Someone Like You Page 8

  On the other hand, he was so fucking sick of being judged. It felt like he had been his whole damn life. First by his father, then at school, then working his way up into the Premier League, by the press, and his teammates, too, when the scandal hit . . . and now Abby. Everyone judged him, even if they didn’t have all the facts. He tried to suppress his rising temper, but couldn’t help himself. He dropped his fork onto his plate with a noisy clatter, making her eyes snap up to his.

  “Is that really what you think of me?” he snapped. “Already made up your mind that I’m just a stuck-up football star, with all the crap the stereotype implies?”

  “You tell me,” she said flatly.

  “Fuck no,” he spat, before pausing . . . because honestly, that wasn’t altogether true. Until recently, he’d lived it up pretty well. He’d earned his share of yellow cards on the pitch. And he’d certainly lived up to the partying, womanizing stereotype through most of his twenties. There’d been no shortage of alcohol, women, and fun . . . he’d played hard, both on the field and off the pitch. But . . .

  It hit him like a lightning strike. That’s why he’d come back to New York. Home. Even though he hadn’t thought of Long Island as home in a long time. The short time here with Tess, and even Dane, and yes, the kids on the team, had all been refreshingly quiet and real—even when in Harrison Land. Somehow, a shift had occurred deep within him, and he was happier about leaving the pro football life behind with each passing hour. He had to admit the thought of moving back to New York permanently seemed more and more enticing every day.

  “Pierce, listen,” Abby said at last. His reverie broken by her soft voice, he met her eyes. She looked remorseful, repentant. “I want to apologize. That was unfair of me, some of the things I said. I didn’t mean to sound like I’m judging you. I’m not. Or . . . well, I’m trying not to. Honestly.”

  Wordlessly, he reached for his bottle and took a swig.

  Abby watched him and sighed. She’d turned a casual meeting into a character assassination. Even if she’d been right about a few things, she hadn’t had to say them all at once. “Pierce . . . I’m sorry I offended you,” she said in earnest. “I really am.”

  “Apparently I offended you first.” His tone was clipped as he looked back down at his plate. He dug into another one of the baked clams with vehemence.

  “I wasn’t offended, so much as . . . well, pissed off. But I admit I’m oversensitive sometimes.”

  He glanced at her as he finished chewing, then said, “Well . . . I sensed that, and kept busting your chops anyway. I only meant it in good fun, nothing else. But if it pushed too far, I’m sorry for that.”

  She blinked. Wow, a small turnaround. “Thanks.”

  “And I snapped at you,” he continued, studying her face. “Haven’t had a woman call me on my bullshit like that in a long time. So . . . yeah, what you said pissed me off. But I’m sorry I growled at you in response.”

  “I should’ve kept my opinions to myself,” she said.

  “Nope. I’ll take honesty over bullshit any day.” His eyes held hers as he added, “You gave me some things to think about. I admit it. I’m in a transitional period right now . . . maybe I’m a little touchy sometimes too.”

  She reached for her glass and drew a long swallow. He was apologizing too. She hadn’t expected that. She was quickly realizing with him, she never knew what to expect. And that was . . . interesting. Pierce Harrison was more complicated than his public image made him out to be.

  She wanted to make a concession now also. Do or say something to show him she didn’t think he was a total jerk. Show that she didn’t believe everything she read like some dumb sheep. Then it came to her. “Your knee is fine,” she stated.

  His eyes snapped up at that, his hand frozen in mid motion. “What?”

  “Your knee is fine,” she repeated, meeting his stare. God, he had such beautiful eyes, even when regarding her with skepticism. “I’ve seen you jog. I’ve seen you run. I’ve seen you dribble a ball while running. You couldn’t do all that if you were in serious pain. So I just . . . I don’t believe everything I read. That’s what I’m saying.” She slanted a sideways glance, brows arched, and asked, “Am I right?”

  His jaw was clenched so tightly, she wondered if he was grinding his teeth. Then, suddenly, his glare softened into a look of . . . relief. “Damn. You are as smart as I thought.”

