Page 23 of The Tape Job
Liam
Unluckily for me, opening night means lots of media attention. And lots of media attention means lots of Vicky. I’ve been here a month and Vicky still hasn’t spoken to me properly. She’s doing her best to avoid me, and I’ve been in a constant state of frustration. It’s simmering under my skin, ready to erupt at any minute.
She’s got this black fitted dress on, and I swear she’s wearing those damn heels to wind me up because I can’t stop looking at her legs. She has legs for days, and her stockings make them look all shimmery. I love it.
I bought her a pair of Prada’s for her twenty-first birthday, and what a fucking treat they were; especially the close up view I got when they were at eye level while her legs rested on my chest. Cost wasn’t an issue, and neither was having to pay my brother back weekly. Lucky for me, he didn’t ask what I needed a loan for. I’m not even sure if I would havetold him because he wouldn’t have understood. I don’t know what it is with Vicky and heels. Anyone else can wear heels and I don’t bat an eye, but when Vicky does, it drives me wild. My dick stirs, and I can’t even smell her perfume yet.
I’m with the team in the tunnels waiting for warmups to start. Some guys are stretching, some are singing to the music, some are play-fighting like kids—but I’m watching Vicky.
She chats with the support team, and when she laughs, I suppress a smile. There’s a mumbling next to me, then I’m jabbed in the ribs.
“I said, what’s the latest with you and Vicky then, mate?” Bettsy says, his eyes following mine.
“Nothing at all. I guess it’s complicated,” I offer.
“It’s not though, is it? Both Vicky and Lee need to sort their shit out and get away from whatever toxic environment they’ve created for themselves,” Ryan butts in.
I glare at him. He’s not wrong, of course, but I’m taken aback by his bluntness.
“Christ!” Bettsy scoffs.
“Just leave it for now, guys,” Danny says, attempting to smooth the air.
Vicky spins on her heels and starts walking towards us. I’m watching the way her hips sway and images pop into my head of my hands gripping them as she bounces up and down on my dick. And suddenly, it feels a hundred degrees in the barn.
She’s got her phone out and that tiny mic plugged in, ready to record a social media video, no doubt. And she begins by giving the group a wide smile, never quite looking directly at me, but I’m fixed on her as if she’s keeping me alive. I want to look away, but I can’t.
“Right guys, first, Danny, you’re tonight’s ‘Shirt off his back,’ so be prepared.” There’s a few wolf-whistles before Vicky continues. “Second, today’s question is, ‘whoin the team would you choose as your partner in a three-legged race?’”
Christ, where does she come up with this shit? We get the signal to head towards the ice. Parker Fforde, the goalie, steps forward and wades towards the front. “Jonesy,” he says without stopping. He doesn’t even look in Vicky’s direction; he’s a fucking keener for the ice.
Jonesy is another local guy, and he’s next, throwing Ffordey’s name back at Vicky.
Danny’s next. “Anyone bar Bettsy,” he says, twirling his stick.
Bettsy steps forward. “The Captain,” he says, nodding in Johnny’s direction.
To my surprise, Johnny reciprocates Bettsy as he makes his way to the ice. Probably because they’re super coordinated.
“Who are you going to pick?” I whisper to Ryan as we make our way forward, albeit last in the line. I don’t know why I’m asking because I know he’s going to pick me—at least, he better pick me.
“You, dumbass,” he whispers back before stepping up to Vicky’s tiny microphone and grinning at her.
“My brother, because no one else would pick him.”
Vicky bites her lip, and her eyes fix on mine. Her perfume fills my nose, and I muster all the strength I have to not push her up against the wall and show her what she’s been missing. Or remind myself what I’ve given up.
“Liam?” she says, softly. I have to shake my head to clear the fog.
“Yeah, my brother, too,” I say, then I decide to use the opportunity to my advantage. “Hey, Vic, can we talk? I think I’ve given you enough time.”
She stops recording and lowers her phone. My stomach churns with butterflies as I wait for her to reply, but she says something about me sticking around after the game to sign autographs instead. She is so damnfrustrating.
“No,” I say.
“What do you mean, no? You have to!” she says, pouting, and I can’t help but stare at her lips, immediately thinking about pulling at her bottom lip with my teeth. She’s still glaring at me, waiting for me to answer, but I have an idea.
“I will, but only if you agree to talk to me. You can’t avoid me forever.”
