Hard Tackle: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (19 page)

“
W
hat can I get you
?” the young brunette asked. Was that an American accent?

Boy, did I wake up in the wrong bed this morning. Sabrina was cute, but this barista was stunning. An apron stopped me getting a decent view of her cleavage, but she had her sleeves rolled up revealing soft, tanned skin. More tanned than I usually saw in the north of England.

Loose strands of hair clung to her face where she’d been sweating, no doubt caused by the steam pouring out of the coffee machines. It was a look I wouldn’t mind seeing again in my bed.

“I’ll have an Americano,” I said, just as she started to look a little creeped out by me staring at her. “But put two shots of espresso in there. And then I’ll have an espresso on the side as well.” I looked at her name badge and added “thank you, Sophia.”

“What’s your name?” Sophia asked.

“George. You want my phone number too?”

She rolled her eyes and held up the coffee cup, making sure I could see her write my name on it in marker pen.

“Where’s that accent from?” I asked.

“I’m American,” she said softly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Well, it can’t be helped. Where exactly are you from? I’m guessing California.”

“Good guess,” she replied. “Most people assume I’m from New York for some reason.”

“Most people are idiots,” I said as I tapped my card against the machine to pay. “You don’t sound anything like a New Yorker.”

I couldn’t claim to be a huge fan of the New York accent, but I was a fan of the women. I’d had some mind-blowing experiences with New Yorkers, but—other than a certain actress—I couldn’t recall shagging any Californians. That might have to change, and what better place to start than the one right here on my doorstep?

“Are you a student here?” I asked. If she was, she must be close to graduating, because she was at least twenty-one, if not older. The eighteen-year-old from last night—and this morning—had been fun, but I did crave a little more experience in a woman.

“Yes,” Sophia said, as she handed me a receipt. “I’ll go make your drinks.”

“I’ll do them,” a cheerful voice called out from behind Sophia. “Americano with a double shot, and then a shot of espresso on the side.”

“Thanks, Ellie,” Sophia said curtly, in a way that made it clear Ellie’s help was not in fact appreciated.

“Do you want them for here or to go?” Ellie called out to me.

“You know, I was going to get them to go, but all of a sudden I have a desire to stay.”

My hangover wouldn’t be helped by the irritating sound of students typing furiously on laptops while listening to shitty music on headphones. However, I only had two more weeks. I had to take any opportunity to have fun while I still could.

“How long will you be in England for?” I asked.

“Another six months. I’m studying for my masters.”

Six months? Interesting. Six months was about how long I needed to be married for to claim my inheritance. That’s what Alisa and I had agreed to do until she went and bailed on me.

I was getting ahead of myself. So far she didn’t even look interested in serving me my coffee, let alone anything else.

“Sampled any of the local delicacies yet?” I asked with a suggestive smile.

“Are you talking about food, or… something else?”

“Let’s say I’m talking about food.”

“Okay. I’ve tried some of the local
food
.”

Why did I feel a weird sensation in my chest when she said that? That was a new one. I’d never been bothered by women talking about other men before.

“What did you think?” I asked the question, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“Let’s just say the appetizers were non-existent, the main course was over rather quickly, and I never even saw a dessert menu.”

“Portion sizes?”

“So far I really do believe everything is bigger in America.”

“I’m disappointed in my fellow countrymen,” I said honestly. I didn’t like to think of her with other men, but at the very least they should have kept her satisfied. This was a woman who deserved orgasm after orgasm until she was too exhausted to move. I was already picturing just how I would arrange that.

I stepped closer to the counter to hide the bulge in my trousers that threatened to make itself known ahead of schedule.

“How about I take you out to a restaurant where the appetizers are just as good—if not better—than the main course, and you are guaranteed to finish your meal before I do.”

“Tempting,” she replied. “But I think I’ll pass. You look like a guy who has eaten at all the food joints on campus and probably most of the restaurants in the city too.”

Ellie came over with the coffee, but she looked reluctant to interrupt our conversation. That told me everything I needed to know. Sophia was going through a dry spell, and her friend wanted to help her out.

It also told me that Sophia was stubborn, because she was doing her best to fend me off. That wouldn’t last long, but I admired her for trying.

