Team Tomás (The Saints Team #2)

Team Tomás

A Saints team book

By Ally Adams

PUBLISHED BY: Atlas Productions

Copyright © Ally Adams 2015

ISBN: 978-0-9943762-0-6 (ebk)

This e-book is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an
additional copy for each person you share it with unless you purchased with a
one share agreement. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it
was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the author's work.

This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

For The Russian

And to Jenny, the best, best friend
ever.

Chapter 1

Open your eyes... no, no wait. Okay, deep breath,
ready... almost. I might have had a bit too much to drink last night, fine then
I was pissed, but so was Tomás, I think. Actually I can’t be sure about that
either because Tomás ‘Pez’ Carrera—the gorgeous goalkeeper for the Santa Ana
Saints soccer team—has a lot more experience than me at having a drink or ten.
And now I was lying in a room that definitely wasn’t mine; in a bed with
someone next to me; and, it was time to turn and face the music. On the upside,
at least I was still wearing my underwear.

God please let it be Tomás next
to me—I’ll go to church every Sunday for a month, honest.
Good grief, now I
was attempting to bribe God... I had sunk to a whole new low. It was the
hangover or at least I think I had a hangover... can you get a hangover from
four or five margaritas? I wasn’t a big drinker and I had never really been
absolutely shit-faced drunk so a hangover would be a first.

I consoled myself that it had been
a night of firsts, but I kept one of the firsts for another time. Damn it. I
took a shallow breath so I didn’t wake the person next to me.
Just get it
over with.

I rolled over slowly and...
what
the fuck?

Beside me were three pillows
propped up to run the length of the bed. Was that supposed to be like one of
those fake pillow guys? I quickly glanced at the first pillow, nope, no face
printed on it. I’d been spooned by a pillow! It actually wasn’t bad.

So, I was in a room, which was
definitely a guy’s room—no self-respecting chick would mix stripes with a
pattern. The bed was huge, king size with a big four-poster bed frame around
it. I saw my red dress hanging over a chair. Did I take it off? Seriously,
that’s it, I’m never drinking cocktails again, ever, I decided. Not more than
two anyway.

I rose, quickly dressed, turned to
the mirror and patted down my hair. The good thing about having super straight
hair is that the only thing that sticks up in the morning is my cowlick which
was now on some weird angle protruding perpendicular to my head.
Whatever.
Bag... I saw it beside the bed and grabbed it. I reached in for my phone. There
was a text message from my best friend Mia; sent about thirty minutes ago.

“Goin 4 a run, call me when U can.
Was a gr8 nyt! Mx”

Huh, I scoffed. Clearly she didn’t
help finish the pitcher of margaritas. I brightened—
I’m glad we had a good
night
. I started my deep breathing, motivational talk again and elected to
face the music. I picked up my strappy sandals, opened the bedroom door and
peered out. Wow, nice place, really nice. I hadn’t been to Tomás’s place before
but I was guessing that’s where I was—Mia wouldn’t have let me go home with
anyone else and this place definitely had a South American influence: exposed
timber ceiling, wrought iron railings, lots of earthy tones, white colored
walls and terracotta tile flooring.
Looks like a woman had a hand in the
choice of rugs and cushions in bright red and yellow... hmm.

I wandered down the hallway,
listening carefully, but the place was pretty quiet. I found the living area
and then the kitchen.

“Hi... you must be Alice?”

I jumped a foot high in fright as
a woman’s voice greeted me. She stepped out from behind the cupboard with a
spoon in her hand and an apron on.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” she
asked, with a smile.

I clutched my heart. “Only a
little.”

She laughed a big wholesome laugh.

“I’m Valentina, Tomás’s sister. I
live downstairs but we share the kitchen.” Even though she looked younger than
me, she was all woman; tall, full-bodied with dark flowing hair and deep brown
eyes. I stood about a foot shorter and maybe three cup sizes smaller—I felt
like a kid next to her.

She continued, “Tomás has gone to
training, but he said for you to stay as long as you like. Tea?”

“Yes please,” I said, feeling only
a little embarrassed that I was the morning leftover.

She studied me and smiled. “Sit,
please.” Valentina motioned to a chair beside the kitchen bench. “I heard it
was an enjoyable night.”

“Did you hear anything about me?”
I asked hesitantly.

She smiled. “No, but Tomás mentioned
this morning that you were sleeping in. He slept in the guest room,” she added.

I closed my eyes for a second and
breathed a sigh of relief. When I opened them, Valentina gave me a smile that
said ‘been there, done that’.
The guest room
. Right so I didn’t spend
the night with Tomás, just the night in Tomás’s bed. I shook my head as she
raised a spoonful of sugar above a tea cup.

