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“Thanks, I would have liked to have seen the season out,” I said, bearing my soul just a little. I was missing the sport and my teammates.
It was definitely warm in the Saints’ office and then I realized why – Lucas was still holding my hand. I reluctantly pulled it away.
The Russian cleared his throat. I had forgotten he was there for a moment.
“Oh, well, got to go,” I said, reaching back for my handbag. I know most girls would stick around, but I didn’t want to make a pest of myself.
“No need to rush off,” Lucas assured me, “I can come back.”
“Yeah, I can see the captain anytime,” The Russian agreed. The office felt very small with the two super hunks breathing in all the air.
“Thanks, but Sasha will be waiting for me,” I said, lamely pointing up the hallway to her office area, as if they didn’t know the way.
The Russian rose. “Well, see you at the game maybe,” he said.
“Sure,” I said, giving them both a winning smile; I did my best to sashay up the hallway with a walk that said ‘so confident’ in case they were watching. Who was I kidding? I could barely walk, with my tongue dragging on the ground. I think I was having hot flushes. Then I remembered I still didn’t have a date for the Ball, but… Houston… we had contact.
*****
“You can’t wear that,” Josh, my housemate, rolled his eyes as he sat back on our sofa with a red wine in one hand and the television remote in the other.
“Why not?” I said, defensively. “I love red, and this dress lifts and tucks.”
“It whiffs and sucks, more like it. Next!”
It was my turn to roll my eyes and I stormed off melodramatically back to the bedroom to change. Secretly I was relieved that Josh wanted to vet my Suns’ Gala Ball outfit ... not only because I was still holding hope that The Russian would come with me, but given I was speaking in front of about four hundred people, I wanted to look my best when those eight hundred eyes were on me ... aagh, I was just giving myself heart palpitations. I didn’t want to buy something new if I could avoid it – my playing fees had stopped, my sponsor fees were on standby and my casual sports writing job didn’t pay a lot, but I was applying for full-time roles.
I heard Josh turn the volume up on the television again as he waited for my next appearance. I did have an offer from a couple of local dress suppliers to provide me with a gown for the night, but that was a fallback option. Last time I had taken up the offer, some idiot spilled a drink on me, the stain didn’t come out with dry cleaning and I found myself having to buy a dress that I couldn’t afford because I couldn’t return it. I’d only ever borrow a black dress from now on!
I put on a deep green dress with a plunging neckline and high cut leg that had been given to me after a fashion shoot for one of the team’s sponsors. I was sure this would be a winner and I pranced out to show Josh.
“Good Lord no!” he exclaimed.
“Really?” I frowned at him. “I could have sworn you would love this dress.”
“You look like a harlot,” he said.
I began to laugh. “No one in the whole world says ‘harlot’ anymore. Whore, slut, prostitute, hooker, maybe ... but harlot?”
“Harlot,” he confirmed, sighing, “I think you have no choice, Carla baby ...”
I nodded.
“She did offer,” Josh reminded me.
“But reluctantly,” I said, with a sigh.
I reached for my phone and took it with me when I went in to change. I just hoped that Sasha’s throw away comment about making me a dress was a real option.
