The Play

  “Fuck that,” I mumble, holding the ball tight beneath me.

  “It’s the rules,” he says, leaning over me so his lips are near my ear. I can’t be sure but I’m almost certain he has an erection and its pressing against the top of my ass. He said he wasn’t wearing a cup so it has to be all him.

  Please let it be all him.

  “Fuck your rules,” I manage to say.

  He pauses. “No rules, then? All right.”

  I feel him lean back, easing off me slightly.

  Then his hands are down at my shoulders and underneath my arms and his fingers are going crazy.

  I yelp in surprise. My fucking god, is he tickling me?

  “What?” I cry out before bursting into nervous giggles. “You can’t tickle!”

  “No rules,” he says, and I can hear the enjoyment in his voice.

  “Stop!” I yell, laughing again. “Please, this is torture!”

  “Release the ball.”

  But I can’t. I’m laughing too hard, my body attempting to curl up into a ball even though I’m between him like a vise.

  “I’m going to bite your leg,” I warn him, trying to twist around and see if I can get a nip of his grass-stained knee. I’m flexible but I’m not that flexible.

  “Release the ball.”

  “Fine!” I shout, but since I can’t move I can’t even get it out from under me. “Fine, you win, you can have the ball.”

  Suddenly he gets up and I’m free. I roll over onto my back and stare at him, holding up the ball. If he was one step closer to my face and his shorts weren’t so tight, I could try and see up them.

  He looks down at me, not smiling, but there is a hint of triumph in those expressive eyes.

  I shake the ball at him. “Aren’t you going to take it?”

  He continues to stare. I can’t tell what the hell he is thinking. I feel like he’s trying to memorize me.

  After a few beats and as the rain falls down on us, he takes the ball with one hand then grabs my hand with the other.

  “Come on,” he says. “I think we’ve had enough for today.”

  I’m hauled effortlessly to my feet, my body mere inches from his. We’re both breathing hard, like we just had epic sex. I can only imagine.

  “Hope that gave your article some insight,” he tells me, voice low and eyes focused on mine. I watch the streams of water run down his face. I barely feel the cold that’s slowly seeping into my bones, the feeling in my muscles that warns me I’ll be sore tomorrow.

  I nod, licking my lips, tasting water and salt. “I think it will.”

  He glances at my car in the distance, brows furrowed. “We should probably go clean up and get dry.”

  “Sure,” I say, hoping that this might turn into the two of us cleaning up and getting dry…together. “Do you need a ride home? How did you get here?”

  “I took a cab,” he says, taking a step away from me and tucking the ball underneath his arm.

  I look at his outfit briefly, not wanting for my eyes to get trapped in the tractor beam that is his body. I could literally stare at it all day, every single muscle and ripped line that his wet shorts and t-shirt display. “You took a cab in that?”

  “I was dry at the time. And anything goes in San Francisco, doesn’t it?”

  I grin at him. “It sure does. How about in Edinburgh?”

  He looks away and shrugs. “Just about.” He jerks his chin at my car. “How about we get moving? You don’t want to catch a cold standing around here.”

  He starts walking to the car and I wait just a moment to watch his ass go before I catch up with him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lachlan

  I didn’t really know what to expect when I told Kayla to meet me at the rugby match. I just figured if she could see the game being played, maybe it would help her with her writing. It would give her more than what I gave her before, which was nothing.

  The only problem was the game ended a half hour earlier than usual because of the weather, so she only got a few glimpses of it before it was my turn to show her the ropes. I know she thought I arranged it all so I could show off, even though nothing could be further from the truth.

  All right. So maybe there was some truth to it. But I had no idea that she actually wanted to play with me. She took off her fancy shoes and work jacket, and got down and dirty in the mud with me, without any hesitation.

  This solidified that the girl was nuts. Clearly. But there was something about her brand of crazy that intrigued me, maybe even more than it should have. Enough so that when she pulled up to the flat I’ve been renting near AT&T Park, I did something I never thought I’d do.

