Taming the Legend (21 page)

His brain was too blown for him to comprehend what was going on. “Door?”

“I took a big chance when I left yesterday morning. The toilet-paper artists could’ve seen me. I can’t risk that.”

He gave her a sated, sardonic smile. “Right. Being spotted falling out of my bedroom window would
be much less scandalous.”

She shrugged. “I have a reputation to protect. No one here knows we have a history, so they wouldn’t understand if they saw me leaving at oh-crap-what-have-I-done o’clock.”

She hoisted herself up and slung one leg out the window, apparently learning last night’s lesson that it was better to go feet-first than headfirst. But with one leg in and one leg out, she
ducked her head back into the room. “Thanks for last night, Ash. And this morning. It was fun.”

And then she hopped out of the window, leaving him naked, spent, confused and all by himself.

Completely alone. Just like before.

Chapter Twenty-One

The next two weeks passed in a blur of frustrating rugby training sessions, fruitful negotiations with Legends and blisteringly hot clandestine sex with Camila.

His agent had negotiated a phenomenal deal with Legends, securing him the head coaching position as well as more money than he’d made as a player. He’d been doing interviews with pundits back home,
talking to Ruud-Boy several times a week and getting really excited about going back home.

But that was the only part of his life that made sense right now. Only one of the girls seemed capable of playing rugby. The others had missed every single goal he’d set for developing their basic skills. They tried. God, they tried hard. And they were gelling as a team and enjoying themselves. The
closer they got to the tournament, the more exuberant they seemed. They had no idea what was riding on their success; Camila had refused to let him say anything. But Ash knew, and he’d tried to find local teams they could play some friendly matches against but utterly failed. A few schools had rugby teams, but since it was summer he couldn’t even get anyone to return his calls. At the end of every
practice, he and Camila planned for the next session, and each time he saw the desperate hope on her face he had to bite back his worry that he was going to let her down.

And then there was his future with Camila. These two weeks had been amazing, but he wanted more—everything more. He wanted to kiss her in public. He wanted people to casually ask him how she was doing, knowing he was intimate
enough with her to have the answer. He wanted lazy Sunday morning lie-ins with her. Instead, she spent every night in his cabin and climbed out his bedroom window before sunrise every morning, leaving him shaking his head at the ridiculousness and uncomfortable with the secrecy. But it made her feel safe, so he never tried to convince her to go out the front door.

One morning, though, he
woke up just after sunrise to find her curled on her side facing away from him and breathing so deeply and rhythmically he could tell right away she was in pain. He bolted up and laid a hand on her hip. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She buried herself deeper in her pillow and kept breathing. Her face was cadaver white and her arms protected her belly.

“Don’t lie to me. Is it
food poisoning? Are you going to vomit? Do you need help getting to the toilet?”

Even with her eyes closed, she cringed. “No.”

Panic beat behind his ribs and he kneeled behind her, staring helplessly at her and wondering what on earth was happening.

And then his brain cleared, and his shoulders relaxed. Cramps. “Hang on a minute. I’ve got something that might help.”

He climbed
out of the bed as slowly as he could, figuring any movement might make the cramps worse, and he went into his bathroom. Rifling through his toiletries, he grabbed a couple of instant heating pads and ripped them out of their plastic bags. She was still breathing slowly, obviously trying to control the pain.

He tore the paper off the adhesive and said, “Move your arms a second, sweetness.”

Her arms slowly inched away from her tummy, as if she were scared the cramps would attack again as soon as she wasn’t on guard. He gently placed the pad against her lower belly and held it there a few seconds until the adhesive could latch onto her skin and the pad started to warm. She squinted down and watched him softly rubbing just above her pubic bone. “What is it?”

“Hot pad. It’ll
help ease the cramps.”

“Wow. You brought these with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you get bad menstrual pain too?”

He laughed, grateful to see her humor returning. “No, backaches. And my knees are shot. These are no substitute for a Jacuzzi, but they’ll do in a pinch.”

“Thanks, Ash.”

“My pleasure. Anything else I can get you?”

“Can I borrow a tampon?”

He chuckled and
shook his head. “If I had tampons, you could
have
one. I wouldn’t need it back when you were finished. Sadly, I’m fresh out.”

“Too bad. I’ll have to get back to my cabin quickly.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Give me your key and I’ll go get whatever you need. You just lie here till you feel better.”

