Chapter Twelve

Lucas

“This is seriously sublime.” Violet gives an irresistible smile before tasting her salmon. I don’t remember the last time a girl was so artlessly enthusiastic over something so simple. Except Violet doesn’t inhabit the same circles I do, where everyone takes the A-list life for granted.

She’s like a breath of fresh air, and damn if she isn’t more addictive than any champagne I’ve tasted.

“My dad’s going to be so jealous when I tell him I’ve been here.” She shakes her head as our second course arrives. “It’s just as well they’re away this weekend, otherwise he’d expect me to take them home a doggy bag.”

“It’s good,” I concede. “But not as good as your picnic.” It’s the truth. Not that she seems to think I mean it, by the dramatic roll of her eyes.

“I might be able to cook, but I’m not a chef. Can you imagine the pressure working in a commercial kitchen?” She gives a big fake shudder and takes a sip of the champagne I ordered with our meal. “Talk about deadline hell.”

“I don’t have a problem with working under pressure.”

“That’s just as well, considering what you do for a living.” She takes another longer sip of her drink, and I can’t tear my gaze away. How does she make something as simple as drinking so bloody sexy?

“I like the adrenaline rush.” Right from the first time I kicked a football, although it was a few more years before I got serious about it. By the time I was eleven, I knew what I wanted to do with my life, but playing sport as a career didn’t even register on my parents’ radar.

She sighs. “I hope you get the all-clear soon, Lucas. It must be driving you bonkers, not knowing.”

I’m not supposed to say anything until the official announcement early next week. Obviously, my agent and coach know, but the truth is, the first person I wanted to tell when they gave me the news was Violet.

It’s not like I’m contractually bound to keep my mouth shut.

I lean over the table and thread my fingers through hers. “Guess what? The medics gave me the all clear earlier today. I can start training again.”

Her smile lights up the room. “Oh, that’s fantastic news. I’m so happy for you.”

“It’s not common knowledge yet. But I wanted you to know.”

A delicate blush heats her cheeks, which is…fuck, it’s irresistible. Strings? What strings?

“I won’t tell a soul,” she whispers. “You can trust me.”

I know I can, and I’m this close to telling her about the transfer, which is now a done deal except for all parties signing on the dotted line. Sod it, I am going to tell her. Who’s gonna know?

Before I can say anything, she picks up her glass and taps mine. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” I take a mouthful to keep her company, and when she goes to pick up the bottle, I take it from her and refill her glass. I don’t know what distracts me, since the place is packed and people are coming and going all the time, but from the corner of my eye I see a couple ushered to their seats three tables behind Violet.

Bollocks. It’s Geoffrey Hawthorne-Douglas. I’ve not had a lot to do with him, and it’s not like he’s tried to pick a fight on the few occasions we’ve spoken, but there’s something about the bloke that irritates me.

He’s the type who can’t take a hint, and if he sees me here I’m willing to bet my transfer fee he’ll stroll over and act like we’re the best of mates.

I don’t want anyone interrupting my date with Violet, least of all a try-hard like Hawthorne-Douglas, and as I place the bottle back in the cooler, I slide a few inches down my chair.

Yeah, that’s not going to work. Violet’s already giving me a weird look. I chance a quick glance across the floor, and HD appears focused on his girlfriend.

Of all the bloody places he could’ve gone.

“Lucas? Is everything all right?”

I cut HD from my mind and resume a more natural slouch. “Everything’s great. Anyway, there’s something I—” My second attempt to confide in Violet dies in my throat as, with a sense of resigned inevitability, I see HD leap to his feet, a wide grin on his face as he looks directly at me.

Bollocksy shit.

“Don’t look now,” I grind between my teeth, like I’m in a bad gangster movie from the forties. “We have company. I’ll try and get rid of them.”

She scrunches her nose, but I don’t have time to enjoy it since HD and girlfriend arrive at our table. “Hey, Lucas,” he says, planting one hand on the table like we hang out on a regular basis. “How’s it going, mate? Bet you’re pissed off not being on tour, huh?”

Although he has his back to Violet, she stiffens as though his bad manners push all her buttons. I’m pissed off myself. He’s behaving as if both girls are invisible.

“Violet!” gasps his girlfriend, and HD shoots upright as though someone shoved a rocket up his arse. He looks at Violet as though he can’t believe his eyes, before his gaze drops to her cleavage.

Fucking perv. Except that’s only an automatic thought, because my entire head’s thundering with disbelief.