  I invited her inside.

  I haven’t had a girl in my home for a long time, whether it be in Edinburgh or San Francisco, and I didn’t think I’d start now, especially when I was so close to going back to Scotland. And even though it’s because I’m being polite, because I don’t want her to drive home shivering cold and wet, it still surprises me.

  “Do you want to come upstairs?”

  She stares blankly at me, her eye makeup starting to gather underneath her eyes. We are both dirty, muddy wrecks and I feel bad that her car is taking the brunt of it.

  I try to smile, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “It doesn’t seem right for you to drive home like this.”

  “Do you have a stash of women’s clothes upstairs?”

  “No. But I have some dry, clean clothes you can wear. Just till you get home.” I glance at her thighs and trim waist. My clothes will be absolutely swimming on her, but still.

  “Okay,” she says, smiling, color coming to her cheeks. I get her to park in the empty space that’s leased to my unit and we head upstairs.

  I wish I’d tidied up a bit. “Uh, sorry it’s a shithole,” I tell her as we walk inside the flat.

  She looks around and shrugs. “Looks like a man lives here. I’m okay with that.”

  I watch her briefly, her jeans clinging to her legs and perky arse, her long hair sticking to her back. She’s pretty toned all over and proved to be in great shape earlier today. I need to stop checking her out though.

  “I’ll get you something. Be right back,” I tell her before disappearing into the bedroom. I grab a clean towel from the linen closet, then fish out the smallest t-shirt I have, which will still dwarf her, and a pair of clean drawstring running shorts.

  When I come back, she’s staring at the weird art on the walls. “This all you?” she asks as I hand her the clothes and towel.

  I shake my head. “Nah. Came with the place. I haven’t been here long enough to settle in. No personal touches.”

  She thanks me for the towel and starts fluffing her hair with it. “When do you leave?”

  “Two weeks,” I tell her. “Actually, less than that.” I gesture to the washroom. “Did you want to shower?”

  A coy smile tugs at her lips. “Is that an invitation?”

  I stare at her, not sure what to say.

  She laughs. “Just kidding. Go ahead, I’m fine with this.”

  I swallow, give her a nod, and shower fast, even though the hot water begs me to stay longer. I wrap the towel around my waist and look at myself in the mirror. Without a shirt, every tattoo on my shoulders, arms and torso is on display, and I hope she doesn’t ask me about them again. They each represent a part of my life, and some of those parts, a girl like her just wouldn’t understand.

  When I come out the washroom, I’m surprised to find her sitting at the table with a notepad and pen in her hand, her phone beside her. She’s wearing my clothes, which look strangely becoming on her. They look…right.

  She looks up at me and her eyes widen. To her credit, she blinks and immediately averts her eyes back to the paper. I quickly go into my room and throw on jeans and a t-shirt before coming back out to the living room.

  “So,” she says, and I notice she’s trying not to meet my eyes.

  I take a seat across from her and stud
y her. She’s tapping her pen against the table, reading over the jotted questions on the paper, chewing on her lower lip. Her mascara is still smudged beneath her eyes, but other than that she looks fresh, her skin like cream. I guess she can feel my gaze because she finally looks up. “So,” I prompt her and gesture to the work in front of her, “what’s this?”

  Her mouth twists sheepishly. “I realized that I still haven’t interviewed you properly.”

  “You really aren’t much of a journalist, are you?” I say. I know I don’t sound like I’m joking, but I am. Still, Kayla’s mouth turns down at that and I realize she’s far more sensitive about this whole thing than I thought.

  “No,” she says after a beat. “I’m just trying.”

  I don’t like hearing that melancholy in her voice. It’s such a change from the coy, flirtatious girl from earlier. “You’re doing a great job,” I reassure her.

  “Do you mind?”

  I shake my head. “Ask away.” I pause. “I promise I’ll be a gentleman this time.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I like it when people say what’s on their mind,” she says. “I’m not so different.”

