Page 37 of Hotshot

She grasped Sloane’s hand in hers and looked into her blue eyes. “I’m glad we met, too.”

Sloane licked her lips.

Ella tried desperately not to follow her tongue, and failed. She didn’t care. Her heart punched her chest, and she had no idea where this was going. The one thing she knew for sure? She did not want to pull away. Not one little bit.

“Can I ask one favour before you go?”

“Anything.” Staring at Sloane’s perfect face, heat swirling around them, she meant that, too. Whatever Sloane asked for, Ella would do it in a heartbeat.

“Can I get a hug? Being injured and away from home is lonely.”

Ella’s heart broke into tiny pieces. If she were injured, her cousin would be there, as would her aunt. But Sloane didn’t have any family to rely on. Salchester was her family. Perhaps Ella was one of the closest friends she had over here.

“Of course.”

Then Ella did what felt completely right. She moved closer so their bodies were touching, and then she wrapped her arms around Sloane in a way she hoped told her she was protected. That what she was doing would work in the long run. That she was loved. She shuffled her body forward a little more and inhaled Sloane’s scent of shampoo and Monster Munch.

Sloane settled her head on Ella’s shoulder and let out a satisfied sigh as Ella tightened her grip on her waist.

Sloane did the same.

They stood there, Ella’s eyes closed, for what felt like forever, simply revelling in being this close, finally. At least, Ella did. But she knew from the contented sounds dropping from Sloane’s lips she was providing the comfort she sought too, which pleased Ella. Moving and starting afresh was lonely. Sloane had put up a good front until now. However, slowly, but surely, her defences were melting.

CHAPTER15

It was a long three weeks following her injury, and Sloane had spent them focused on getting back to full fitness with long hours on the bike, strength training and a regular icing routine. Eventually, the days nudged into December, Ella delivered a small, decorated tree to Sloane’s flat, and she could finally see things might have turned a corner. A recurrence of her ankle injury wasn’t how she’d wanted to greet her first Christmas away from home.

However, now the prognosis was that she could be back as early as January if she did exactly what she was told, her mood had shifted to moderately upbeat. If she discounted the fact that Salchester had lost their latest Champions’ League group game. If they lost again next week, they were out of the competition. There was nothing Sloane could do about it, but she felt responsible.

When she’d told Ella, she’d received a raised eyebrow in return. As Ella pointed out, they might have lost even if Sloane had been on the field. It wasn’t a given. “Plus, you know the drill: stop worrying about things you can’t control.”

Sloane knew the drill well. It was just easier said than done.

There was no doubt, though, that Ella was a constant plus point in her life. She popped in for coffee and pep talks regularly now, and in the two weeks since that hug, they’d both been skating around it and what it meant. But sometimes, late at night when Sloane was on the couch alone, she closed her eyes and could still remember every intimate detail. The warmth of Ella’s thigh against her own. The way Ella had held her just right. The softness of her.

Sloane had held on too long, and yet, it hadn’t seemed long enough. When they’d eventually let go, Sloane had stared into Ella’s hazel eyes with so much to say, but nothing had come out. Instead, Ella had hastily packed up the clothes she was taking with never-ending thanks, and scurried out the door.

Nothing since. Coffees had been drunk, Christmas trees had been delivered, but there’d been no more hugs. There were a couple of occasions where Sloane thought Ella might be edging towards one, but she’d pulled out at the last minute. It was probably for the best. Sloane was hardly an attractive proposition, was she? Newly single, damaged goods. Ella knew her whole story. Her broken background, her failed relationships. She probably wanted to keep things as they were. Friends.

However, whenever Sloane thought that, she cast her mind back to after her injury. How Ella had looked at her and touched her. To the night she tried on her clothes. That hug. There was something there. But would either of them be brave enough to find out what it was?

Sloane couldn’t think about that now. Today, she was meeting her cousin, Cathy, for the first time. Just the thought made Sloane’s skin blaze with excitement, but she didn’t want to get carried away. Her cousin’s son, Ryan, had seemed lovely. However, people could deceive, and her fame might be an issue. All of which meant Sloane was taking the meeting step by step. If it went well, great. If not, she’d chalk it up to experience. That it was never meant to be. However, before all of that, she had a call with her agent.

Sloane walked over to the kitchen island, and opened her laptop in preparation. She’d avoided speaking to Adrianne since her injury. In fact, she’d avoided speaking to most people, which was what she did. But there was only so long she could put her agent off. Adrianne had Sloane’s best interests at heart, but she also wanted to check in on her asset, to see if she was about to lose her 15 per cent. Her agent hadn’t been happy with Sloane taking off overseas, but it wasn’t her decision. It was the first time Sloane had gone against her advice and it had made their relationship frosty.

Her screen lit up with an incoming call. Sloane grabbed her bottle of water and settled on a stool in her kitchen. She clicked the green button, and Adrianne’s face popped up.

“There’s my star client!” Adrianne’s tired tone didn’t match her words. She rubbed her right eye as she spoke, direct from the kitchen table of her Tribeca apartment, not her usual office. In the background, her kitchen counter was stacked with dishes, and Sloane spied a half-empty bottle of red wine. Adrianne always told her she lived in organised chaos, and she wasn’t lying.

“I could do with a little more enthusiasm.”

“It’s 8am, and I haven’t had my first cup of coffee yet. That’s the best I’ve got,” she replied with a throaty rasp. Sloane always joked that if you imagined a caricature of a New Yorker, Adrianne was it. A feisty, loud-mouth, 40-something broad whoalwaysgot her own way. This morning, her short, red-tinged hair stuck up at all angles, and she had a tell-tale sleep mark down her right cheek. Adrianne carried the aromas of coffee and Marlboro lights with her everywhere she went. If she leaned forward, Sloane was pretty sure she could sniff them through the screen.

“How’s the ankle?”

“Getting there. Physio reckons I could be back by mid-January if I don’t push it. So, six weeks give or take for a full recovery. It could have been worse.”

“No kicking any balls until you’re fixed. You’re my prize asset, remember.”

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