Someone Like You Page 5

  He could model, if he wanted to. The man was ruggedly sexy with that hint of naughty, a very bad boy indeed. And drop-dead gorgeous. The gelled and tousled dark, wavy hair. The bright marine blue eyes. In many of the pictures, a day’s worth of scruff covered that strong jaw, highlighting his full, sensual lips. He was six-foot-two, according to one of his bio pages, with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build. Then there were all the tattoos—and Lord have mercy, those legs. Works of art. Pierce’s thighs and calves were carved like those of a statue, defined and rock hard. Abby had a quick flash of running her hands up those muscular thighs....

  Pierce was all over the Internet. And right at the top, the most recent news from just the week before, stated it short and sweet: Partying Star Leaves the League Amid Rumours of Bad Boy Behaviour. The look on his face when he’d initially been recognized at the game flashed through Abby’s mind.

  “What the hell happened, Pierce?” she whispered to herself as she clicked on the link from a British gossip site. There was a picture of him dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, walking out of a building and scowling. The caption under that one read: Harrison didn’t seem happy when he left the London team offices after his brief farewell press conference.

  Her cell phone rang beside her and she jumped, feeling oddly like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Snorting at herself, she answered it. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Abby? It’s Sofia Rodriguez. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Tough loss today for the Jaguars, huh?”

  Abby frowned. “Yeah, well, can’t win every time.”

  “Of course not. Maybe next time.” Sofia sounded as friendly as always. “You have a few minutes to chat?”

  “Sure, I’m just relaxing now. My parents took mercy on me and took Dylan to the park for a few hours.” They both chuckled as Abby pushed the laptop farther away, then stretched out and lay down. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, no, everything’s fine,” Sofia assured her. “I wanted to let you know about something that happened this morning. You met Pierce Harrison, the professional soccer player? I approached him about doing a clinic for the whole club, all age groups. I thought the kids would love it.”

  “Yeah, they would.” Examining her nails, she realized she desperately needed a fresh manicure. Maybe she’d go get a quick one before her parents and Dylan got back. “So did he say yes?” she said, nonchalant. Surely a celebrity wouldn’t want to hang out with small-town, blue-collar kids in his free time.

  “He did! He was all for it!” Sofia’s excitement was palpable, and Abby was shocked. “He said he’s going to be in New York for a while, probably through the end of the year, so he’d be here for the rest of the fall season. I already cleared it with the board, they were thrilled. He’s going to do a clinic for the whole club next Wednesday evening. Anyone can go, boys and girls. And . . .”

  Sofia’s voice trailed off before launching back in with an apologetic tone. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, you’ve been doing a great job with your team, the best you can and I know that—but, well, since your team hasn’t won any games yet, and isn’t doing so well . . . he’s going to help you. For the hell of it, I asked him if he was interested in doing any sort of coaching, and he said yes to that, too. So . . . as of now, Pierce is your co–head coach for the Jaguars.”

  A cold wave whooshed through Abby and she sat up fast, blinking. “What?”

  “It’ll be so good for the boys,” Sofia said. “The boost to their esteem, as a team, that alone will be huge. Especially after he works on their skills. It’ll be great for them! And for you. I mean, he really knows what he’s talking about, he can help.” She seemed to pick up on Abby’s silence and added, “He doesn’t have rank over you, you’re equals. Partners. Think of it that way.”

  Abby’s mouth had dropped open, and she closed it to start chewing on her bottom lip. “Um . . . I know I’m just a volunteer and all, but . . . should I be insulted? Because I’m not sure at the moment.”

  “Don’t be insulted!” Sofia cried. “This isn’t, like, a demotion or a slap or anything. Abby, listen. I’ve known you a long time, right?”

  “Yup.” Sofia was ten years older and grew up only a few houses away. Abby easily remembered when Sofia used to babysit for her and Fiona. Now, Sofia was married with three boys of her own, all of whom were on different teams in the Edgewater Soccer Club.

  “I would never insult you. It’s meant to help you. You and the kids. It’ll be good, you’ll see.” Sofia paused before adding in a teasing tone, “And hey, it’s not like the guy’s hard to look at.”