  “No, you definitely aren’t.”

  She looks at me, eyes soft, and I can’t help but stare back at her. You could get lost in those eyes. They’re so dark, like wandering in the woods at night.

  I clear my throat, realizing I’m scrutinizing her, and she sits up straighter, a faint blush coming to her cheeks. “Okay,” she says. “Well, the one thing I want to know is…why is this such a passion project for you?”

  “Bram’s initiative?”

  “Yeah,” she says, tapping her pencil against her lips. “What made you hop on a plane from Scotland and come to help him out? Are the two of you really close?”

  I watch her for a moment, but her expression is hopeful, innocent. She doesn’t realize she’s almost getting too personal again. “We’re not that close, but I take family very seriously. Truth be told, I misunderstood Bram. From his social media, from what my parents would say about him, I just assumed he was a playboy who wouldn’t grow up. And while that was true, I also didn’t think he was the type to be charitable. But what he’s doing proves the guy is really invested in making a difference. He wants to do more with his life. He wants to be seen as more. And that’s something I can relate to.”

  “This is almost turning into a bromance,” she says under her breath.

  “Also,” I add carefully, “I believe in his vision. The underrepresented are the underdogs. They are the ones fighting a fight that no one can imagine. He’s giving a home to those people, the ones who have been cast aside. The strays. The wounded, the ruined, and the lost. Society can’t begin to understand their problems, and it rarely provides a solution either. Though Bram’s complex is small, it’s a start. Big things start somewhere. Great things can come from this.”

  She’s scribbling furiously as she writes it all down. I eye her phone. “Would it not be easier to record this on your phone?”

  She smiles but doesn’t look up. “It feels more authentic this way.” She reads it over, her lips moving, then raises her brow, impressed. “So do you think you’ll go back to Scotland wanting to do something similar? Follow in his footsteps?”

  My lips twitch into a small smile. “I might.”

  Her brows furrow. She’s assessing me, trying to read what I mean. I know better than to turn her away from the subject matter. This is really about Bram, not me.

  We talk a bit more about the next steps needed in the development, my rugby career, and some things about Scotland. To her credit, she manages to keep the questions at a shallow level, even though after a while I want to flip the tables on her and start asking her questions. Not to even the score—just because I’m getting curious. I hate to admit it, but I want to know more about her—this crazy, flirtatious, ballsy, ambitious, yet sensitive girl. From the things I’ve heard from Bram compared to the things I’ve seen, I’m starting to think she’s a bit misunderstood too.

  But I don’t ask her. Because that’s not why I’m here and that’s not why she’s here, no matter how I catch her glancing at me from time to time. Funny how it annoys me when Justine casts a sly glance, but when Kayla does it…it’s flattering.

  That’s just my ego talking though. Sometimes it can be as big as the moon. Other days it’s not much more than a seed.

  When we’re all done, I get up from my chair and say, “That went well. I hope you got everything you need.”

  She stares at me for a moment, then says, “Oh,” and gets to her feet and starts shoving her stuff in her purse. “Yes, thank you. That should be it. I think I already have the angle and everything.”

  “Good,” I say, feeling strangely awkward. “If you need anything else, just ask.” I don’t think I’ve ever talked this much in a long time, and even though saying goodbye should be simple, somehow it’s not coming across that way.

  I watch as she slides her shoes on her feet. I suppress a grin from the sight of her in my baggy workout clothes and leopard print heels.

  She looks up and catches my eye, flashing me a playful smile. “Maybe I’ll start a new fashion trend.”

  “You can pull it off,” I admit, folding my arms across my chest.

  Her eyes rest briefly on my forearms, then she looks away, slinging her purse over her shoulder and heading for the door.

  “Oh, wait,” I tell her. I go into the kitchen and pull out a plastic bag, then take her wet jeans, shirt, and a tiny pair of pink underwear that were drying near the sink and shove them inside. I walk over to her and hand her the bag. “Don’t forget your clothes.”