“That could be hours.”

“Then lie here for hours.”

She sighed and tried to roll
to the edge of the bed, but it didn’t take much effort for him to roll her back. She sucked in a pained breath at the movement. “Mila, if you can’t even roll over in bed without it hurting, why force yourself to go back to your place? We can be as careful as possible to hide our relationship, but there’s no need to go to stupid lengths.”

One of her hands clawed the mattress as another cramp
appeared to hit her. “Okay,” she agreed through gritted teeth.

“What about pills?”

“I’ll take anything you’re offering. Damn. This really freaking hurts.”

He got a couple of over-the-counter muscle relaxers from his bathroom and brought her a glass of water. “Is it always like this?”

“No. Maybe every few months, just for the first day. It’s horrible. I have no energy. I probably
look like death.”

“You know how I told the girls at the first practice that periods are no excuse?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah.”

“I lied. I find the whole concept of bleeding from sensitive places terrifying. You look exhausted. Take it easy today. Don’t come to practice.”

“That was pretty much my plan, but thanks for your permission anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, as
if he hadn’t caught her dripping sarcasm. By the time he’d got back from her cabin and tossed a selection of feminine products on the bed, the pills and hot pad seemed to be working. But she hadn’t been kidding about how it affected her. Her eyelids drooped, and she stared into space as if she was barely awake. It took monumental effort for her to select one of the cheerfully wrapped packages and
hobble across the room to the bathroom. When she got back and collapsed onto the mattress, he crawled across the bed behind her. “Can you lie on your belly?”

“Not without wanting to kill someone.”

“In that case, stay as you are.” He laid his hands on her lower back and began to gently knead.

She groaned, her body almost seeming to wilt. “That’s it. You’re not allowed to go back
to London. You have to stay here and do that for me every month.”

The prospect didn’t sound as scary as it should.

But he’d signed his contract with Legends and booked his flight home. They’d wanted him back next week, a few days before the San Diego Sevens, but he’d told them he couldn’t do it. He’d booked his flight for the morning after the tournament ended.

It would give him
one night to hopefully celebrate victory with his team and say goodbye to Camila. It wasn’t much, and the thought of it made him want to vom. But he couldn’t see any other options.

Several hours later, he stood in the middle of the pitch watching the girls warm up with some basic ball-handling drills. Jen—who had shocked the hell out of him by wearing no Goth makeup to practice today—called
over to him. “Hey, Ashanti?”

“Not my name,” he called back.

But she ignored him, as usual. “Do you think it’s unfair that you got to be a professional rugby player and women don’t?”

Hoo boy.
There was really only one right answer for that question. Fortunately, it was the answer he believed. “Yeah, I think it’s unfair. Legends have a women’s team, and a couple of them play for England.
They train really hard, even though lots of them have full-time jobs and they get no money. But guess what.”

“What?”

“England’s women are trying to qualify for Rio 2016, and they’re getting paid to train full-time. It’s just one team, but they’re really bloody good so hopefully it’ll have an effect at the club level too.”

The girls had stopped tossing their balls around and stared
at him.

“The Rio games?” Hannah said.

“Yeah.”

They all shot glances at each other. Tori piped up, “I know there are a lot of weird sports in the summer games, but I’m almost positive I’ve never seen rugby there. And I watched, like, every single minute of London’s.”

“That’s because rugby hasn’t been included in the games since 1924, and you’re a wee bit too young to remember
that time. Guess who the reigning gold-medal holders are.”

“England?” Hannah ventured.

“Nope. The U.S.A.”

Hannah’s jaw dropped. “You’re shitting us.”

“Wrong again. You lot used to be great at rugby, but then you decided you liked American football better. Worst decision since the American Revolution,” he teased. “It’s been almost a hundred years since rugby was in the games,
but rugby sevens will be at Rio, and there’ll be women’s teams as well as men’s.” He jerked his head toward the ball she held. “Don’t stop. All of you, back to tossing.”

“I still want to know what a monkey’s toss is.” Hannah spun the ball while passing it between her hands with a dexterity and control the other girls had struggled to pick up. Ash wondered if she practiced on her own after
sessions. Either that or she had some natural skill he would have to exploit. She didn’t look naturally athletic, with her short, stocky build, but he’d always been on the stocky side, too, so he could see her making a good scrum-half.

