"Do you know how to play?" Reese had asked. He's the youngest brother, and according to Chance, the one who loves to orchestrate practical jokes.
"Yeah," Kyle had said. "I love football. Played it in high school."
"Are you a good kicker?" Dane asked. He's the middle brother and the most reserved one, Chance had told me, though he'd also said Dane enjoys a good joke as much as anybody.
"Oh yeah," Kyle said. "I love a good kickoff."
Chance chimed in to say, "Now remember, there's no getting your kit off until after the final whistle, or you'll be severely penalized. We play by FIFA rules."
"Fee-what?"
"The Fédération Internationale de Football Association," the love of my life said as if my little brother ought to know that already. "How can you be an experienced footballer if you don't know about FIFA?"
"Well... uh..." Kyle shrugged. "I guess you Brits have your own football association and gave it a Frenchy name. In America, we've got the NFL."
Reese grinned. "Does that stand for Nutters and Fucking Losers?"
And that's when I stepped in. They'd had their fun, but my poor brother was looking more confounded every second. The Dixon boys can harass Kyle more later, when we eat lunch and he hears the bizarre British names for the dishes offered to us.
"They're talking about soccer," I said. "Brits call it football."
"Are you serious?" Kyle asked. "These uptight dickwads think soccer is football? That's beyond lame, guys. Pushing a ball around with your feet is a game for girls."
Now, twenty minutes later, the four of them are kicking a ball around like old friends. They all decided to go shirtless for the game, calling it "the British way," though I know they were teasing my brother again with that claim. Kyle has already tackled each of the Dixon boys at least once, twice for Chance. I think my brother enjoys ramming into my fiancé. Chance can handle it. He might be a lawyer, but he's no slouch at athletics. With a body like that, of course he's a fantastic athlete.
He certainly has all the moves in bed.
I watch the guys for a while longer, admiring my hunky soon-to-be-hubby's bod---and, okay, his brothers' bods too. The Dixons are one handsome bunch. Their parents are good-looking too, but not buff. I met them this morning when Chance and I first arrived at the Dixons' home in the countryside, not far from London. William and Claire Dixon had greeted me with enthusiastic hugs. Nobody mentioned Raisa, but Chance's mom had said how happy she was that her son had found such a sweet girl. I took that as an oblique reference to his ex-wife, the antithesis of me.
Claire and William had excused themselves after that so they could make lunch for everyone. The Dixons might live in a big, spiffy old house, but they still do their own cooking. They have a housekeeper to do everything else.
The boys wander back to the patio. They'd left their shirts in a pile on the grass, and each grabs his on the way back to me. All but Reese pull their shirts back on.
Kyle tugs on his shirt while he trots up to me. He winks, then stretches out on the patio on his back, hands linked under his head.
Reese drops onto a chair, holding the soccer ball in both hands and turning it around and around. His shirt is draped over his shoulder.
Dane sits in a chair beside Reese and takes off his glasses to wipe sweat from his forehead with his shirt.
Chance takes the other chaise, next to me, and leans in to kiss me, holding his lips against mine for a blessedly long moment.
"Lucky me," I say when he pulls away. "Surrounded by gorgeous, sweaty Brits."
"Having fun?" he asks.
"Oh yeah. I could get used to this." I glance at his brothers, then smirk at Chance. "I could have my own harem."
"No, you cannot." Chance lifts my left hand to kiss the diamond ring glittering on my third finger. "You're my slave, remember?"
"How could I forget?"
Kyle snorts. "Oh please. Will you two ever get over the slave thing? It was cute in the beginning, but I'm about ready to report Chance to the cops for running a sex trafficking ring."
Yeah, ever since Chance and I got engaged, Kyle has relished every opportunity to torment us with sarcasm.
Chance's brothers are no better.
"Where can I get my own slave?" Reese asks, still turning the ball in his hands. "I've asked for volunteers, but oddly, nobody wants to sign on for the job. How did you ever convince Elena to serve you?"
"She doesn't serve him," Dane says. "She services him, like an old car that needs constant maintenance."
"And plenty of lubrication," Reese adds with a sly grin and a wink.
"That's enough," Chance says. "You've harassed the Americans enough. Give them at least an hour to recover before you start in again."
Looking at Chance, who's sweaty and smeared with dirt, I can't resist. I have to say, "You need a shower, honey. Your personal mechanic insists on it."
"Give him a good wash and wax, Elena," Rees says, tossing the ball onto the lawn. "I need some maintenance too."
I lay my hand on Chance's thigh. "Sorry, I only service one vehicle."
"Enough car jokes," Chance says. He gets up and offers me his hand. "Let's go, love. I'm feeling filthy."
I let him lead me into the house and to the bathroom. Within thirty seconds, we're both naked. I thank heaven the Dixons have a large bathroom with a shower plenty big enough for me and my honey.
He grabs a bar of soap. "You first."
Chance and I have showered together many times, since we moved to a house in New Hampshire that has a generous-size shower. We've got our law practice there too. Sure, I'm the lowly paralegal in the eyes of most people. But Chance and I are partners in every way that counts---at work, at home, and in our hearts.
A few months ago, in a hotel bar, I'd been offered one hot Chance and taken it. I will never regret that. And yeah, that pun is intentional.
During lunch, we all talk about the wedding. It's in two weeks, and we're having it in America so Chance's family can see our home in New Hampshire. They've never been to America before, since Chance always flew to England to see them---because Raisa hadn't wanted to entertain guests. I'm looking forward to hosting the Dixons, and our house is plenty big enough to hold Chance's parents and brothers along with Kyle and his girlfriend, not to mention our friends.
When I explain about the guest rooms in our house, Reese says, "You used to live in New York City, didn't you? That's where you met Chance."
"Yes, I shared an apartment with the most annoying roommate ever," I reply, flashing Kyle a sarcastic grin. "That would be my darling brother."
Kyle points his fork at me. "Watch it, sister. I know what you and Chance used to do on the living room sofa."
I expect Reese to make an off-color joke, but instead he says, "I'd love to see New York."