Page 25 of Trouble in Love
Perhaps sensing an awkward conversation, Holly tossed the cushion, rose to her feet, and motioned to Dad to hand over the child. “I’m going to take Pip to bed. Fingers crossed she can sleep again.”
Dad waited for a heartbeat, at which time I checked my phone,still no message,then continued. “I know you left under trying circumstances, but time has passed. No one cares what happened four years ago.”
I slapped my thigh in mock jest. “Get out of town. Ya think? Mum seems to and reminds me of it daily.”
“She does, yes, but only because she loves you so much and wants the best for you. Her faith dictates—”
“That every decision I’ve ever made is wrong. That I am inherently wrong.”
“No.”
“Yes, Dad. You know it. I know it, and I am at peace with it. Really. You don’t need to defend her. It’s not necessary, and of course, I’ll stay to help. But I tell you now, the minute she is up, and on her feet, I’m gone. There is nothing here for me anymore.”
Dad leaned into my side and placed a big, wet kiss on my temple. “This is your home, my darling girl. There will always be something here for you.”
Luca
Apitfall of modern technology like cell phones was if you were a knucklehead like me and left your phone at the check-in counter of an Australian airport, you couldn’t use it to message the smokin’ babe you were dying to bone.
Who knew?
All I had thought of for days was getting back to hockey, and my hands on that lovely round ass, and I’d fucked it.
The phone. Not the ass.
There was no doubt Jasmine would think I stood her up, and I had the distinct impression my feisty princess wasn’t one to hand out second chances. Nope, those sweet, plump lips would never call my name as her tight pussy came all over my face. And I would never call out hers as I pounded deep inside her. I’d blown my chance instead of my load.I’ve also spent too much time with Teddy.
Frustration curled my toes in my sleep and dulled my appetite at breakfast. On my morning jog, my pace was slow, and my breathing labored during my cool down and stretches, thememory of her taste tickled my tongue distracting me from the tightness in my Achilles but rattling my breath on exhalation. My misery could not be concealed, and I may have sobbed while dressing in the hotel bathroom, Finn and Nate looming on the other side of the door, whispering words of encouragement.
“Don’t worry, mate. At least you still have the footy to look forward to,” commiserated Finn when I finally emerged red-eyed and snotty-nosed.
Nate scoffed and punched his bestie in the arm, “Yeah, ‘cause watching thirty-six hot and sweaty guys running around in tight shorts is a fair trade for a hot chick.” Realizing his mistake, His brows pinched. “Oh, but I guess for you, it might be? I dunno how hot this Jasmine was, or how much you’re into dudes. Teddy said you have a thing for Asher but … ya know. Whatever winks your kink.”
The burn of my cheeks distracted me from my misery. “Had a thing. Ihada thing for Asher as in the past tense. There is nothinganymore.”
Nate seemed as convinced as I felt, and changed the subject, “Are you sure you’re okay on the couch? As the biggest among us, you should probably have the bed.”
Yes. Not only was Inotsharing my bed with Jasmine, but I also didn’t have a bed. “It’s fine. I’ve roomed with Charles Mahone for every away game the last year, and the guy snores like a bear.” I waited for their gasps, for any reaction to my blatant name-dropping, but none came. Then I remembered where I was and who I was with. There were maybe a handful of people in Sydney who knew who Charles Mahone was. Or that he took home the Hart Memorial Trophy, the NHL’s MVP award the last two years running. Clearing my throat, I continued. “Uhh, anyway. He’s another player, and he snores, so basically, I’m saying I’ve spent loads of time squeezed in on a sofa. Besides, Finn is almost as big as me, and Nate, you paid for the rooms.”
“Room.” Finn corrected. “He paid for theroombecause he only booked oneroomin the wrong hotel because just like his wife says, he’s anidiot.”
A fresh wave of self-pity washed over me. The wrong hotel. No phone. No chance of Jasmine. Back to monk hood.
“Hey!” Nate whined, more than slightly offended. “I’m not an idiot. I’m cheap. You saw how much the same Shangri-la was, Finn. It could have paid for a whole term of kinder for the big twins. A whole term.”
“So, you’re a cheap idiot?” Like true brothers, the guys dropped to the floor and began to wrestle. Wanting to laugh but without the energy to do it, I left them to battle it out and made my way out to the balcony, watching the bobbing of boats in choppy waves while I moped.
I was in love.
Again.
AFL was the best goddam game on the planet ... apart from hockey. The crowd. The noise. The muscles. Damn.
According to the boys, it was a perfect day for football. Blue skies. Light wind and a top temperature of seventy-one degrees Fahrenheit. Our seats, hard as they were, were right on the boundary, and the oval pitch was completely open. No plexiglass barriers in sight. You could smell men and sweat and fury. The size and physicality of the players, along with their stamina, was … fucking insane. Gravity defying. Picture a guy the height and weight of your average hockey player on skates, leaping into the air like Baryshnikov. And the ground was huge, measured in meters, but my feeble mind calculated that some footy fieldswere almost three times as wide and double the length of an NFL one.
For ninety percent of the time, I had no idea what was happening, but ripped bodies were slamming together, balls were caught—sorry—marked mid-air, over the heads and off the backs of other guys in a thing called a specky, and goals were kicked from a good sixty yards out. Caught up in the moment, I screamed BALL, and KICK IT alongside forty thousand fans. I consumed three jelly-filled donuts and had my first-ever pie with dead horse. Much to my relief, this was slang for a meat pie with tomato sauce, or ketchup, not a dish of the equine variety, and downed one, two, or maybe five too many beers.
It was an experience like no other, and Nate was right. It was a distraction. But one that was over all too soon. Pouting resumed on the twenty-minute Uber drive back to the motel. And not just by me. Nate and Finn’s team, the Sydney Swans, were defeated by a team from Melbourne, the Essendon Bombers. Naturally, as winners, the Bombers became my team, and a jersey, beanie, and scarf were purchased as we left the stadium. The guys didn’t seem to like that.