I grabbed my coffee, and took a seat at the only empty table in the place. I moved the seat so that I could sit with my back to the wall and look up at Sophia between sips of my coffee.

She’d seen what was on the menu, and wouldn’t be able to resist for long. She was hungry, and a Michelin star restaurant was offering her a three course meal. It was only a matter of time before she caved.

H
urry up
, Sophia. I can only make this coffee last so long.

I’d necked the espresso back like I was an idiot student downing shots to impress women at the bar. That had sparked part of my brain back to life, but not enough that I could actually concentrate on emails or work.

Not that I really had a job at the moment. Not unless you counted ‘trying to convince the trustee of Mum’s estate to hand over my inheritance,’ as a full-time job. I needed to get my hands on that money soon, or I’d have to give in to my destiny and ruin my life. Either way, I needed money desperately to pay off debts, and I couldn’t hang around forever.

The news will be out in two weeks.

My plan with Alisa had been nearly foolproof. ‘Nearly’ being the crucial word. Alisa would marry me, hang around for six months, and then disappear. By that time, I’d have claimed my inheritance, and she’d have a nice, tidy sum for her troubles.

Everybody won.

But then Alisa backed out, and soon I’d be more screwed than a waitress serving coffee to Tiger Woods.

I should have had a back-up plan in place, but now it was too late.

The doors opened as groups of students started milling in while having a heated discussion about some BS social issue of the week. The first class of the day must have just finished, which meant I’d been here about an hour already. Most of that time had been spent looking at Sophia.

Time well spent, I’d say.

I’d caught her staring at me a few times as well. One minute, she appeared shy and reserved, and the next she looked hard-edged and determined. Maybe she was all those things. All I knew for sure was that she was beautiful. Anyone who could look that good while preparing coffee in unflattering clothes and an apron definitely deserved my attention, and a hell of a lot more besides.

Three girls burst into the café in a triangle formation, like you saw on American teen movies. Leader at the front—typical head cheerleader type—with two hangers on just behind her. They walked past the counter and appeared to be heading straight for me. It wasn’t unusual for women to make a beeline for me, but they looked mad. Friends of Sabrina perhaps?

“I know what you did last night,” one of the women yelled loudly.

I opened my mouth to tell her it was none of her business, but then realized she wasn’t talking to me. Her words were aimed at a girl sat down at the table next to me. She’d been working studiously on something that was either a maths problem, or a translation of an alien language. Same thing in my book.

The girl pulled headphones out of her ears, and looked up nervously. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t play fucking innocent with me, Jody. You shagged Abib last night.”

“I—”

“And don’t deny it. He’s already told the entire chemistry class what a slut you are.”

I caught Sophia looking on anxiously, as were most of the students. Sophia probably felt right at home, because this was like a scene straight from an American high school. At least, it was if
Mean Girls
was in any way accurate, and I assumed it was. Hollywood movies never lied.

“It’s none of your business what I did,” the girl responded. She tried her best to sound defiant, but it wasn’t convincing anyone. I could tell immediately that she had slept with this Abib guy, and she looked embarrassed by the entire situation.

She didn’t need to be. She was a student. She’d had sex. How was that something to be ashamed about in this day and age?

“It is
my
fucking business,” the leader yelled back. I assumed her name was Regina. “You knew I liked him.”

Oh bloody hell, this was pathetic.

“Excuse me, love,” I said calmly, but not quietly. “Some of us are trying to work here. Can’t you have this conversation over Snapchat or something?”

“No,” the girl snapped back, standing up straight. “Because I want the whole uni to know that Jody is a slut.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re a whore.”

Jody looked a little closer to tears now. Far too close for my liking. Her strong façade had been quickly stripped away by the twenty or so pairs of eyes now focused on her.

“Let me get this straight,” I said calmly. “You think Jody is a slut, because she slept with a guy you wanted to sleep with.”

“That’s literally the dictionary definition of the word slut.”

Hm, incorrect use of the word ‘literally.’ Had I been teleported to America overnight?

“But you would have slept with him if you could?” I asked.

“Well, yes, but—”

“So if Jody is a slut for sleeping with him, what does that make you? A slut-in-training? An apprentice slut? I’m a Star Wars fan, so I like the term ‘Padawan.’ Perhaps you could be Jody’s Padawan and she’ll teach you how to trick guys into actually sleeping with you.”