“Don’t worry, nothing happened and
I tucked you in with the pillows just to make sure you were warm enough,” she
said, reading my mind.

I think I went three shades of
red. “Thank you,” I said. “I don’t usually get drunk.”

She put up her hand to silence me.
“I’m no saint in that department; you don’t owe me an explanation.” She filled
the teapot with boiling water.

I grinned. “I appreciate that,” I
said, “but I really am a two-glass screamer. I don’t know what came over me—a
pitcher of margaritas I think.” I sighed.

Valentina laughed again.

I was secretly relieved that Tomás
and I didn’t do
it
. If and when I slept with Tomás Carrera, I wanted to
be completely sober and remember every single glorious moment of it.

Chapter 2

The day before... and how I ended up in Tomás’s
bed

The
Shaken Not Stirred
bar was crowded with
Saints’ players, WAGS (the wives and girlfriends), playing staff and its usual
crowd. My best friend Mia was officially a WAG now that she was going out with
the Saints’ captain, Lucas Ainswright—the very same Lucas who was on the other
side of the room from us and watching her like a stalker. So intense that guy,
and so cute.

I had a foot in both camps tonight...
my college friends were here, plus I was sort of with the team if being a WAG equals
one kiss, two dances and a major crush on goalie Tomás Carrera. Mia calls it a
WRAG—a wife, girlfriend and ring-ins.

 The Saints’ post-match parties
were always pumping especially when they won and the object of my desire, lust
and dreams, Tomás, played a major part in this week’s win. All the social media
was tweeting that he was going to be the name to watch. Oh, and I was watching
my potential Latin-lover with the warm golden skin, dark bedroom eyes and full
lips as though I was his biggest fan, who just so happened to want to tear his
clothes off and kiss every inch of that golden skin.

Where was I? Oh yeah, he had a
great game... that boot of his and the foot in it worked some magic. He
prevented the opposition from scoring with great style. Being just on six foot,
he covered a lot of ground with his athletic, nimble body. I fanned myself
thinking of him. And given most professional goalkeepers don't hit their prime
until they are into their thirties—according to my dad—the media was pumping Tomás
up for a big future.

Mia arrived back at our table with
a jug of margaritas—bad news. She filled my glass, then Cassie and Melissa’s. Caleb,
the thorn amongst us roses, held up his beer, opting out.

“Lucas is watching you like a lion
watching his prey,” I said to her over the loud music.

She glanced towards him, their
eyes locked and his face softened. They had it bad. I looked for Tomás and had
lost sight of him. I heard a loud cheer and turned to see the game being
replayed on the screen. Lucas and Tomás were heroes at different ends of the
ground… Lucas kicked them in, Tomás kept the opposition from doing the same. It
would be kind of weird if Mia and I were dating them—like dating two bookends,
weird in a good way that is.

“Where’s Tomás?” Mia asked
bringing me back to earth.

I shrugged.

“What’s the story with you two?”
she asked.

I noticed Melissa and Cassie moved
in closer to hear my answer.

“I hate to say it but… I just
don’t think he’s that into me.”

Mia bit her lip and didn’t
respond. I wonder if she knew something I didn’t, but wasn’t telling me to
protect me. Why did I have to fall for someone who every chick wants to be
with? Why couldn’t I fall for the barman or D.J., which only every second chick
wants to score with?

Cassie sighed. “Story of my life.
I’m always in love with someone who is not into me, and never in love with the
ones who want me. Seriously, what’s wrong with me?”

“The same thing that’s wrong with
Alice, clearly,” Melissa contributed.
Big help.

I looked at Cassie with her
beautiful glossy red hair and ice pale blue eyes and doubted that any guy would
fail to notice her; then again, Cassie, Melissa and I were all single.

 “Right then, tell us the story
from the top,” Cassie said. “We need to be the judge of this for ourselves.”

I took a deep breath. “I met him
at the pre-season party at Lucas’s place and he danced with me a few times and
said we should hang together some time.”

“Then,” Mia interrupted, “at
training a week later he asked after Alice again.”

“But didn’t ask for my phone
number,” I reminded her. “Then he saw me again here after their last game, got
my number and said the same thing again...”

“We should hang together some
time,” Cassie said, finishing the sentence for me.

I nodded. “Then he texted me to go
out and have a coffee.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Melissa
asked.

“Absolutely,” Mia agreed.

“Except it’s coffee,” I said. “Not
dinner, or a drink. You know coffee says ‘I’m not taking a big gamble on you…
not putting in much time… not sure you are worth more… I’m just sucking and
seeing’, so to speak.”

“I’d love to be sucked.” Cassie
sighed. We all giggled—I blame the margaritas.

“Coffee might just mean he’s a bit
short of money this week,” Melissa offered.

We all looked at her, frowning.
Melissa was a real, genuine blonde. No streaks, no bleach and sometimes we had
to allow for that.