  Abby snorted out a laugh. “True.”

  “Please! That’s all you can say? Come on, Abby.” Sofia laughed. “I’m married, but I’m not dead. Pierce Harrison is one fiiiine-lookin’ man. Admit it!”

  “Okay, yes. Agreed. But I have to ask you—why on earth would he spend his time in Edgewater, coaching little kids?” Abby wondered. “I mean, surely he’s got better things to do with his time.”

  “Um . . . actually, he might not.” Sofia paused. “Do you know anything about him?”

  “No,” Abby said. She glanced over at the laptop and blushed at her lie.

  “Well, Google him. He just quit playing recently, and he’s visiting with his family here, over in Kingston Point.”

  “That, I knew.”

  “Google him and see why he quit. I, um . . . I think maybe he misses the sport,” Sofia said speculatively. “And he does have time on his hands. And he likes kids. So why not?”

  “He likes kids?” Abby repeated in surprise. “He told you that?”

  “Yeah, but I could see that just by how he interacted with them, couldn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Abby conceded, thinking of how at ease he was with the boys, even when they swarmed around him like a bunch of eager puppies.

  “And . . . I think maybe being around kids right now might be good for him, too.”

  At that, Abby’s brows puckered. “What do you mean?”

  “Google him,” Sofia said. “Okay. Just know Pierce will be at practice on Monday night, ready to roll.”

  “Got it.” Abby bit her lip, not knowing what else to say. “Well . . . thanks for the heads-up.”

  “Of course. But you can really thank me later,” Sofia said, “when the Jaguars win their first game. See you next week.”

  Abby clicked off her phone and flopped back onto the pillows. The movement brought her laptop back to life and Pierce Harrison smiled up at her from the screen. Her new co-coach, huh? So much for staying far away from him. But most importantly, Sofia was right about one thing: It’d be so good for the team. The boys would feel so proud, knowing they had a soccer star as their coach, showing them the ropes. She couldn’t deny them that.

  Google him. She heard Sofia’s voice in her head. Well, now that she’d basically been commanded to, she made herself comfortable and grabbed the laptop again. The article was still on her screen, and she read through it.

  Something didn’t add up.

  Pierce had suddenly, mid-season, resigned from the sport due to a bad knee he was afraid of doing further injury to? She called bullshit. His knee was fine. She’d seen him just that day, lightly keeping the ball in the air, tapping it from his knee to ankle and back again with skill, dexterity, and ease. Later on, she saw him jogging to the parking lot then back to give something to Sofia. He’d jogged easily. And he’d just volunteered to help coach a boys’ soccer team, several times a week. He wouldn’t have done that with a hurt knee, no way. Something in her gut said there was a lot more to the story than what she had read.

  She went back to look at another link, then another . . . and before she knew it, an hour went by. Gossip sites had speculated that he’d gotten involved with a married woman, along with some “behaviour unbecoming to a professional footballer,” and the team’s owner hadn’t been happy about it. It wasn’t rape or anything l
ike that, thank God. But sleeping with a married woman seemed to be what the buzz was about. A woman who’d been married to someone powerful, which may have caused a problem. Something in her gut twisted at that. Was Pierce that careless?

  There were lots of mentions of his football stats, coverage of games, all of that. He wasn’t a top player, but solid. He’d sustained a respectable career for over a decade and been mildly famous in the UK. And there were many, many photos. Most were from football games, sports award shows, charity events, and the like. But there were plenty of photos of him with various beautiful women, out on the town or at posh events. Between his movie-star looks, his good scoring record on the field, and his notoriety off the field, he was the paparazzi’s dream guy.

  Something in her chest squeezed as she concluded her instincts had been right about one thing—Pierce was a player. In all those pictures, he wasn’t with the same woman twice. Some of the more gossipy sites talked about Pierce’s legendary bachelor status and drunken pub crawls. If any of it was even half true, he went through women like she went through pints of Ben & Jerry’s. Yup, he was a very bad boy indeed. Reckless, wild, and like catnip to women. She needed to stay far away from someone like him.

