Hat Trick, page 5
“What’s up his ass?” Lillian whispered.
“Who knows,” Emily replied. A small tickle of worry hit her brain when she saw Coop, their latest and, it would seem, most prolific stud horse, throw himself down in front of the gathered group and go up on one elbow, bending one knee, Joe Montana-style.
“Get up, wanker,” someone muttered as the girls nearest the front tittered and preened like so many lady birds hoping for the attention of the brightest, most obnoxious male. But Coop remained oblivious to the rumblings behind him and grinned that admittedly infectious grin as the cameras flashed. Out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw Jason move away from the group, swipe a hand across his lips, and then take the four short steps between him and the sprawled-out Cameron “Coop” Cooper.
Before anyone could lift a finger to stop him, Jason had Coop dragged up by the throat, hauled a good six feet, and shoved up against a marble pillar. The players all broke rank. Some of them tried to pull Jason off, but many held back, Emily noticed, right about the time she spotted one of the tallest, blondest men she’d ever seen in her life enter the foyer. He wore the same vampire-as-sex-toy getup as the other men, but somehow he owned it while most of the others, with the possible exception of Wilson, the thin, lanky goalkeeper, and Hunter, the dark-and-brooding defender, simply had put it on in deference to her direct order to vampire up.
While the loud shouts of both dismay (from the ladies) and encouragement (from the men) bounced around in the cavernous foyer, the new guy watched, eyebrows raised in either amusement or disdain—or both. Emily did a quick name check on her tablet then headed over to welcome the newest player, star center midfielder Maxwell Horst, fresh off the bench at the Bundesliga and arrived here, right in the middle of player conflict.
She smiled and held out her hand, trying not to ogle at the man’s easy, movie-star perfection. He shook her hand, then frowned when someone screamed in an overly dramatic fashion. Emily recognized it immediately—the queen of the WAG brigade and current gal pal of the sweet and tempting Declan MacGuire.
Max raised an eyebrow at the scene unfolding behind her. Emily turned slowly, noting that Rafe and Metin had stepped into the fray and had the two men separated. Coop sported a bloody nose and swollen eye, and so did Jason. She sighed and looked down at her tablet, which was blowing up with tweets already, all from inside the venue.
#BJGDetroit #playerfight #Coop #ManWhore
She frowned at the milling group of vamps and fairies. Half of them were tapping away on their phones.
Some days she truly hated social networks.
Declan was on the floor, holding his jaw and looking royally pissed off while his main squeeze Cassandra hovered, making high-pitched, irritating noises. Emily motioned for Gabe, who’d led Lillian to a chair away from the melee. He nodded and trotted over to her.
“Hey, Gabe, this is Max, the new guy. Can you handhold him a while? I gotta…” She gestured to the ongoing mess in the middle of the foyer and glanced down at her phone. The public would be allowed inside in exactly five minutes. She had to get control of this fracas now or risk more bad publicity.
“Go for it,” he said. “Pour some cold water on ‘em or something.”
“What was that about, anyway?”
“Hell if I know. I steer clear of the cock fights as best I can, hiding in the background with the few married guys.” He held up a fist.
She bumped hers to it. “Good for you, making my life easier and all that. You’re in good hands here, Max. I’ll catch you inside for a quick photo and interview, okay?”
Without bothering to hear his answer, she made her way to the center of the foyer, where Metin still had hold of Jason. She could see Metin’s lips moving and figured he was trying to calm the guy down, so she headed over to where Rafe had shoved Coop onto a velvet-covered bench as far from Jason as he could get him. The other players and their dates milled around, looking as much like a herd of lost sheep as a bunch of finely tuned athletes and their arm-candy could. Her marketing intern appeared at her elbow.
“Here, got some wet cloths,” the girl said, looking terrified and somehow infatuated as she gazed at the bleeding and cursing Coop. “I, um…should I…”
Emily waved her away. “Yeah, give him one. I’ll take this one to the hot head. Do you know what triggered all that?”
