Team Lucas (The Saints Team #1) (7 page)

Within fifteen minutes I heard the sounds of sex floating down the stairs and through my thin wall. No small talk then.

I wished he was pressing me to his bed instead of Miranda. I’d even put up with his up-and-down miserable personality for that.

Chapter 10

When I stumbled out for a morning run there was a note slipped under the door from Lucas.

“M, Jase and Sarah want to have the housemates for dinner, third floor at seven. Text me if you are free. P.S. this is their idea, don’t get used to it.”

Fuck you global sports superstar. It was sweet of Jase and Sarah and as luck would have it I was free. I texted him that I’d love to come—hmm, couldn’t help myself—and asked what I should bring. I grabbed my keys and headed out for a run. On my return there was no reply text, what a surprise, not.

I would have to put the discussion of Lucas’s father on ice as we wouldn’t get a chance to talk again with the group dinner tonight and the party tomorrow night. It would be a challenge getting back to the topic anyway with Mr. Frosty.

More importantly I had survived a whole week and the weekend would mark ten days. Yeah, I was good; I was going to beat the record of living with and monitoring the unbearable but sexy Lucas Ainswright. Plus for every week I survived, I got a bonus... yes a bonus and that bonus would nicely pay for my new party dress and Alice’s too. I was feeling benevolent.

My phone beeped with an incoming text and I surprised myself at how I tensed expecting it to be Lucas. Wow, he must be stressing me out more than I thought. I looked at the phone and he had texted two words: “bring nothing.” Good, well you have a good day dickhead and I look forward to seeing you tonight. Seriously would a bit of civility kill this guy? I was so going to draw blood from him for his next drug test.

But priorities first: Alice and I had to go shopping, and that we did. That girl shopped like it was her last shopping trip ever; she was doing a Ripley—determined to get a dress that made her look hot if it was the last thing she did on this planet. The concept of shop until you drop was alien to me. Before lunch we had found me a dress, thank you universe... did I mention I hate shopping? I got a fitted black dress with a bling thread through it so it sparkled. It sat nicely above the knees and well over my butt, and showed off my running curves. Whatever, it was in budget, new and would do nicely.

Finishing my dress shopping made Alice panic.

“We’ve only got five hours until the shops close,” she said, looking around as I ate my zucchini and pineapple open grill toast.

“For the love of God, tell me we’re not going to be here for five hours,” I panicked. “I can’t do that Alice, I just can’t. Besides I have to go to dinner tonight with the third floor tenants and I need some downtime in a bath first.” Now we were both panicking.

Alice gulped down her smoothie. I took another tactic. I’d been studying the coach, so I could do this morale boosting stuff.

“Alice,” I said calmly, ensuring I had her attention. “You’re the best shopper I’ve ever known. You can see how an outfit will look and come together before it is even off the hanger. You can do this.”

She nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I can do this.” Alice looked out to the shops as though inspiration had landed on her shoulders.

I continued. “We’ve seen nearly everything at least once, and now you just have to bring it together, narrow it down and make that decision.”

I studied Alice. Her brown eyes were huge and a bit glazed as she took in my words; her dark black hair was sleek and sat perfectly in her shoulder-length bob and her skin was translucent. She could have stuck on any frock and walked straight into a glamorous event and pulled it off. I went for the kill.

“You are great under pressure and you can do this. You’ve got one hour.”

She gasped. “One hour.” Alice loved a challenge.

“You’re on. Let’s go.” She rose and grabbed her handbag, pointing her nose in the direction of the first shop we looked at two hours ago.

I stood and looked sadly at my remaining zucchini and pineapple toast. I’ll miss you, I thought, but I’m prepared to pay that price to get out of this place sooner.

*****

After Alice dropped me off, I hung my new dress up in the large walk-in-robe in my beach pad… yeah I’m cool, and gave Mom a quick call. I had bought the ingredients for Mom’s specialty lemon meringue pie and I was going to attempt to whip it up for tonight. Unfortunately there was no-one there to lick the bowl and I had to do it myself.

