Page 69 of Trouble in Love
“Chris,” I squealed with pure, faked delight. “Great to see you. How the hell did you know I was here?”
“Technology and a watertight contract.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he gave it an obnoxious wriggle. “The second that plane landed on US soil; we had permission to track you. Now, you have somewhere to be … Oh, by the way, congratulations.”
I jumped to my feet, practically dropping Polly to the floor. “What! Oh no. That is such a shame. Gosh, I am so disappointed, but I guess the tattoo will have to wait. Sorry, team.”
Chris looked at his watch, then Polly, then Dylan, and smirked, “Actually, we have time. Do your thing, tattoo man.”
Being ferried directly to the team’s hotel by my glorified babysitter after sobbing in front of him, an inked-up stranger, and my new bride, was a sharp reminder that I was an idiot, and that holiday time was over.
A flurry of contradictions had me bouncing in my seat. I felt sick in the stomach knowing I’d ignored every attempted contact my teammates had made in my absence, but conversely couldn’t wait to see them. A preemptive ache set in knowing the fitness tests to come would be grueling but longed for the challenge of proving I had done the work required.
“Team training may already be finished for this afternoon, but Coach Brown wants to see how your recovery is going twelve weeks in so will probably have you do some one-on-one drills. We’ll drop Ms. Hart—”
“Mrs. D’Cruz.” I corrected proudly.
Chris rolled his eyes. “Sure, Mrs. D’Cruz, off at the hotel and take you straight to the center for assessment.” He then launched into my calendar, reading aloud my upcomingschedule in a tone dripping with judgment. With each day’s program announced, Polly fidgeted in her seat beside me.
“You okay, Princess?” I asked, squeezing her hand.
“Of course, I just wondered what we should do for dinner when you get back. There are some amazing restaurants here in Vegas. Maybe–.”
“Sorry, Ms. Hart,” interrupted Chris again. “After his meetings and assessment, Luca has an official team dinner. Your celebratory meal will need to wait.” Clicking his tongue, he ran his fancy stylus up and down his iPad screen, “I think we have a free day …next Tuesday.”
“Next Tuesday?” Polly coughed. “Wow. Are you a hockey player or Prince Harry? Is it always like this for you? Your days and weeks mapped out so far in advance? When do you have time for all this sluttery I keep hearing about?”
It felt like an eternity since I’d last ploughed into Polly, so the mere mention of sluttery had my dick springing to life. “It is.” I confirmed, averting my gaze from her soft, tanned thigh that rubbed deliciously against mine, “We do have a pretty strict schedule, but never fear my dear, I will always find time for slut stuff.”
“Thankfully, not as much as many would like.” Chris added, passing Polly a new phone while I flipped him the bird.
“Honestly, Pol. Once the season starts, there will be periods where I’m away for weeks at a time. Then there’s training and media stuff that keeps us busy too. Life can get pretty hectic.”
“Sounds like it.” Visions of her jumping from the moving vehicle and running down the strip had me feeling slightly panicked. Reaching out, I cupped her chin in one hand and swept the stray locks from her furrowed brow with the other.
“It’s a great life, though, and I promise we will see each other. Loads of girlfriends … and wives,” I said with kiss to her nose,“Travel with the team. Not all the time, of course, but enough to be able to make things work if that’s what a couple both wants.”
The same vulnerable eyes that snared me hook line and sinker, shyly assessed me. “And that’s what you want?”
I pulled her onto my lap and kissed her hard and deep, infusing it with as much raw emotion as I could… with my manager staring me down. “More than anything.”
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the slut the cat dragged in.”
“Look who’s decided to be part of the team.”
“Is that a dingo in your pocket, or are you just happy to see us?”
“You’re just in time for dinner, D’Cruz. Have you got any shrimp we can chuck on the barbie?”
After doubling over in fake laughter, I straightened and flipped the bird to my teammates, the nausea that had curdled my lunch and threatened to spill onto my feet melting away. “They call them prawns in Oz and fuck it. I haven’t missed any of you fuckheads at all.” Twenty sweaty, smelly hockey players piled on top of me. Almost the whole team was there, slapping my back, my ass, and peppering my head with kisses as I tried to protect my freshly tattooed hand from the onslaught, while opening my heart to the acceptance of my brothers. I knew these guys. If the whole bi thing was going to be an issue, this wouldn’t have been happening. They accept me. All of me.
“Oh. Okay, so everyone’s okay with the queer guy who beat the shit out of me? Great. Good to know.”Maybe I spoke to soon.With that one spiteful sentence, Dallas Fucking Brookes sucked all joy from the room. “Hey, I’m a grown man capable of puttingthe past behind us and moving forward … for the sake of the team. I just hope you don’t start checking us out in the showers.”
In what could have been a scene straight from an old-fashioned westerns, I turned to face the man who had stolen what I had believed was my future, wiping my hand across my bottom lip, a scowl etched into my brow. “Is that right, Brookes? Well, I hope you eat shit and die.” A few awkward guffaws bounced off the cheap metal lockers, but for the most part, the room was eerily quiet. “But like you said, for the sake of the team, I will pretend you don’t exist when I can and display the utmost professionalism when I can’t. Oh, and also, just like education doesn’t stop people like you being ignorant arseholes, me being queer doesn’t mean I would check out any of your flat, spent asses. I have standards.” All of this was said as I again flipped the bird.
“Speak for yourself, D’Cruz.” Jeered Rory, “My hockey butt is popping.” With a slap I felt in my chest, the tension snapped, the guys were laughing, and more than a few checking their butts in the mirror.
“Very mature, numbnuts.” Coach Brown said, inserting himself between me and the still seething Dallas. “What have I said to you about acting like my thirteen-year-old?”
“I thought she was twelve, coach.” I smiled.
