Chapter 10

Luca

A pitfall of modern technology like cell phones was if you were a knucklehead like me and left your phone at the check-in counter of an Australian airport, you couldn’t use it to message the smokin’ babe you were dying to bone.

Who knew?

All I had thought of for days was getting back to hockey, and my hands on that lovely round ass, and I’d fucked it.

The phone. Not the ass.

There was no doubt Jasmine would think I stood her up, and I had the distinct impression my feisty princess wasn’t one to hand out second chances. Nope, those sweet, plump lips would never call my name as her tight pussy came all over my face. And I would never call out hers as I pounded deep inside her. I’d blown my chance instead of my load. I’ve also spent too much time with Teddy.

Frustration curled my toes in my sleep and dulled my appetite at breakfast. On my morning jog, my pace was slow, and my breathing labored during my cool down and stretches, the memory of her taste tickled my tongue distracting me from the tightness in my Achilles but rattling my breath on exhalation. My misery could not be concealed, and I may have sobbed while dressing in the hotel bathroom, Finn and Nate looming on the other side of the door, whispering words of encouragement.

“Don’t worry, mate. At least you still have the footy to look forward to,” commiserated Finn when I finally emerged red-eyed and snotty-nosed.

Nate scoffed and punched his bestie in the arm, “Yeah, ‘cause watching thirty-six hot and sweaty guys running around in tight shorts is a fair trade for a hot chick.” Realizing his mistake, His brows pinched. “Oh, but I guess for you, it might be? I dunno how hot this Jasmine was, or how much you’re into dudes. Teddy said you have a thing for Asher but … ya know. Whatever winks your kink.”

The burn of my cheeks distracted me from my misery. “Had a thing. I had a thing for Asher as in the past tense. There is no thing anymore.”

Nate seemed as convinced as I felt, and changed the subject, “Are you sure you’re okay on the couch? As the biggest among us, you should probably have the bed.”

Yes. Not only was I not sharing my bed with Jasmine, but I also didn’t have a bed. “It’s fine. I’ve roomed with Charles Mahone for every away game the last year, and the guy snores like a bear.” I waited for their gasps, for any reaction to my blatant name-dropping, but none came. Then I remembered where I was and who I was with. There were maybe a handful of people in Sydney who knew who Charles Mahone was. Or that he took home the Hart Memorial Trophy, the NHL’s MVP award the last two years running. Clearing my throat, I continued. “Uhh, anyway. He’s another player, and he snores, so basically, I’m saying I’ve spent loads of time squeezed in on a sofa. Besides, Finn is almost as big as me, and Nate, you paid for the rooms.”

“Room.” Finn corrected. “He paid for the room because he only booked one room in the wrong hotel because just like his wife says, he’s an idiot .”

A fresh wave of self-pity washed over me. The wrong hotel. No phone. No chance of Jasmine. Back to monk hood.

“Hey!” Nate whined, more than slightly offended. “I’m not an idiot. I’m cheap. You saw how much the same Shangri-la was, Finn. It could have paid for a whole term of kinder for the big twins. A whole term.”

“So, you’re a cheap idiot?” Like true brothers, the guys dropped to the floor and began to wrestle. Wanting to laugh but without the energy to do it, I left them to battle it out and made my way out to the balcony, watching the bobbing of boats in choppy waves while I moped.

I was in love.

Again.

AFL was the best goddam game on the planet ... apart from hockey. The crowd. The noise. The muscles. Damn.

According to the boys, it was a perfect day for football. Blue skies. Light wind and a top temperature of seventy-one degrees Fahrenheit. Our seats, hard as they were, were right on the boundary, and the oval pitch was completely open. No plexiglass barriers in sight. You could smell men and sweat and fury. The size and physicality of the players, along with their stamina, was … fucking insane. Gravity defying. Picture a guy the height and weight of your average hockey player on skates, leaping into the air like Baryshnikov. And the ground was huge, measured in meters, but my feeble mind calculated that some footy fields were almost three times as wide and double the length of an NFL one.

For ninety percent of the time, I had no idea what was happening, but ripped bodies were slamming together, balls were caught—sorry—marked mid-air, over the heads and off the backs of other guys in a thing called a specky, and goals were kicked from a good sixty yards out. Caught up in the moment, I screamed BALL, and KICK IT alongside forty thousand fans. I consumed three jelly-filled donuts and had my first-ever pie with dead horse. Much to my relief, this was slang for a meat pie with tomato sauce, or ketchup, not a dish of the equine variety, and downed one, two, or maybe five too many beers.