I cheated and bought the pie base, but I wouldn’t tell Mom that. I finished the filling and noticed Mom’s recipe said chill the pie for three hours. Crap. I glanced to the clock, it was nearing five so two hours of pie cooling would have to do since I still had to get the meringue on top and cool it again after that. Why didn’t I just buy a goddamn cake? And no, I wasn’t secretly trying to show off to Lucas Ainswright that I had lots of talents because I didn’t even like him.

I finished whipping the meringue, stuck it on, created its whipped up peaks and popped it back in the oven until the peaks were toasted brown. Voila! And may I say it looked pretty good. Yes, I am a goddess in the kitchen, and the bedroom but there was no way to prove the latter. I set the pie aside to cool and went to run myself a bath and chill before the seven p.m. roll call upstairs.

As I headed upstairs to the bathroom there was a knock at the adjoining door and I heard Lucas call my name.

“Come in,” I called.

He slid the door open looked around and saw me halfway up the stairs.

“I thought you’d be at weights training,” I said with a glance to the clock. It was three p.m.

“We start at four-thirty today. Um, a favor?” he said.

“Sure.”

“You know how you worked my shoulder last night?” he asked without waiting for an answer, “well any chance you’ve got your physio table here?”

“Of course, it’s portable,” I said. “It’s in the cupboard in the guest room.”

“Really?” He brightened.

“You want a massage now?” I said. “Why, what’s wrong?”

“I’m aching,” he said. “Can you do your thing? I’m guessing you can do a sports massage.”

I grimaced at him. “No Lucas, I’ve spent the last three years studying sports physiotherapy but we haven’t got to that semester yet. Of course I can.” I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to massage that body but I was playing it cool. “I’ll turn the bathwater off. Want to move the physio table into the lounge?”

“On it,” he said and closed our adjoining door before heading to the guest room.

I came back downstairs after turning off my bath water and found him stripped already. This job was so hard, so very hard. He was wearing only a pair of white, very nicely fitted, boxer-briefs. It was really best to do a sports massage with fewer clothes on—it’s a true story, no names have been changed to protect my rising libido.

I swallowed. “How are your muscles feeling?” I asked. It was a genuine question and totally professional—honest.

“Tight,” he answered.

“Let’s start with you lying on your stomach,” I told him and he lay on my table. “So where are the niggles?”

“Just tired muscles, everywhere,” he said.

“Right.” I studied his gorgeous... well everything. He looked totally relaxed and I guess he was; Lucas was no stranger to physios rubbing him up and down.

I began a quick all over session including his shoulders, back, glutes and thighs. He stiffened and moaned occasionally as I worked each area but I wasn’t worried about hurting him; Andy and some of the other male physios at the club would have a lot more strength in their technique than me. I worked his thigh muscles, my fingers kneading around the top of his legs and stopping just short of his tight and well-formed butt.

“You’re one lucky guy,” I said. “Bet your other minders didn’t give you a qualified sports massage like this,” I said, pushing hard to emphasize each word.

“You’re right about that. I wouldn’t let any of those idiots touch me.”

I finished off his back with some long, soothing strokes. “Done here,” I said. “Roll over.”

He hesitated for a moment and I had a momentary sense of panic that I had done something wrong and he couldn’t move. Then I realized what was going on.

“Um,” I cleared my throat, “this is not a happy ending massage.”

Lucas Ainswright actually looked slightly flushed with embarrassment and then in his usual fashion, he deflected it back on me.

“Could be a happy ending,” he said, “if you offered the full service.”

“Don’t worry about it Lucas,” I said using my professional physiotherapist student voice. “It's perfectly normal for men to get an erection during a
non-sexual
, therapeutic massage.” I emphasized the non-sexual. “Touching the body can activate the parasympathetic nervous system and cause a partial or full erection.”

“Did they teach you in class to say that?” he asked.

“Yes,” I told him and stood back. “C’mon, turn over, it’s not like I haven’t seen one before.”

Lucas laughed. “I’m not worried about showing you my prized possession. Consider yourself lucky,” he said. “But knowing how prudish you are, I thought you might be freaked out.”

“I’m not prudish,” I declared. I rolled my eyes. “Get on with it.”

He gave a casual shrug and rolled onto his back.