  She tugs at the t-shirt she’s wearing. “And what about your clothes? Will I see you before you leave?”

  I shrug. “Maybe. If you don’t, keep them.”

  She frowns for a moment, then raises her chin. “I’m sure I’ll get them to Bram soon. Well…thanks again for agreeing to meet with me.”

  “Thanks for being a good sport.”

  “Ha,” she says, opening the door. “I have a feeling I’ll be cursing you tomorrow when I can’t feel my calves.”

  She wiggles her fingers at me and leaves. I stand there for a moment, watching her sashay off, her perky little arse eclipsed by my shorts.

  I go back into my flat and close the door. I lean back against it, close my eyes, and exhale. I can still see her walking away in my mind.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kayla

  I’m such an idiot.

  Seriously. I really thought that if I conveniently forgot my wet clothes behind at his place, it would give me an excuse to go back and get them. But fuck, this dude is not like the others. It’s like flirting with a block of ice. And yeah, I could see it slowly melting over time—I mean, I’m still convinced he had an erection when he was pinning me to the ground—but Lachlan doesn’t have much time here. Which means I don’t have a lot of time to try.

  “What about your vow?” Nicola asks as Ava noisily sips on her smoothie. It’s Saturday afternoon and the three of us are in a coffee shop, celebrating the fact that I’d finished my article and handed it in to Neil yesterday, who is going to fix it up and hand it in to Joe. I’d spent three days writing it and rewriting it until finally I was happy with it. Neil was happy with it. And Nicola just read the whole thing, looking damn impressed.

  Naturally though, the conversation shifted to Lachlan. Well, me bitching about Lachlan, this beast of a man who seems forever off-limits.

  “My vow?” I repeat, confused as to what that has to do with anything.

  I look over at Ava who is coloring in her book, her tongue sticking out in concentration. I put my hands over her ears and say, “Fuck my vow.”

  When I release Ava, she looks at me then her mom, and says, “Auntie Kayla said a bad word again.”

  Nicola smiles at her adoringly then gives me a mock stink-eye. After having the two of them live with me for so long, Ava knows the drill very well.
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  “I knew you wouldn’t last very long with your…drought,” Nicola says, rather smugly I might add.

  “Hey, I’m still going,” I tell her. “But for Lachlan, I would make the exception. In fact, if by some grace of god I was able to get in his pants, I swear I’d never touch another man again.”

  She looks startled at that. “Jeez. Be careful what you wish for, Kayla.”

  I wave my hand at her dismissively before sucking down my iced coffee. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t happen. He is completely immune to my charms. I mean, I was running around in the mud, soaking wet in a white t-shirt. I was writhing beneath him. It was practically like having sex. And yet…nothing. Later on at his place, he was about to take a shower, and I made a joke about joining him. You should have seen his face.”

  “Did he look disgusted?” Nicola says, already sympathetic.

  “No,” I tell her. “But thanks for thinking he might have. He just looked…I don’t know. I can’t read him at all. It’s like he didn’t even hear me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t,” she says.

  “He heard me,” I say, leaning back in my chair and folding my arms. “He’s just not interested.”

  “Well, you can’t be everyone’s type,” she tells me, taking one of Ava’s crayons and coloring a square before Ava swats her away.

  “I refuse to believe that.”

  She sighs and looks up at me. “I have to say though, I didn’t think he would give you this much.” She nods at the article on the table I printed out from my work computer. “I mean, whenever I’ve spoken to him, he’s only responded in monosyllabic caveman grunts.”

  She’s not exactly wrong. Half of his responses to me are in the form of grunts and other manly noises, but I feel more adept at distinguishing those noises. “Getting him to talk is kind of like pulling teeth. The whole time I was asking him questions, I was terrified I was going to say something wrong and set him off like a bomb again.”

  “I wonder what his deal is,” Nicola muses.