It was an experience like no other, and Nate was right. It was a distraction. But one that was over all too soon. Pouting resumed on the twenty-minute Uber drive back to the motel. And not just by me. Nate and Finn’s team, the Sydney Swans, were defeated by a team from Melbourne, the Essendon Bombers. Naturally, as winners, the Bombers became my team, and a jersey, beanie, and scarf were purchased as we left the stadium. The guys didn’t seem to like that.

“Of all the teams you had to go for, it had to be the Bombers,” mumbled Finn, who had his face buried into the collar of his shirt. I think in shame. Or disgust.

I flashed him a wicked grin, “The way I see it, if your team had won, I’d be wearing red and white right now, instead of red and black. Anyway, it’s a good thing you got beaten to a pulp. Black is far more slimming.”

Finn rolled his eyes and leaned against the window, his forehead making a dull thump. “Yeah, cause you have such a gut to worry about.”

“I will if I keep eating and drinking the way I am. Everything tastes so good here. Will they have the same pies at rugby tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Sharing the same glare, they muttered in unison. It was the last non-grunted thing said until later that night when the arguing over who got what side of the bed began. Evie had warned me that the boys would be moody if their team lost, but this was next level. When the epic battle was decided, Nate was on the left, Finn on the right, and they were tucked in and snoozing by ten p.m.

Before dozing off, Finn had handed me his phone, so I could contact Ana. “She’d be going out of her mind.” I’d said. And I meant it. She would, but I just needed to hear her voice, her particular kind of sass would have cheered me endlessly. But with my fingers poised to dial, I realized I had no idea what her number was. Light rippled across the water, the air thick but refreshing as I sat on the balcony, cursing my stupidity. I messaged her on every social platform I could think of, but with all left on sent , I sat like a lump, sulking and pondering.

Grunting snores filtered out from the room behind me as my thoughts shifted to Jasmine.

What’s she doing right now? Was she clutching her phone in her hand like me? Desperately wanting my number to flash on the screen? Or had she given up and hit the clubs to find another me? Wait—the club. Jasmine partied at SWING almost every weekend. After being stood up by me, could she have made her way there?

A voice I suspected may be reason, decided to make itself known while I zipped around the room, moving like I had a puck on the end of my stick and a wide-open net. You’ve just had your heart pulverized. Why chase a girl you have no future with? You’ll only get hurt.

“ It’s just sex.” I lied to myself. “Just sex.”

I tore through our room, grabbing my jacket, and the first pair of shoes I could find—which weren’t mine, cramping my feet inside. After sliding Finn’s phone into my pocket, I hit the streets.

Sydney buzzed with life around me, most of which escaped my attention as I faithfully followed Google Maps directions, my stomach knotting with a sudden thought. Is she there with Katie? Are they doing what they did with me, with someone else? When I eventually made it to SWING , my feet were covered in a hearty layer of blisters—pretty sure my big toe was bleeding—and my body glistened with sweat. New York could be humid as hell, but Sydney’s was thicker. Heavier. The thought of Jasmine with someone else added a second layer. Maybe a third.

I did not wear the humidity well.

My reflection on passing windows was not kind. Sweat trickled down my temples, my straight hair, growing back wavy after the surgery, almost curling as it clung to the nape of my neck. Odd shoes, a black leather jacket, my team’s bright blue and orange training shorts, and a red and black football jersey were hardly high fashion. Understandably, security at the door were hesitant to let me in. There was the distinct air of hobo about me, but a crisp US hundred-dollar bill for each soon had me weaving through the throng of moving bodies.

Every bass-filled beat. Every graze of my arm or flick of dark hair was dizzying. She was everywhere but nowhere. I circled that packed room and all its dark, hidden spaces for an eternity. Waiting. Hoping, stopping only for beer or water before resuming the hunt. Then, just as I was about to give in, I saw her. Well, not her . But her—Katie, standing by the bar, her arms twisted around another blonde’s waist.

Forgoing any greeting, I yelled “Is she here?” into her ear. “Katie, is Jasmine here?”

Once recovered from the shock of a six-foot-four stranger screaming in her face while manhandling her, her ruby-red lips spread into a wicked smile, the very one I’d seen right after she swallowed my load.

“Cowboy. You’re here?”

“Yup,” I nodded, my head twisting like an owl in search of Jasmine. “Is... Is Jasmine with you? I was supposed to meet her, but I lost my phone at the airport and didn’t know her number. Is she here…? I lost my phone.” I repeated like a true twit.

Katie laughed, grabbed her drink in one hand and my elbow in the other, and guided me to the front section of the bar—the socially acceptable one visible from the street. There, the darkness was less forgiving of indiscretions, but the music was more conducive to conversation, especially for someone like Katie who already had reduced hearing. “Sit. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Since I felt that way, too, I did what I was told and sat as Katie looked me up and down, clicking her tongue, then sighing. “Sorry, Cowboy. Jas’s mum isn’t well, and she has to go home. Didn’t she message you?”