“This is Tomás Carrera,” Mia
reminded her. “His contract for one year is probably more than we’ll earn in
ten years.”

“He can afford coffee,” I agreed.

“So...” Cassie pushed on, “... did
you have coffee?” Two guys came over to our table and Cassie moved them on. “I
need to hear this story,” she said, reading our surprised expressions.

“We went out for coffee last week
and it was great. I spent four hours getting ready; he came in jeans and a T-shirt
and looked like he’d just stepped off a billboard. We talked, like really
talked and he was so hot. He played with my hand on the top of the table and he
said I was cute at least three times. We stayed for nearly two hours—we had two
rounds of coffee—then he kissed me on the cheek and said we should do this
again. I didn’t hear from him all weekend and then he texted me yesterday to
ask if I’d be here tonight and I said yes and that’s it.”

Cassie and Melissa sat back, and looked
at each other.

“What?” I asked looking from one
to the other. “What does that look mean?”

Caleb leaned forward. “It means
he’s just not that into you.”

“Shut up.” I hit his arm.

Caleb laughed and rose. “Got to
go, a cheerleader needs a drink,” he said, and made his way towards a couple of
the Saints’ cheerleaders standing at the bar. Caleb was a bit of a hottie
himself if the cheerleaders decided they were tired of sporting guys and wanted
a college student who couldn’t kick a ball. Speaking of sporting guys, Melissa
nodded towards the door.

“Don’t look now but half of the
college football team just entered. Didn’t you have a crush on Finn Lalor last
season? He’s here,” Melissa said.

I tried to look without doing an
obvious turn. Yep, it was Finn. Until Mia met Lucas through her part-time job
and opened a world of Saints to her friends, securing a date with Finn—hero of
the college football team—was aiming high for a college girl like me. But now
thanks to Mia, soccer star Tomás ‘Pez’ Carrera—with his handsome Latin ways,
beautiful face, long legs and toned torso—was on my radar.

Finn waved my way and I waved
back. Oh the injustice of the world... last semester I would have wet myself
because he noticed me. Now, comparing Finn and Tomás... hmm, we’re talking the
difference between handsome and godlike. If only Tomás would either totally
ignore me or totally like me! He was doing my head in.

I sighed. “My round,” I told the
girls.

I grabbed the empty margarita jug
and headed to the bar, leaving them to talk about my sad and sorry situation. I
drew up at the bar next to three gorgeous models; well I’m guessing they were
models by the manes of hair and long legs. The Saints always had a collection
of beautiful women hanging around. I ordered another pitcher and then my ears
pricked up at their conversation.

“He’s gorgeous and that accent is
adorable, but he’s a caveman,” Blondie One said. “Twice he has taken me from
behind, did the hair pulling thing and even smacked my ass. Turned me right on,”
she said, and giggled.

Blondie Two laughed. “He does like
it rough. I don’t mind a bit of rough but I want sweet too.”

“Sweet and sour,” Blondie One
agreed.

Eeww, had they both slept with the
same guy? I guess they looked alike and maybe they just wanted casual sex.
Lighten up Ms. Judgmental, I told myself.

“Tomás hit on me too, but I had to
work that night... hostess job at the jewelry launch,” the brunette said, and
the other girls nodded knowingly. “But I’m still open to it,” she said,
suggestively.

OMG, they were talking about Tomás,
my Tomás
. The caveman, apparently.

Blondie One said, “he’s a wham,
bam and thank you ma’am, guy. I was still sore two days later.”

“He told me that he didn’t want to
look after anyone,” Blondie Two said, “so he didn’t want a relationship.”

“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t do
sweet talk and tenderness,” Brunette suggested. “He’s worried someone will fall
for him and get all clingy. He gives great gifts though; I got a beautiful
necklace with a drop diamond. Maybe it’s his way of softening the blow when he
fobs you off.”

“He bought me a watch I was
admiring as we window shopped on our date. Seriously though, would it kill him
to not be so agro? Nik is so much better, such a sensitive lover,” Blondie One
said.

The waiter pushed the pitcher of
margaritas in front of me and I thanked him. I gave the models one last look—so
they were doing German Nik too—the midfielder. Mia really liked Nik, said he was
very sweet, but I didn’t know him that well.

So my Tomás is a man-whore, I
mused; a caveman man-whore who justifies his actions by buying off the girls
afterwards with gifts—kind of like prostitution but no money changes hands. I sighed.
I was so barking up the wrong tree. Maybe he knew that after coffee... maybe he
smelled that I was a virgin and not worth the effort required. Maybe he just
liked them long, tall and glamorous.

I arrived at the table, put the
pitcher down and then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned to see Tomás standing
there in all his Latin glory.