They know each other.

“Monica.” There’s a strangled note in Violet’s voice as she fiddles with the stem of her glass, and Hawthorne-Douglas is still fucking drooling, the wanker.

“Eyeballs,” I growl, and he jerks his head up, but doesn’t look at me. He appears mesmerized by Violet’s face, even though she’s still fiercely focused on her glass.

Jesus Christ, is this the moron she used to date?

I’d assumed it was just some guy who played football at the weekend, not a pro. Not someone I fucking knew.

“Wow, well, Violet,” the moron says, giving her a fake grin which she doesn’t return. I don’t know if she even sees it. It’s hard not to punch his damn teeth down his throat. “You look…fantastic.”

His girlfriend gives an audible sniff of disapproval, and Violet looks up at me. There’s an expression of trapped horror on her face, and I have the murderous urge to rip Hawthorne-fucking-Douglas’s head off.

Since she appears incapable of replying to the jerk, I lean back in my chair in a deliberately casual manner, even though my fingers are itching to curl into fists.

“Violet and I are having a private date here, mate.” There’s only the slightest inflection on that word, but even if the sarcasm goes right over HD’s head, it sure doesn’t miss his girlfriend, who goes rigid.

“Right, well, huh.” The disbelief is obvious in his laugh, which scrapes along my nerves like razor blades. “It’s been great seeing you again, Violet. It’s been too long.”

Violet takes a shuddering breath, and fuck this. It’ll be worth being banned, simply for the satisfaction of smashing that smug look off his ugly mug.

Back the hell off. I’ve not been this pissed about someone’s attitude since I used to defend my brother at school. But unlike at school, when the worst that happened was being sent to the principal’s office, this time I risk ruining Violet’s night.

Anyway, the prick’s finally backing off. But then Violet straightens and turns her head to look at him. “Thanks, Geoff.” She gives him a glacial smile that drops the temperature by about twenty degrees. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”

Whoa, epic shade. I hide my smirk, not that anyone’s looking at me. Hawthorne-Douglas might be thick, but he definitely gets her message loud and clear.

With an embarrassed nod, which makes him look like a fucking turkey, he turns to leave. His girlfriend, instead of following him, leans over the table to Violet.

“Congratulations, Vi,” she says in a breathy tone that for some reason makes my flesh crawl. “Not every girl gets a date with her teenage crush, whose face she used to plaster all over her bedroom wall.”

…

Violet

Monica gives me her die, bitch, smile before she swirls about, takes Geoff’s hand, and disappears back to their table.

Kill me now.

My face is burning, and I don’t need a mirror to know how terrible I look, especially compared to Monica’s classic blonde beauty.

So much for mentally patting myself on the back for letting Geoff know what I think of him—or, rather, that I don’t think about him anymore. I should’ve known Monica wouldn’t take that lying down.

I can’t look at Lucas, so grab the champagne bottle and pour myself another glass. My hand shakes, and a few drops splash onto the tablecloth. God, how much have I drunk?

Since I can’t remember, I slug down half the glass instead, and a happy buzz vibrates through my mind, temporarily dulling the excruciating humiliation pulverizing my entire existence.

My teenage crush. That’s so low, even for Monica. Hiding under the table is looking better by the second.

“Hey, Violet.” Lucas lifts my chin with one finger, and my reflexes are so shot to hell I don’t even pull back so I can keep staring at the tablecloth. At least he’s not laughing at me. Not that he would. But he might want to laugh inside. “Are you okay?”

There’s a soft note in his voice, and all I want to do is drown in his beautiful blue eyes and pretend the last ten minutes never happened. Except they did, and even if he’s too kind to throw the teenage crush comment in my face, it’s going to haunt me every moment we’re together.

“Yes, I’m…” I clear my throat and start again. “I’m fine.” My mouth is so dry it’s like I haven’t drunk anything for a week. I take another quick sip of champagne, and that happy buzz surfaces again. If Lucas can ignore Monica’s bitchy remark, then so can I.

It’s not going to spoil tonight. I finish my glass for Dutch courage because suppose all he sees when he looks at me now is a giggly teenage groupie?

A waiter appears by our table with a bottle of water and two glasses and I watch, faintly bemused, as Lucas places one glass by my plate, before drinking his own water like it’s nectar from the gods.

Stuff that. If I have any hope of making it out of here with my dignity intact I need all the alcoholic help I can get.

Where’s the bloody champagne bottle gone?