“No phone, remember.” Selfishly, my disappointment turned to hope that I tried to disguise. “Umm. Is her mom okay? Does she live far away? Do you think she might be free tomorrow? Can you give me her number? Or better yet, their address?” I disguised nothing.

“Dude, slow down, you’ve asked a lot of questions in a short space of time. I need a second to catch up … and to sus you out.” Taking a sip of her espresso martini, she swallowed and whispered into her pretty friend’s ear. After glaring at me, the companion nodded and slunk into the shadows, leaving me with stone-faced Katie. “What’s your deal?”

“What’s my deal?”

“Yeah, what’s your deal? Obviously, you’re not from around here. Why would I give you my best friend’s details? You two don’t even know each other’s real names.”

“Wait. What?”

Eyes widening with panic, Katie continued without answering, her pace increasing with each word. “Apart from the pertness of your ass, the size of your dick, and my friend being gaga over you, you’re a mystery. You could be a drug dealer. Serial killer. Or worse, married with five kids?” I wasn’t sure how being married was worse than being a killer, but the whole name, and gaga over me things were first and foremost in my mind.

“I know you don’t know my name, Luca, by the way. But you said ‘ we’ as if Jasmine and I didn’t know each other’s names. Is Jasmine, not Jasmine? And is she, whoever she is, really gaga over me? Oh, and is that a good thing here, ‘cause something sick is good here but at home, it’s just that you’re sick.”

Katie tilted her head and blinked rapidly. “You talk more than I remember. You’re bigger, too. If that’s possible.”

I wiped the sweat from my brow and flopped forward till my nose brushed against my legs. “I’m normally pretty quiet. ”

Soft hands twisted into my damp hair, giving a good tug forcibly raising my eyes to hers. “What did you say? I can’t hear or read your lips while you’re weirdly sniffing your knees.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” I puffed out my cheeks on exhalation and started again. “I said I’m normally not this much of a talker, and I promised I’m not a weird stalker, killer, kidnapper type. I’m also not married, though I almost was, and I don’t have kids, nor am I a cowboy or a coach.”

Katie rolled her fingers in encouragement. “Go on.”

“So yeah, I’m not a coach but hockey is a huge part of my life. I play for a team in New York. Well, I did and hope to again when I recover from injury and come off suspension. I’m on vacation with my neighbor and his boyfriend and we are staying with their friends in Byron Bay. We came to Sydney for a football match but are flying back early Monday morning.” It was around this point my inner dialogue kicked in again. Just sex? Just sex? You reek of desperation. This is not just sex. “ I’m a good guy.” I continued “I promise. I can even give you my mom and sister’s numbers if you like … or I would if I could remember them. Did I tell you I lost my phone? Would email do? Shit, I know I’m rambling again, but your friend’s got me all kinds of messed up, and I just wanted to see her one more time before I fly home.”

A round of applause was not what I expected. “That was Impressive. Are you even breathing?”

Between gasps, I choked out, “Nope.”

While I caught my breath, Katie finished her drink, placed the empty glass on the closest table already overflowing with empty glasses, then took her phone from her tiny bag. “I have more questions, especially about hockey … And I’m still not giving you my friend’s number. But I will tell her I saw you and give her yours. And that you blushed so hard when you talked about her and that you didn’t mention sex. Just that you wanted to see her. That’s nice. After what she’s been through, she deserves nice.”

Curiosity forced another question I shouldn’t care to hear the answer for since it was just sex. “What has she been through?”

“None of your bloody business. Do you know your number?”

“Yep. I mean, yes. I do.”

After a torturous pause, Katie tapped the screen and then placed her phone in the palm of my hand. “Type what you want, and your number, and then I’ll pass it on. The rest is up to her.”

A gale-force breath escaped my lungs, sending the perfectly curled tendrils by her temples fluttering. “Awesome. Yes, Thank you so much, Katie. I’ll be extra sure not to kill you now.”

“Not funny, mate.”

As I crafted a message that could easily be interpreted as a declaration of love, internal conflict swirled within me. I added my number and then handed the phone back to its owner.

“Cute, Cowboy,” she said, reading, then returned the phone to her bag. “Very cute.” After standing on tiptoes, she rustled my hair like I was ten, and disappeared into the dark, shouting over her shoulder, “My name is Luna, by the way. Nice to meet you, Luca.”

Smug as the devil, I left, returned to my hotel with a boner borne of hope, then realized I just handed over the number to a phone I’d lost.

Idiot.