The girl bit her lower lip in such a goofy, faux-ingénue manner it made Emily want to slap her into next week. “So help me,” she muttered under her breath as she stomped over to Jason, who’d been freed by his coach and was now leaning over Declan. A flicker of worry hit her brain when the redheaded man winced as Jason and Metin helped him to his feet.
She tried not to look too concerned as she handed Jason the towel. He took it and pressed it under his nose, immediately soaking it a bright red.
“Jesus, mate, what was that all about?” Declan moved his lower jaw side to side. “And when did you learn to hit so damn hard?”
“Sorry,” Jason said, glaring across the space at Coop. “Wasn’t aiming for you. That rat bastard—he—oh, never mind.”
“Listen, boys, I need you all to pull it together. Jason, go to the restroom and finish cleaning up. I think I’ve got—” She stopped when something touched her elbow. Her assistant was there, holding two replacement vampire dress shirts, her eyes shining as if she were about to burst into tears. Emily glared at her, then at Jason, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Coop. “Here. Go change.” She took his elbow and steered him toward the bathrooms. “If you are screwing around with my intern, Jason, so help me God.”
He yanked his arm out of her grip. “Fucking-A, Emily. She’s just a kid. What do you take me for, anyway? Ow. Jesus.” He stuffed the towel under his nose, which muted his voice. “But she’s really sweet. Reminds me of my sister. And she told me he…” He jerked his chin in Coop’s direction. “He…oh shit. Whatever.” He stomped away, leaving her with her mouth hanging open. The drama never ended. She knew that. But somehow tonight she didn’t feel prepared for the breadth and depth of it.
Emily whirled on her heel and headed for Coop, who’d stripped out of his shirt right in front of everyone and had his arms stuck into a fresh one. His grin was so wide and utterly cocky she wanted to punch him herself. At that moment, the crowd noise filled her ears so she decided to fight that battle another day and left him in the care of his coach.
Within a couple of hours, she sat at the bar again, exhausted but happy with how the event had progressed upward from its ignominious start. She and Maureen were laughing about something when she caught sight of the intern girl standing way too close to Cam Cooper. Wracking her brain for the girl’s name for a second before conjuring it—Haley—Emily read their body language loud and clear.
“Excuse me,” she said, sliding off the barstool and nearly falling off her shoes in the process. “Whoops. Damn. Better switch to water.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I gotta go figure out why Coop is trying to corrupt my staff. It’s what set Jason off for some reason.”
The place had lurched into full club mode. Blaring, bass-thumping music deafened her the closer she got to the dance floor. Everyone appeared to be doing their level best to one-up each other, simulating sex and calling it “dancing.” Her scalp prickled when she spotted Declan, his face flushed as he stared at his date’s face, his hands on her ass, his thigh shoved between hers.
She looked away, berating herself. But when she glanced over where she’d seen Coop and Haley, they were gone.
She passed a hand across her lips, envisioning the many dark corners in this place. Jason seemed occupied enough at the moment with some random fairy-dressed female. That was one thing about all the girls wearing the same outfit—they were even harder to tell apart.
No fair, Emily. You were no better than a wannabe bank WAG. The teller promoted to manager, positioning yourself for the right moment when the execs visited the branch. At least, that’s what everyone assumed about you, once.
She shook her head and stood for a moment, trying very hard not to feel like a combination babysitter of, and gawker at, all the beautiful humans writhing around on the dance floor. Noting that Cassandra had broken away from Declan and was slipping out one of the many side doors, Emily decided to visit the ladies’ room, if for no other reason than to splash water on her face. As she was winding her way through the tables, she caught sight of Haley and Coop headed out a different door. Cursing under her breath, she shifted direction and followed them, feeling more like a prom night chaperone than she should in this room full of purported adults.
By the time she’d made it to the dark hallway, it seemed to be deserted. With a sigh, she turned toward the bathrooms. She’d been at too many events with her own super star alpha husband in this venue not to know where all the toilets were located.