Lucas leans over the table and my stomach tumbles and all my nerves go on red alert. Please don’t ask me about the posters.

“Now I’m back in training, I have to watch how much I drink. The boss would fry my nuts if I got pissed tonight.”

I blink, but his face is still a little fuzzy. There must be some kind of filter on the lights. And of course! He’s been given the all clear. Relief washes through me that he’s obviously far more interested in talking about that, than the revelation I used to worship him from afar.

“Well, that would be a disaster.”

“Yeah, I’m quite attached to them.”

This strikes me as insanely funny, and I laugh. Then something occurs to me. “If they’d told you a couple of days earlier, you could’ve gone on tour. What a bummer.”

“But then I wouldn’t be here with you.”

He says the best things. I’m melting inside and have the overwhelming desire to crawl onto his lap and rest my head against his shoulder. From a million light years away, common sense tries to raise its head. He’s a born charmer, Vi.

I know that. But I still love the way his flirting makes me glow inside.

And outside, remember?

This time I manage not to laugh again.

After we order dessert, I need to excuse myself. “I won’t be a minute,” I tell him, as I carefully lay my napkin on the table, and wish I’d worn more comfortable shoes. I’ll die if I wobble on the heels and twist my ankle.

I glide between the tables and reach the bathroom without any heel catastrophe. The bathroom is all bright and glittery with way too many mirrors, but it does have a circular velvet sofa in the middle of the room, which is very film-starry.

When I emerge from the loo, my cocoon of warm smexiness shatters at the sight of Monica washing her hands. Our gazes clash in the mirror. For a second, I’m tempted to go to the wash basin on the other side of the luxurious room.

Sod that. I stalk over and stand next to her, which she clearly didn’t expect, and because I’m going to have the most fantastic sex of my life with Lucas tonight, I rake a disdainful glance over her, from her designer shoes to her salon-perfect hair. Yeah, it’s a little hard to be disdainful when someone looks so well put together, but I give it my best shot.

She sweeps her own glance over me, obviously can’t find any fault, so gives me another of her smiles that are designed to wither her opponent. “Lucas Carter?” There’s a fake friendly tone in her voice. “Where did you manage to find him?”

She might pretend she doesn’t care, but I know Monica from years back, and she’s consumed by curiosity. What a shame I’ve no intention of confiding in her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Okay, it’s not the most original comeback, but I’m concentrating on applying more lipstick. On second thoughts, I might just leave it, as my lips are still pretty impressive, considering I’ve just eaten. It’s got nothing to do with my oddly uncoordinated hand and the fear I might end up looking like a clown.

Monica gives a tinkling laugh, which I happen to know she cultivated only after years of practice in her bedroom with me and the other girls as her audience. I don’t know why she bothered. It’s as fake as her bloody pledge of friendship was.

I sigh, not because I care any longer that she stole my boyfriend, but because we were good friends, once.

“Honey,” she says, and I steel myself for her inevitable put down, until I remember that I don’t care what she thinks anymore.

Go, me! Yay!

“Don’t get your hopes up. We all know what Lucas Carter’s like, don’t we? And he hasn’t changed much from when we were fifteen and you were so hot for him.”

Wow. She just can’t let it go. It shouldn’t sting, but it does, and what’s worse is it brings back the bitchy thing she said in front of Lucas, when I’d managed to push it to the back of my mind.

When I found out about Geoff and Monica, it was such a shock I was literally speechless. Our paths never crossed afterward, and I never had the chance to tell either of them how much I hated them.

Funny, I don’t hate them anymore. I just think they’re two horrible people who deserve each other.

And then I catch the satisfied smirk on her face. She always got the last word. It was her thing, and she always bragged how nobody could ever get one over her.

As we turn to leave I stop right in front of her, and in my heels we’re almost eye-to-eye. Maybe there is something I need to tell her, after all.

“Yes, I know about Lucas’s reputation. But we’re having fun. And at least I know he’s with me tonight because of me, and not because he wants to suck up to my dad.”

The blood drains from her face, and I almost regret my stabby words. I suppose they were a bit mean, all things considered, but when she draws herself up and looks at me as though I’m muck on her shoe, I’m glad I threw that in her face.

I toss my hair and stalk out, and any lingering nostalgia for the way things used to be die an indifferent death. Finally, the closure I’ve needed.

I drop my lipstick back in my bag. Monica and Geoff can have each other. I’ve got Lucas, even if it’s just for a short time.

Condoms, I so can’t wait to use you.