When he lifted his chin in a blatant study of my face, the light of the room caught the hard edge of his jaw. Seriously, a man who looked like him should be illegal.
"Because any time a beautiful woman is drinking alone in a quiet bar, and she has the terrible misfortune of telling me she hates the beautiful game, then she's clearly missing a screw or two."
A shocked laugh burst out of my mouth. His answering grin was belly-flipping gorgeous.
I did a little leaning of my own. "And let me guess, you're just the man to help me find them."
His thumb tapped the surface of the bar. His lips curved into a devious smile that made my toes curl inside my shoes. "No."
My eyebrow lifted in question.
What he said next were words I'd replay a thousand times over the next few months, when I had no idea how true they were. In a rough voice that pulled goosebumps up along my arm, he said, "I'm the man who's about to give you an education, love."
Chapter Two
Jude
Things I did not need tonight:
- Beer.
- My brother to be out of town the one night I was in London and felt like stopping by to see him.
- A cheeky American woman with big blue eyes and long dark hair.
Yet knowing the safest course of action would be to not drink the beer, go back home and pretend I'd never stopped by, and ignore the invitation in her eyes, I damn well ignored it.
The woman laughed at my blatant come-on, revealing straight white teeth and a dimple on the right side of her face. But after a shit day, a shit week, indulging in something that I wanted—not needed—sounded perfect.
Like me, she must have been caught in the rain, which was heavier than I'd expected it to be when I came to see Lewis. The ends of her hair looked damp where they curled against her back.
But the smile was all I got in response, which only intrigued me further.
"Educate me on soccer, huh?" she mused quietly, leaning back on her stool and folding her arms over her chest. Those big eyes focused on the match, one I'd wanted to watch from home, except I had an appointment with my agent, something I couldn't ignore. Looking at her delicate profile in the dim light of the pub, I couldn't even regret that I wasn't at home, watching Tottenham and Bethnal Green, the latter who I'd be playing in short order.
"Football," I corrected with a grin. When she rolled her eyes, I laughed. "Been in London long?"
"About ten days." With graceful fingers, she traced a line of condensation along the surface of her glass. "I'm here to study at Oxford for Michaelmas."
I nodded. A smart, cheeky American then.
"You probably meet many interesting people," she said carefully.
"Why's that?"
She gestured at Carl. "I assumed you worked here or were here a lot or something."
He lifted his bushy gray eyebrows in question, probably wondering if I'd answer her honestly.
I was a footballer, and my brother was the pub owner. And not only did I not spend a lot of time here, but it was the first time I'd ever stopped by without my little brother asking first.
"My brother owns it," I said. "While I do meet some characters in my job, I'm sure Carl has me beat for good stories."
Carl snorted. The American smiled.
"Let's say I'm interested in this soccer lesson," she began, turning slightly on her stool until her knees touched my legs under the bar. I didn't move. Neither did she.
My elbow bumped hers. "For the sake of argument, and since the rest of the world calls it football, can we dispense with the s-word, please?"
She grinned. "That really bothers you, doesn't it?"
"Well, it's the wrong name, so yes." And not that I'd say it out loud, but playing that game—the one she was currently disparaging with her American label—was the center of my entire universe. If we sat at those stools long enough, or Carl flipped to the right channel, a replay would likely come on showing me on the pitch, doing what I did so well. The only thing I did well, it felt like, even as my body was trying to tell me I was getting too bloody old to keep going at it the way I wanted.
Thirty-one felt a decade older some days, especially given the young talent.
She gave a magnanimous wave of her hand. "Fine. When in Rome and all that."
"They call it football there too," I pointed out.
Carl walked past and shook his head when he saw how closely we were sitting together—the American and me.
"What's your name?" I asked.
She licked her lips, pulling my attention to her mouth. It was a bloody marvelous mouth too. When I tore my eyes away and met her gaze again, it was knowing. It was also full of banked heat. The pretty American girl had no problem with me staring at her pretty lips.
"Lia," she answered.
I held out my hand. "Jude."
No last names were offered, which was fine by me. If she didn't live here, and paid no attention to football, my last name wouldn't mean anything to her. But all the same, I decided not to risk it.
The past few weeks, the pressure of being me—Jude McAllister, who was carrying his team on his slowly aging back and trying desperately to keep them out of mediocrity, who was trying to keep his younger brother from meddling in his life, who was making sure his family knew how wrong they'd been about him—was a slowly growing millstone around my neck.
For one night, I didn't want to feel any of those things.
Each day that I poorly juggled my responsibilities while balancing a high-demand career was another day that I craved an escape. One night, like this one, where I could pretend no one wanted anything of me. One night when I could flirt with a beautiful woman, a night when I could indulge in something harmless and only for me.
When she slid her cool fingers up my palm, I felt the charge of it up the length of my arm, like she'd plugged me into a socket.
"Jude," she repeated slowly.
Lia was tasting those letters on her tongue, and fuck all if it wasn't the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. I wanted to hear her gasp it into my ear with her nails digging into my back.
Because I was feeling particularly turned on by every facet of this brief interaction, I did the same back. I licked my bottom lip and met her eyes. "Lia," I murmured. Her pupils dilated, a pulse fluttering wildly at the base of her slender throat.
"We are definitely having a moment here." She glanced down at my hand, still holding hers.
Slowly, I pulled mine away, using the tips of my fingers to curl along the edges of hers, and she swallowed.
I watched her face as she settled her hands back around the pint glass in front of her. "How very American of you to point it out."
She lifted her beer, and I clinked my glass against it.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'm about to ruin it."
"Are you now?"
Lia set her chin in her hand, like she had earlier, only she fully turned on her stool, so I had no choice but to either bracket her crossed legs with mine or be turned away.
I chose the former, stretching one arm along the back of her seat. That long, curling hair brushed against my forearm, and I fought the urge to see how it felt tangled in my fingers.