“This is none of your business,” one of the girl’s friends—let’s call her Gretchen—yelled out from behind her.

“It is my business, because some of us have work to do, and we could do without idiots coming in and shouting their mouths off.”
Speechless. Lovely.
“Run along, children.”

The girls turned on their heels in almost perfect unison, and stormed off. I cast a stern gaze around the café to make sure that anyone who’d been watching the show quickly went back to their work, or typing on their phones. No doubt this would be all over Facebook within thirty seconds if it wasn’t already.

“Thank you,” Jody said softly. “You didn’t need to step in for me.”

“I’m sure you could have handled it, but I have a passionate hatred for slut-shaming.”

“I didn’t take you for the feminist type.”

“Oh, I’m not. I just have a vested interest in women not being slut-shamed.” Jody frowned in confusion. “I want women to feel comfortable having one-night-stands. It works out to my benefit, if you get my drift.”

“Ah,” she said with a smile. “Yeah, I get you.” Just as I was about to go back to my work, she added “I didn’t screw him.”

“I honestly don’t care either way.”

“I tried to, but he couldn’t get it up.”

“And now he’s trying to make you look bad because he’s scared you’ll tell people?”

“I guess.”

“I’m sure he was kind and considerate enough to take care of your needs though?”

“Oh sure,” she said. “He gave me a brolly so I didn’t have to walk back to my room in the rain.”

I laughed. “By the standards of this place, he’s practically a gentleman.”

“Unfortunately you’re right. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work.”

Jody put her headphones back on and I went back to watching Sophia. Except Sophia wasn’t there anymore.

I looked around, but she was nowhere to be seen. Surely she hadn’t snuck off without so much as a goodbye?

Then I saw her.

She came out of the back room carrying a notepad and a couple of textbooks. I watched as she cast her gaze around the room looking for somewhere to sit.

There was only one chair left in the entire place.

And it just so happened to be right opposite me.

W
e needed
a staff-only table in this place. The staff room out back was far too hot and stuffy to study in, so I had to come out here with everyone else. Except there was only one seat free, and three guesses who was sitting at that table.

Ellie had let me serve George thinking she was doing me a favor. If the job involved just looking at him then I would have been grateful. Unfortunately, when he spoke, his words drove me crazy. And not in a good way.

He had the posh English accent most Americans assumed everyone here spoke with, but while he sounded charming as hell, his words made him sound like an arrogant douchebag. If I’d wanted one of them I would have stayed in America.

Even by student standards, he looked roughly kept and disheveled, but damn he could pull it off. He had serious bed head, and the bags under his eyes suggested he hadn’t gotten much sleep, but somehow that look suited him.

The lack of sleep could no doubt be traced back to a female student who lived on campus. The slim-fit shirt he wore—with more buttons undone than done up—had so many creases, it was obvious he’d thrown it to the floor in a hurry the night before.

The lack of a jacket even though it was about to rain also screamed “walk of shame.” He probably wouldn’t like that term though. Not judging by the way he’d stood up for Jody. The coffee shop was supposedly full of liberal, modern students, but George had been the only one to do anything about that little scene. Everyone else had just stood back and watched—me included.

George waved me over, motioning to the empty seat opposite him. I triple checked the rest of the tables to see if anyone else might be leaving, but everyone was settled in for the day.

I had no choice.

I walked over to George’s table and set my books down loudly. I wanted him to know I was only here for one thing, and it wasn’t to continue our conversation.

“Hi,” he said, a big grin etched across his face. He sat back in his chair, with one ankle resting on the other knee as he sipped at a coffee that must surely be empty by now.

“Hi,” I replied, looking down at my books and frantically opening the page to where I’d left off. I had a hundred pages of reading to do before I could even make a start on the three-thousand-word essay that was due in two weeks. I didn’t have time for anything—or anyone—else right now.

“Glad you could join me.”

“I’m not joining you. I’m sitting here to work.”

“So I see. What’s the topic?”

“The English Civil War.”

“Ah, a favorite topic of mine.”

