowds out of the stadium.

When I looked back down at the players on the field, Jude was staring back up at us, but his smile wasn't quite as wide as before.

Maybe he and I were kidding ourselves in our constant search for distractions, but I slid my hand over my stomach and vowed that I'd do what I could to move us forward. No more focusing on the past.

18

JUDE

It was the moment when she screamed at the telly that I had my first real moment of pause when it came to Lia Ward.

"Oh, you fucking moron," she bellowed, hand speared in her hair as she paced my living room. "Of course, they were going to blitz. Block! Come on, get him, get him, get him!"

With a wince, I watched the Washington Wolves quarterback get viciously sacked. Lia groaned, sinking back on the couch with a deep breath.

---