  Chapter Seven

  Pierce decided it would be easiest just to tell his tale and stomp on the elephant in the room—with his cleats.

  “I’m not going to lie and say I haven’t been out with my share of women,” he said as he dug into his large platter of fish and chips. “Pretty publicly, in some cases. I know you must’ve seen some of those stories. Which is why my sudden retirement got so much attention. Everyone loves a juicy story, don’t they?” Disdain dripped from his words. “You’re right, Abby. My knee is fine. I didn’t leave the league because I was afraid of further injury. I’m as fit as I’ve ever been.”

  “I thought so.” Her dark blue eyes studied him before turning her fork to her seafood salad.

  “Truth is, I left the sport because I was . . . blackmailed.” He watched her take that in, watched her eyes round with wonder. “Yup, sounds like a bad movie, I know . . .” His eyes narrowed on her pretty face. “You really wanna know about this?”

  “Only if you want to tell me,” she said. She raised a scallop to her mouth and ate it, her eyes not leaving his. Her stare didn’t challenge him, but didn’t waver either.

  A chill skittered over his skin, raising the hair on his arms. Time after time, he’d heard someone in England say a girl was “lovely,” and always thought they were full of shit, so veddy British, good chap. But Abby truly was lovely; it was the only word he could think of to describe her. Suddenly, he wanted her to believe him. He also wanted her to hear it all straight from him, rather than from someone else. So he ate a few fries before starting, deciding how much to tell her so soon. The basics would be more than enough. “I’ve dated a lot.”

  “We’ve already established that.” She speared a piece of shrimp from her plate.

  “I’m not going to apologize for it.”

  “I wasn’t asking you to. You’re an available, gorgeous, charming guy who’s been publicly visible in a professional sport. I’d be surprised if you didn’t date a lot. You probably had women throwing themselves at you.”

  He stopped cold, his scowl turning into a grin. “You think I’m gorgeous and charming?”

  “Pffft. Too much for your own good. And don’t get all coy with me, because you know full well that you are.” Abby rolled her eyes and snorted out a laugh.

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. He was starting to like her again.

  “So, go on,” she said before taking another bite of her salad. “Tell me whatever you want to, or don’t want to.”

  “The owner of the team is a very powerful man. James Huntsman.” Pierce spat out the name with vitriol. “His wife, Victoria, is an heiress to some car empire or something over in the UK. Tons of money, to add to his tons of money. They’re both awful. Completely self-absorbed, pretentious, and have no compassion for anyone they consider beneath them, which is most of the world. I know about having money like that, and what it does to most people. So I have no patience or tolerance for that kind of bullshit.” He couldn’t contain his disgust; just thinking about them, let alone talking about them, heated his blood with anger.

  “They sound lovely,” Abby remarked dryly.

  “Yeah, right,” he said, sneering. “So, in May, the Huntsmans threw a big party in London. We did well last season so . . .” He glanced at her. “You know nothing about English football, right?”

  “Not a thing,” she confirmed. “Sorry if that bothers you.”

  “Not at all. I just won’t bore you with stats or details, then.” He took a gulp of beer before saying, “The whole team was invited to the party, that’s why I was there. It was something
of a command performance, you know? Anyway. Long story short, after a few drinks I found myself out by the pool, alone with Victoria Huntsman, literally up against a wall. She was plastered, and she threw herself at me.”

  “The owner’s wife,” Abby said. “That’s . . . awkward, to say the least.”

  Pierce snorted. “Yeah, you could say that.” He tossed another fry into his mouth. “Did you see any pictures of her? While you were researching me?”

  “I didn’t research you!” Abby exclaimed.

  He arched a thick brow at her.

  “Okay, I researched you,” she conceded. “But no, I don’t think I saw her.”

  “She’s Botoxed and buffered and filled with plastic.” Pierce shook his head. “I mean, she’s attractive. But in that completely fake way. Doesn’t appeal to me at all.” His mouth curved ruefully. “That’s not why I turned her down, though. I turned her down because even in my drunken state, I knew better than to sleep with the wife of the owner of my team. Make out? Yeah, maybe, I admit I might. But no sex. No way.”