  So why was she spending her precious free time combing the Internet to read about him? Twirling her ponytail restlessly, she had to admit curiosity; he intrigued her. And if they were going to be working together, why not? This was the twenty-first century; most people Googled each other practically as soon as they met.

  Digging deeper, she eventually came across articles about the Harrison family. Four generations of big business, each generation gaining more wealth and power than the one before. They were worth billions. Billions. Their home, the sprawling and ornate Harrison compound in Kingston Point, was worth roughly one hundred million dollars. Abby let out a low, soft whistle. To say Pierce’s family background was a different world than hers was the understatement of the year.

  Not that she needed money like the Harrisons had—God, who needed money like that? Harrison Enterprises was an international powerhouse. Palatial estates; connections to other rich, famous, powerful people; charity foundations; glitzy functions . . . her brain got tired just trying to take it all in.

  Feeling stalkerish, but unable to stop, she found a few posts specifically about Pierce’s past. His growing up in Kingston Point, the fourth child of Charles Harrison II, CEO of Harrison Enterprises, and Laura Dunham Harrison Evans Bainsley, a former B movie actress. Their ugly divorce happened when Pierce was only six years old. Clearly Pierce got his looks and brilliant eyes from his mother, who’d been stunning. He’d gone to a few private schools; Abby would bet her car that he’d been expelled from at least one. He just had that vibe.

  Abby finally sat back against her upholstered headboard, all the stories and images swirling around in her head. It seemed that Pierce Harrison had led something of a tangled life. The guy in the articles was strong, possibly boorish, and surly, on and off the pitch. But the guy she’d met that morning was charming, polite, and respectful. Which one was an act? Or, maybe somewhere, the two sides of his persona met? Well, she’d find out soon enough, if they had to work together now.

  She tore the elastic out of her now-dry hair and ran her fingers through it. She totally felt like a stalker now. A wave of self-recrimination washed through her, turning her cheeks pink. Pierce Harrison was gorgeous, sexy, charming, and from a different universe. No matter how primal her body’s response was to him, she had to keep sharp around him. She only had to coach the team with him a few times a week until the beginning of November. She could do that.

  Annoyed at herself, she turned off the laptop and decided to go get a quick manicure. Maybe a pedicure, too. She had a little bit of time to herself, so she’d make the most of it. And put Pierce Harrison right out of her head.

  Chapter Five

  It took his cell phone ringing for Pierce to realize he’d dozed off. Fumbling for it, he grunted a hello.

  “Sleeping in the middle of the day, huh?” Troy’s familiar voice taunted. “Man, you billionaires have the life, I tell ya.”

  “Shut up,” Pierce growled good-naturedly. Troy was one of the few people in his life who could tease him about the money, because Pierce knew it meant nothing to him. He removed his sunglasses and scrubbed a hand over his face. “What time is it?”

  “One thirty.”

  Pierce yawned.

  “Slacker,” Troy said. “Some of us work for a living. You suck.”

  “Heh. Slept in, went for a run, came back and jumped in Tess’s pool . . . that’s been my day so far.” Pierce smirked as he rubbed his scruffy jaw. “Guess I shouldn’t tell you I fell asleep in a deck chair by her pool, huh?”

  “Up yours,” Troy chuckled.

  “So what’s up?” Pierce put his sunglasses back on and rose from the chair.

  “Is it true what I heard? You’re going to coach one of the teams in the Edgewater Soccer Club?” Troy sounded incredulous.

  “Yup. This Sofia Rodriguez approached me about doing a clinic.” Pierce walked around the pool toward the glass doors. “We started talking. Next thing I know, I’m volunteering to help.” He slid the door open and walked into Tess’s kitchen. The coolness of the ceramic tiled floor and central air hit him and felt fantastic. “I figure, why not? I’m not doing anything anyway. It’ll keep me busy.”

  “It’s more than that,” Troy surmised. “You miss the game.”

  Pierce went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “Yeah, of course I do. I mean, I’m not playing, and it’s certainly not the Premier League. Very different. But yeah, it’s football—dammit, soccer. Like I said, why not.”