When she got there, she tugged her shoes off and held them, sighing with relief as her bare feet touched the cold marble floor. After she splashed water on her face and gave herself a lecture for not bringing her purse to at least touch up her lipstick, a wave of exhaustion bowled her over, forcing her to sit in one of the intricate chairs in the lounge area and close her eyes.
The sound of a loud giggle, then of something that she’d swear was a fleshy smack, forced her to her feet. A feminine squeal, then the distinct tap-tap of heels materialized right outside the door. Emily rinsed her mouth, afraid she might have actually slept a little. Wet, kissing noises were clear as day, then sighs. The sound of fabric on fabric let her know that she’d be interrupting someone’s make-out session in the next few seconds.
“Oh, oh, oh yes…” A familiar woman’s voice filled Emily’s ears, climbed up into her brain and gave it a tight, jealous squeeze. Cassandra—dear Lord, but the woman was under her skin in the most ridiculous way. It made Emily mad at herself even acknowledging it. She put her forehead against the heavy wooden door, determined to count to ten then just barge out and break up the heavy petting, listening for Declan’s distinctive brogue, but only getting Cassandra’s breathy exhalations and exclamations. Embarrassed at being a little turned on at the thought of Declan right out there, satisfying his woman so competently, she shut her eyes, willing them to take the fuck session down the hall.
“You are a very bad young lady,” a deeply accented masculine voice intoned, making Emily yelp and jump away from the door. “Just the way I like them.”
Cassandra giggled again. This was followed by a long, drawn-out, wet kiss and a low groan from the man-who-was-not-Declan making out with Declan’s girlfriend not a foot from where Emily stood, hand over her mouth, wondering how in the hell she could extract herself.
“Well…you’re very…tall and so…mmm…” Cassandra’s words were cut short by what Emily assumed was more kissing. “I don’t usually do this…you know.”
“Lying slut,” Emily muttered under her breath.
“I saw you with…”
“Shh,” Cassandra interrupted whatever it was the new guy, Max, was going to say. “No talking about anyone else. Do that—thing some more. There. Yes—right…there…oh, my.”
“Ach, my God, woman, I can’t…” A loud ripping sound was following by another Cassandra squeal. “This is what you wanted, I think?”
And as Emily stood, trapped and dumbfounded on one side of the door, the tall, painfully handsome new guy fucked Declan’s girlfriend, pretty hard by the sounds of it.
Emily dropped into the chair, sweating and furious but yet so horny at that moment she didn’t know what else to do but cry. So she let herself have a few tears, then leapt up and shoved open the door, no longer caring if she caught the man with his dick hanging out.
The hall was empty, mocking her. But she heard Cassandra’s stupid giggle and Max’s low chuckle and smelled sex—an odor she herself had gone without for nearly a year now, in a fit of no-more-pool-boys, post-separation self-imposed maturity.
But if her twanging libido were any indication, she really ought to think about getting laid, just like Sophie had recommended. She slipped her feet into the obnoxious heels and made her wobbly return to the party, ducking inside from the same side door she’d seen Coop exiting with Haley—her intended targets for a little en flagrante snooping what felt like ages ago.
The dance floor was empty. The men had been up since six for workouts, and many of them were sprawled out in chairs, some clutching beers, others with water bottles. A text hit her phone, letting her know that Rafe and Maureen had left and that Maureen would give her a call to set up a lunch date.
Emily allowed a small tendril of self-pity to creep into her emotional mix. She took up her barstool position once more and stared down at the black granite top, willing herself back in time to the moment she’d decided screwing around would somehow even the score with her handsome, philandering spouse.
She’d take Marcus in a hot minute right now, because all his cheating tendencies aside, the man knew his way around her body like no one else.
Craven. But at least you can admit it.
“Hey,” a familiar voice said, making her flinch and almost knock over the glass of ice water the bartender had helpfully provided. She looked up and came face to face with Declan, his deep green eyes sparkly, his thick auburn hair slicked back, that stupid shirt hanging open, per marketing department instruction. Her eyes went directly to his cut torso as if pulled by magnets. She blinked and looked away.