  His eyes hardened a little as he recalled the scene. “She was all over me. We kissed, fine, whatever. But then her hands were up my shirt, trying to unzip my pants, total octopus. I literally had to grab her hands, firmly, and tell her to stop. I said no and left her there to cool off.” He tipped the beer bottle back, finishing it, and motioned to the waitress to bring him another. He studied Abby’s face to see if he could read her, what she thought so far. No dice.

  “I . . . guess she didn’t take ‘no’ very well?” Abby hedged.

  “Good guess.” Pierce shook his head again as he scowled. “I went home, passed out in my flat. Next morning, I’ve got two angry voice mails from James Huntsman, demanding I come in for a meeting immediately.”

  “Uh-oh,” Abby said.

  “Right. Victoria didn’t take kindly to my rejecting her advances. I think in her eyes, I’d been with so many women, why had I turned her down? It made her angrier, I suppose.” His leg started bouncing beneath the table. “So she told her husband that I hit on her, aggressively, and she turned me down. That she couldn’t believe the disloyalty I’d shown to James by making a pass at his wife. And now it was getting out of hand and she wanted me dealt with.” He snorted, but the anger burned in his chest as usual.

  Wide-eyed, Abby took a long sip of her ginger ale.

  “Huntsman tried to fire me. I told him he couldn’t fire me because I had a contract. He turned purple. Started throwing threats around. Said he wanted me gone, he’d make me pay for insulting him and being rude to his wife. And if I didn’t quit, he’d make sure I was traded to one of the minor teams. He’s well connected, of course; by the next day, he’d already started his smear campaign by contacting some other team owners, effectively blackballing me.”

  “How could he do that, though?” Abby asked. “I mean . . . wouldn’t he have to prove just cause or something? Didn’t you have any rights?”

  “Most players come and go. I’m no Messi or Ronaldo. The owners have the real power. End of story.” He hissed out a sigh. “I didn’t have much recourse. It was her word against mine. The whole thing snowballed. . . and no one believed me because of my reputation with women. The one time I didn’t hit on a woman!” His attempt at a joke fell flat, and so did his gaze. “And if they did believe me, they still didn’t back me in public. None of my teammates wanted to risk Huntsman’s wrath, so . . . honestly? I’ve never felt so betrayed in my life.” His eyes flickered away from her, out to the water. “Viper pit. The lot of them. So I quit the whole damn league and left the country. Fuck them. I’m not wasting my time fighting windmills.”

  Abby drew a long breath, staring at Pierce. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged and went back to his dinner. “Now you know.”

  She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “I’m so sorry. That you felt so betrayed by your teammates. That that bitch lied and it cost you your career. That you got such a raw deal. No wonder you’re so angry. I would be too.”

  His eyes lifted and met hers. She believed him. She was actually sympathetic, not judgmental. And she accepted him. He felt . . . understood. Not something he was used to. The tension seemed to ebb right out of him. “Thank you.” They stared into each other’s eyes for a long beat, and the warmth of her skin felt good against his. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before releasing her hand and taking another bite of his dinner. “So. Passing game.”

  She blinked, thrown by his sudden switch in gears. “Excuse me?”

  “Passing game. That’s what we need to teach the boys the most.” He shoveled more battered fish into his mouth.

  “Oh. Right. Okay.” The moment broken, she leaned back and picked up her fork again. She’d gotten another glimpse into Pierce that she hadn’t counted on. He may have been a player before, but maybe he meant it when he claimed he wasn’t anymore. Maybe getting burned so badly had taught him a lesson. He was hurting. She felt terrible that he’d had to forfeit his career . . . then it hit her. “Wait a minute. Is that why you volunteered to coach soccer? To be able to be around the sport?”

  He regarded her carefully before answering. “You want more truth?”

  “Always. I’ve had enough liars in my life, thank you very much.”