Oh wow, it was pretty hard to ignore that large bulge that was stretching the white fabric very thin, thin to almost translucent. I think I was staring.

“Mia...” Lucas said in a sing-song voice.

“What? Oh yeah, right.” I moved around and stood behind his head where I hoped he would close his eyes as I worked his neck and shoulders—at least until I got rid of my blush and stopped hyperventilating.

From this angle though, his erection was even more superb. Right, focus. I reached under his neck and combed my fingers upward from the back to the base of the skull. I pressed down across the tops of his shoulders, releasing his muscle tension. I got a rhythm going—stroking across the upper chest and collarbone area. He moaned and relaxed into my hands. This was helping him but not me; his bulge was not going down.

For pity’s sake how is anyone supposed to work with that loaded gun pointed at them?

“Mia...” Lucas mumbled.

“Yes,” I said, taking my eyes off his boxers and returning them to his face. He had his eyes open and was looking at me with a serene expression on his face—somewhere between half asleep and totally wiped out.

“You need to work my groin area,” he said.

“What?” I knew that, but I thought it best to avoid it.

“You’ve done enough on my chest. Move to the groin,” Lucas repeated. “Common area for injuries with sports players, especially soccer players.”

Lucas was really enjoying this. Enjoying my discomfort. Well guess what Lucas? I thought. You want groin work; you’re going to get groin work. I’d been studying physiotherapy for three years, and I knew how to work a groin like no other.

“All in good time, Lucas,” I said, taking control.

I worked his shoulders for just a little longer so I didn’t seem too anxious or keen and then I made my way to his groin—down in the middle of his abdomen, just above his genitals and where his work of art already on display maintained its up position.

“Well?” Lucas asked.

“Well what?” I had to tread lightly, I looked at his groin. “It’s a very sensitive area,” I said. No really, it was and not for the obvious reasons. Treating the groin was all about managing acute stages of injury and blood flow. I tried to explain this to Lucas who just mumbled, “Do what you can.”

“So you want me to do what I can, but there won’t be any repercussions for anything I do?” I checked.

“Ah, so they teach you to legally cover your butt too. You’re deflating me Mia,’ he sighed. “It’s sore, so do what you can for my groin,” he pleaded, melodramatically then smiled.

I rolled my eyes at him and gave him a look that said ‘pull your head in Lucas, and not that head.’

“Okay, you’ll have to bend your knee and rotate it outwards,” I said, needing access to his groin. I may as well have said ‘put your penis in my face.’

I took a deep breath and plunged in, so to speak. I stroked lightly but firmly upwards from above the knee to the groin area.

Lucas inhaled sharply.

“Did that hurt?” I frowned.

He shook his head in the negative. I continued to work my way up and down the muscle, trying to cover the whole of the groin area.

Lucas had stopped breathing. He occasionally took a large breath and held it again. He put his arm up to cover his eyes. I dialed back my pressure on him, and went a bit lighter in case it was too much.

Lucas rolled off the table and grabbing his clothes, ran to the door.

“Thanks,” he called back and was gone.

I stood there looking at the door. What the...? I waited a minute and he didn’t return, so I closed the adjoining door again and went up to get in my bath.

Chapter 11

I wandered up the internal stairs to the third level right on seven p.m. with a bottle of mineral water and my lemon meringue pie. Their door was open.

“Knock, knock,” I tentatively called out and a beautiful, blond woman in her mid-twenties appeared. She looked ethereal in a pale blue floating skirt and a loose knit, fitted cream top with three-quarter sleeves. I hoped my navy fitted dress to my knees would be suitable.

“You must be Mia, welcome,” she greeted me. She was so warm and lovely.

“I hope I’m not early.” I looked around. “Lord Lucas isn’t here yet?”

She burst out laughing. “No, he’s been held up at weights training. The coach is giving them a pep talk. Please come in.” She led me into the kitchen and took the offered lemon meringue pie.

“Mia, you shouldn’t have, this looks magnificent.”

“Mom’s recipe,” I said. “I can’t take all the credit.”

“Thank you, delicious. Puts my bought chocolate cake to shame.”

“That was my fallback option,” I confessed. I liked her even more.