“Hey there.” She held up a finger, figuring it time to resume the alcohol intake. Maybe she could pass out on the way home in the cab and just forget this night ever happened. She shifted when he took the seat next to her and brushed her arm with his.
“It ended all right, didn’t it? I mean, for the charity or whatever it was?” He grinned at her, forcing her to match it and sending a zing of lust from the base of her spine to her toes. That singsong voice—dear Lord, but she could listen to it all night. And she would, if given half the chance.
Stop it, Emily.
“Um, yeah. I mean. It’s for, uh…” She stopped, realizing she’d totally forgotten the cause du jour that had made her have to chaperone this nightmare. “Food Pantry.”
“Right,” he said, accepting a cup of coffee from the bartender. “Cheers, mate.” He sipped, looking straight ahead while she sat, gnawing the inside of her cheek and wishing she could unhear what she’d just heard in the hallway.
“Gabe and Lillian leave?” She sipped the fresh gin and tonic, hand shaking. It was their common conversational thread and she grasped at it.
“Aye,” he said.
The silence took on a heaviness that made it hard to breathe. When she risked a glance at him he was staring at her, his eyes narrowed. “What?” she said, startled and defensive. “Do I have lime in my teeth?”
“No,” he said and resumed sipping his coffee in silence.
She clenched her jaw, willing something resembling a coherent small-talk starter or even a mildly flirtatious comment to emerge. Nothing. She cleared her throat, sipped, cleared it again, sipped some more. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The heat from his leg seemed to increase. She moved her thigh ever so slightly away.
“Well,” they said in unison. She giggled and nearly fainted when a flush crept up his neck into his cheeks.
“You first,” they said together.
“Cut it out,” she said. “God, you’re making me feel like a dolt.”
“Me?” He reared back in mock dismay, hand to his bare—very bare—chest.
“Yeah, you. Where’s Jason? Please tell me he didn’t decide to carry his vendetta outside the building?”
“Nah, he’s over there.” Declan pointed behind her. “He’s the one in the lip lock with, ah, whatshername. I think she’s actually gonna play on the women’s team.”
“Oh, okay,” Emily said, suddenly recalling the recent lip lock she’d been privy to.
“I think Coop is messing with your office girl,” Declan said, motioning for the bartender to refill his cup.
“We call them ‘interns’ in the twenty-first century, at least here in the colonies.”
He laughed and blushed again. She had to sit on her hands not to touch his face, to not brush a lock of thick red hair off his forehead.
“Aye, well, you know what I mean.” He rubbed his jaw and ran his hand around the back of his neck. “Bastard really clocked me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She let herself do it—to reach out and just graze his shirt-covered biceps with her fingertips. He flinched as if she’d burned him. “I mean…right. Well.” She sighed and consumed the entire drink in a gulp.
Declan gave a low whistle. “I do love a woman who can do that. It’s the English in me, I guess.”
“English?” She said, wiping her lips with a BJG-logoed napkin. The bit of the booze that wasn’t headed straight to her brain sloshed around in her bloodstream, reminding her of her lack of food in the past few hours.
Oh well. Fuck it.
She turned to him and leaned on one elbow, deciding to flirt because, why not?
For some reason, the bar didn’t materialize under her arm and she sensed herself sliding sideways. The teetering barstool made a loud screeching sound right before Emily shut her eyes, waiting for the inevitable embarrassing landing.
But there were strong, warm arms around her waist and lips at her ear, making her eyes fly open.
“Gotcha, PR lady,” Declan said. She swallowed hard and got her feet under her, stepping away from him at the precise second Cassandra appeared, smiling until she saw that Declan still had one hand on Emily’s arm. “You all right?” he said, looking into her very soul.
Oh good Christ, stop it! You are drunk off your ass. This is no stupid romance novel. He is not looking into your soul. He’s staring down the front of your sleazy costume.
“Well, isn’t this cozy,” Cassandra-who’d-just-been-fucked-by-Max said with a sneer.
“Where’s Max?” Emily asked, unable to stop herself, even while knowing better than to engage in any kind of a cat-fight with this bitch.