  His brows arched. “Well, sounds like there’s a story there. But I’ll get that out of you later. Why did I volunteer? Two reasons.” He reached for his beer. “One, yes, to be around the sport. I have nothing but free time, no financial worries, and I do miss the game. When I saw those kids play . . . and Sofia approached me . . . it just happened. And you know what? I like it. It’s easy. The boys are fun.”

  “Okay. What’s the second reason?” Abby asked.

  His mouth curved into a lazy smile, but his gaze intensified on her face. “You won’t like it.”

  She frowned, bracing herself. “Go ahead.”

  “It may sound flirtatious,” he warned.

  She just waved her hand in a go on gesture.

  “The Jaguars’ coach is beautiful. I like looking at her.” He lifted his bottle in a jaunty toast and took a sip. “If I help coach the team, I get to look at her a lot. Nice bonus.”

  Her mouth fell open slightly. “You’re teasing me again. Right?”

  “Actually, I’m not.” His eyes twinkled as they held hers. “So. Spending some of my free time helping kids who need it, getting to play some football—shit, soccer—and getting to hang out with a gorgeous woman? I can think of worse things to do while I try to figure out what to do with the rest of my fucked-up life.”

  Trying desperately to think of a snappy comeback and unable to, Abby concentrated her gaze on her plate. She felt her cheeks flush yet again. He made her blush too damn much.

  “Abby. Can I ask you something?”

  She made herself look up. He looked at her now with something like ambivalence. His gaze had gentled.

  “Can I flirt with you sometimes? I don’t want to offend you. So I’m making sure, just setting the rules outright.” His grin was almost sheepish. “I’m very attracted to you, what can I say? Flirting comes naturally to me with someone I’m attracted to.”

  Her blood started to course through her veins. Nothing like the direct approach, she had to give him points for that. “Yes. Sure.”

  The sparkle came back in his blazing blues. “Okay, good. Can I ask you something else?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you still think I’m some jerk-off playboy pro athlete stereotype?”

  She stared at him. His words were tossed out casually, but the hopeful look she gleaned in his eyes showed that her answer might really mean something to him. “No,” she said truthfully. “No, I don’t.”

  His face visibly relaxed; his expression and his eyes softened. With a smile and a nod, he took another bite of his meal.

  A golden ray from the setting sun lanced through some clouds, making her squint as the light seemed to spotlight him, showcasing his beauty. Her bre
ath caught. This evening was not what she’d expected. He wasn’t what she’d expected.

  * * *

  Pierce walked Abby to her car. The night was warm, but with a hint of the cool air the next few weeks would usher in. He glanced up and enjoyed seeing stars sparkling in the dark sky. And he’d enjoyed his dinner with the beautiful blonde walking quietly at his side. She could be . . . well, he wasn’t sure what yet. But something about her just struck a chord inside him that he couldn’t shake off, and didn’t want to.

  “This is mine,” Abby said, stopping beside a black Nissan Sentra.

  “Cute car,” he said.

  “I guess. It’s reliable,” she added.

  He couldn’t help but grin. “It’s like you just described yourself, Coach. Cute and reliable.”

  A chuckle flew out of her, even as she frowned. “That makes me sound kind of boring.”

  He moved closer, staring down into her eyes. “Abby . . . you’re not boring.” The breeze made her hair swirl around, and his hands lifted to smooth back the golden strands. They felt like silk beneath his fingers as he tucked it behind her ears and held her gaze. “I enjoyed tonight. Thanks for coming. I’ll be ready on Thursday, Coach.”

  She didn’t say anything as his hands fell back to his sides, only nodded as she stared back up at him. The pull between them was a tangible thing, electric and powerful. Her eyes lowered to his mouth and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. God, she was gorgeous, especially in the silvery moonlight. A powerful urge hit; he wanted to taste her. Needed to. He leaned in, lowering his head. But to his surprise, she gave a little start and took a step back.

  “I should get going,” she whispered.

  He still held her stare, not moving. “You sure?”