“You like English history?” I asked incredulously. He didn’t exactly look like the history type. He was more the type to fake an interest to get in someone’s panties. Was that what he was doing now?

I crossed my legs under the table. No time for thoughts like that.

“I like most history up until the end of the English civil wars actually. After that it starts becoming too focused on politics. I can read about kings and queens all day, but prime ministers send me to sleep.”

“Wars?” I asked. “You said English civil
wars
. Plural. There was only one.”

George gave a shrug of the shoulders. “I’d say there were three, but it depends how you define it. People lump the separate conflicts together and refer to it as a war, but that’s not really accurate. So what’s your essay on?”

Was this really the same guy who had spoken to me earlier? They seemed like two different people. I didn’t have any special interest in English history—I’d only chosen it because it seemed like the logical thing to study in England—but I could listen to George talk all day. If I had professors like him, it wouldn’t be so difficult to stay awake in class. Without the arrogant words, his smooth voice was like a drug that made me sleepy and aroused at the same time. Either way, I’d be heading to bed.

“Nothing,” I replied, snapping out of my trance. “I mean, we can choose what to write about.”

“And what are you going to write about?”

“I don’t know yet. I still have loads of reading to do.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were already getting in your excuses for turning me down later.”

“I don’t need an excuse to do that,” I replied. “Besides, I’m already going out with friends tonight.”

“I want to see you again.”

The word ‘okay’ was on the tip of my tongue, and came desperately close to escaping my lips. Would it really be such a bad idea to see him again? He was as easy on the eyes as he was on the ears. He was older than the other students, and didn’t look like the type to down shots at the end of the night.

He was the ‘Prince Charming’ I’d been looking for, but maybe that’s not what I wanted after all. I’d told everyone back home that I was going to England to meet a nice English guy and settle down, but that was only half the story. I was also escaping my past heartbreak.

I’d been concentrating so much on finding a man, that I hadn’t dealt with the shame I still felt for what happened with Stan. Maybe I wasn’t ready to move on just yet.

“No,” I replied eventually. I couldn’t be taken in by a nice accent and a handsome face. And nice arms. Strong shoulders. Deep, dark eyes. “I have too much work to do.”

He looked surprised, as if he hadn’t heard the word ‘no’ in a very long time. “The hard bit is finding a title for the essay,” he said, quickly moving on past my rejection. “Once you’ve got that, the rest will flow easily.”

“Sure. But like you said, finding the title is the hard part.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “If I give you an essay title and some pointers on what to discuss, you agree to go out with me tomorrow night.”

“I can’t go out three nights in a row,” I pleaded. My brain was already begging me to get an early night. However, face-to-face with George, other parts of my body were making pleas of their own.

“I have you in bed by ten. Whether you choose to sleep or not is up to you. Do we have a deal?”

I looked up to the ceiling and then back down with an overly-dramatic sigh. “Okay, but it had better be a good title.”

“It’ll more than suffice. Call it ‘The Fallacy of the English Civil War.’ You can split it into two sections: first, the fact that the war wasn’t English. It involved Scotland, Ireland, and Wales too. People often look past that. Second, it wasn’t just one war. If you want, you can talk about how history has chosen to refer to it in a way that promotes English dominance over other nations, blah, blah, blah.”

“That sounds… better than anything I could have come up with.”

“Good, then it’s a date. I’ll meet you outside here at eight.”

“It’s not a date,” I said firmly. “I’m just going to have a drink with you to thank you for your help, and also to thank you for shutting up so that I can get on with my reading.”

“Fine with me,” he replied. “I just want to enjoy my last couple of weeks of freedom.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. I’ll leave you to it.”

I stared at the page in front of me, refusing to turn and watch him walk away. The words wouldn’t sink in. I wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but I should be able to get out of it easy enough. I could fake being ill on Saturday if necessary.

I sure as hell couldn’t go on a date with George. I could handle the drunken idiots, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle him, and that had me scared.

Maybe I didn’t want to meet Prince Charming after all. I was just running from my past. The last thing I wanted to do was repeat my mistakes.

Wasn’t that exactly why we studied history in the first place? To learn from our mistakes.

Those ignorant of history are doomed to repeat it.

I knew my history, and I was determined not to repeat it.