“Ashton? Did you hear me?” she said when he didn’t reply.

“My name’s not Ashton. You’re doing well. Try getting more height on it now.”

“You’re lying.
Your name can’t just be Ash.”

“It’s not. Come on, less chat more work.”

“Oh God. It’s not Archibald, is it?”

He froze and stared at her. “On what planet is Archibald shortened to Ash?”

“A lot of freaky shit happens on Planet England. Haven’t you ever seen Austin Powers’s teeth?”

He sighed and made his way around the rest of the group. Ever since their team chat a couple
of weeks ago, they’d been working hard to develop their skills, but they had a tendency to grow bored quickly. And most of them struggled with things like strategy and rules.

Last week, he’d tried to explain the different positions, but they’d kept translating them into American football terms he didn’t fully understand. He could agree the fly-half was like the quarterback. He thought linebackers
tended to be lardy, so they weren’t a good comparison to any rugby position. But when the girls tried to convince him a scrum-half was the equivalent of a douchebag in American football, he’d shown them who the real douchebags were by making them end practice with a mile run.

So, after one of their training sessions last week, he’d asked Camila to give him a lift to a photo place in town,
and he’d paid an obscene amount of money to have a few pictures developed. A few
life-sized
pictures. The cardboard cutouts were lying facedown on the bleachers, and the girls hadn’t noticed them yet.

“All right, you can put your balls down.”

The girls snickered, and he rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than seventeen-year-old boys.”

“Hey!” Jen shouted. “You said you wouldn’t treat
us any differently.”

He wasn’t. He’d told his teams they acted worse than teenage girls before. He should probably feel bad about that, but mostly he felt annoyed at being wrong. These girls won the prize for immaturity.

“We’re going to have another go at learning the positions. Follow me.” He led them to the bleachers, and they gathered round him and his team. “Let’s start with the
forwards. Remember what the forwards are good at?”

“Tackling!” Kayla said, her voice brimming over with excitement. She was a short, heavyset girl with a lot of pent-up aggression. He’d already pegged her for one of his props.

“Well, yeah. All players have to be good at tackling, no matter what position they’re in. That’s one way rugby’s better—” he cleared his throat, “—I mean,
different
to your football. But forwards are tough and strong. They’re the oxen of the team.” He lifted one of the cardboard cutouts to reveal one of his teammates. “This is Shaggy. He’s a prop forward.”

Hannah rubbed her finger across her chin, momentarily distracting Ash with a fleeting sense of déjà vu. “I think your picture’s distorted.”

“Nope. This is Shaggy.”

“But he’s really short
and really wide. There’s no way he can look like that.”

Ash glanced at his friend, the first stirring of loneliness hitting his chest hard. “I promise you, he does look like this. He might only be about five-foot-six, but he’s one of the toughest, strongest guys on the team. Kayla and Jen, I think you’re probably our toughest, strongest players. We need fearless people up front in the scrum.
Next we need a hooker. Meet Schmiddy.”

The girls snorted, but then he pulled out Mark Schmidt and they grabbed each other.

“Oh my God!” Hannah cried. “If you see one of those in the woods, wave your arms and make a lot of noise.”

“Yeah, he’s quite hairy, isn’t he? You should see him without the rugby kit on. It’s frightening. Schmiddy’s even shorter than Shaggy, and he’s just about
the nicest bloke you could ever want to meet.”

Okay, where had
that
come from?

Hannah raised her hand. “Is being nice a requirement for a hooker?”

“No. It’s more important for hookers to have quick hands.”

The girls snorted again.

“All right, finished laughing at the thought of him being a hooker?”

And again.

Tori pulled a face. “I’d hate to go to a manwhorehouse
and find him waiting for me.”

“He wouldn’t be too thrilled to find you either, sunshine. You’re not his type.”

“Wait,” Hannah said. “You mean he’s gay?”

“Yup.”

“A gay rugby player?”

Ash raised his brows. “Yeah. Problem?”

“No, not me. Never. But you?”

“Why should I care?”

“Didn’t you share a locker room with him?”

“Yeah. For about eight years.”

Hannah just stared at him, as if she expected more. Finally, she prompted him with, “And?”

“And I’m still waiting for you to explain why I should give a fuck who he sleeps with.”

Her body seemed to relax a little, and a small smile tipped her lips. “Just checking.”