  “Mm-hmm. Question. Why aren’t you helping, say, Stacey’s team? Why the Jaguars?”

  At the mention of Troy’s daughter, Pierce blinked. “Um . . . her team doesn’t need as much help. The Jaguars—have you seen them play? They’re like the Bad News Bears of soccer.” He shifted the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could open the bottle.

  “Yeah, they suck. I don’t think they’ve won any games yet.”

  “Nope. And they seem like good kids. So, I’ll help them out.”

  “How nice of you. Of course, it’s got nothing to do with the fact that a young, cute blonde will be your partner, right?” Troy said, barely concealing the laugh in his tone.

  Just thinking of Abby made Pierce’s blood speed up in his veins. “Not a bad side benefit.”

  Troy burst out laughing. “Dude! Why give up your time? If you wanna get laid, just ask her out!”

  “Shut up. It’s not like that,” Pierce said, but couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. His old friend knew him too well. “But, while we’re talking about her . . . do you know her? Abby McCord?”

  “No,” Troy said. “Even though I grew up in Edgewater, I went to an all-boys Catholic school, then some fancy-ass private high school, remember?”

  Pierce chuckled. “Yeah. Heard about that school. Bunch of snotty assholes.”

  “The worst.” Troy let out a low laugh. “C’mon, man. Tell me the truth. Is this really about having something to do to fill up some of your time? Doing a good deed? Or is it about getting into Abby McCord’s pants?”

  “As attractive as Abby is, I’ve been on a break from women for a while,” Pierce replied, his voice sobering. “She’s tempting, but that’s not it. Actually following a good impulse here.” He gulped down some water.

  “Ah. Okay.” Troy was one of the only ones who knew the whole story of the mess in England, and had backed Pierce unequivocally. “It’s good that you’re doing that. Coaching the kids, I mean.”

  Bubbles came prancing in, yipping happily at Pierce and dancing around his bare feet. He crouched down to pet her as he said into the phone, “Wanna get some beers one night this week?”

  “Sure. I’ll get back to you on what night,” Troy said.

  After the call ended, Pierce went upstairs to take a shower. When he go
t back to his room, he saw the light on his cell flashing for voice mail. Securing the towel around his waist, he listened to the message.

  “Hey, Harrison. It’s Toomey.” Pierce recognized the Cockney accent of his former teammate immediately. “Heard you went back to the States. Can’t say I blame you, really, but . . . so . . . just wanted to wish you luck. Don’t be a stranger. Cheers, mate.”

  Pierce tossed the phone onto the mattress and stretched out on the bed. Interesting. Most of his former teammates had all but ostracized him once the scandal broke and things got sticky. He didn’t think any of them would even notice he’d left London, much less care. Though, to be fair, Rick Toomey had been one of the only ones who’d believed his side of the story, not the Huntsmans’.

  The thought of them made his stomach churn, even now. James Huntsman was a seriously malicious prick. He and his equally scheming wife could rot in hell. All he could do was hope they’d both get what they truly deserved someday, somehow.

  Breathing deeply, Pierce stared at the ornate ceiling fan, watching the slow, quiet circles of the blades for a few minutes. He knew he had to let it all go, and he knew damn well he hadn’t yet. How could he? His career was over. He hadn’t gotten to decide when to retire; Huntsman’s blackmail had decided it for him. The anger still burned over the injustice of it all....

  With a surly grunt, he pushed up off the bed and went to the dresser. He slammed the drawers shut, irritation flowing through him now.

  Toomey had believed him. Most of his teammates—some of whom he’d considered real friends—hadn’t. That still stung too. That betrayal . . . he didn’t know if he’d ever get past it completely. He understood why they didn’t publicly take his side, but they hadn’t even believed his side. That had cut deep.

  He needed something positive to counteract that, to start digging himself out of the black hole the scandal had tossed him into. Sofia’s idea may have seemed ridiculous at another time, but right now, coaching kids’ soccer was a good distraction. Something to make him feel good again . . . both about the sport, and about himself.