Page 58 of Out of Bounds

“Win the game this afternoon, and I’ll show you dirty, Coach.”

Gunnar’s heart skipped a beat as she gave him a wink and a shake of her ass as she walked away from him toward her own shower. After a comment like that, he was now considering making his shower a cold one.

By the time they’d made it to the stadium, she was on her fifth phone call of the morning, and Gunnar could tell her nerves were already frayed. She was moving at what seemed like a million miles an hour, making sure that the team had everything they needed. The San Antonio fans were already out in force, some of their tailgating setups blocking the team’s entrance to the stadium. It had taken her two separate phone calls, the second one involving some choice language and a threat to involve the league commissioner if the situation wasn’t settled within fifteen minutes.

“Boss lady is a wee bit scary, Coach,” Liam muttered, leaning forward toward Gunnar.

“Maybe more than a wee bit there, Padre,” Dash commented from next to him. The bus was almost silent, with all eyes trained on Felicity standing at the front letting whomever was on the other end have it.

“Let’s just be thankful she’s on our side,” Gunnar replied, holding back a laugh. He liked knowing his team respected Felicity, even if that respect was born of fear.

Watching her going into attack mode like this was something that Gunnar both loved and hated. On the one hand, there were few things sexier than when this woman took control and righted a situation—especially since he was lucky enough to have the knowledge of just what she was like when she relinquished that control. He loved seeing her passion for her job. Knowing that the gears in that beautiful mind of hers were churning was a wonder to be privy to. But he was also starting to see more and more that she was right—she had to fight to be taken seriously. Even though she’d told him numerous times, seeing it with his own eyes was a vastly different experience. Would her brother or even Jonah have had to threaten to call the commissioner if they were the ones here? Or would the stadium officials have taken care of it without question for them?

"Thank you for sorting all that out,” Gunnar said, standing on the sideline of the pitch, watching his team separate into smaller groups to run warm-up drills. Felicity smiled at him, her tense shoulders seeming to relax slightly as she let out a sigh. She looked slightly out of place on the pitch, dressed more like she was ready for a board meeting than a football match, but at least she was wearing the team colors, and her boots didn’t look like they would aerate the grass.

“I’m still debating calling the commissioner. The league has an anti-bullying policy, and that stunt the fans pulled earlier qualifies as ‘bullying’ in my mind. And who tailgates at nine in the morning?”

"I’m still not entirely sure why anyone wants to hang out in a carpark before a match,” he said, glancing over at her. Her arms were crossed against her chest, pushing up her gorgeous rack. He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse knowing exactly what the swells of her breasts looked like, spilling over the cups of her bra underneath that blouse of hers. “Tail-greeting or whatever you call it is a very American thing. In Europe, we hang out in the pub.”

“Tailgating,” she corrected him, her southern accent highlighting the end of the word in a way that sent a bolt of lust straight through him. She walked up to him, standing close enough he could smell her perfume, as she mirrored his stance and glanced around the stadium filling with fans. “I’m sure you know this, since you watched so much video of this team, but number eight over there always goes to the right when he takes a penalty kick.”

Gunnar swerved his head toward her in surprise, not only at her correct terminology, but at her observation. She stared back at him, the confident look in her eye morphing into one of concern, like she had said something wrong.

“What? He does! I just thought maybe you’d want to tell Liam,” she said defensively.

“Damn, Felicity, we may turn you into a pitch bitch yet,” Cowboy said, suddenly appearing on her other side.

She whirled around to face him, her hands flying to her hips, a scowl taking over for the pretty smile that she’d been sporting only moments ago. Gunnar had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“Excuse you? What did you just call me?” she barked, obviously a little sensitive to the second part of the expression. Gunnar didn’t blame her, since she was probably more than used to being called the B word, and more often than not it hadn’t been in a playful way.

“Pitch bitch is the footie equivalent to what you Americans would call a puck bunny,” Gunnar explained carefully, not sure that answer was going to make anything better. He knew she was insecure about what people thought about her, and adding the implication that she was sleeping her way to the top was not going to sit well.

“Puck bunny is not a flattering term!” she exclaimed, whipping around to face him. Her expression was a mix of anger and worry—no doubt the last part coming from a fear that he had told Cowboy about what was going on between them. He couldn’t blame her either—she'd trusted him with her secrets, and here was his buddy making it sound like he’d violated that. He needed to fix this. Fighting back the urge to kiss that worry away, he put his hands on her shoulder and looked her straight into the eye.

“Just ignore him,” he said, maintaining eye contact and hoping she could read his thoughts. She swallowed hard, her rawness showing through the hard look on her face. But he could see in her eyes that she understood him, and that what was between them was still just between them. “He’s an ogre. Think Shrek—lovable, even funny at times, but still an ogre.”

“Hey!” Cowboy commented.

The trill of Felicity’s cell phone cut through the air, pulling her attention away from him. He glanced down at the screen as she pulled it from her pocket, seeing her brother’s photo flashing on the screen.

“I have to take this,” she told him before turning to glare at Cowboy. “You, sir, were saved by the bell.”

Gunnar watched as she walked away, unable to take his eyes off her perfect ass. At this point he didn’t care who caught him staring—the sight was too good not to enjoy.

“You’ve become quite the shrew whisperer,” his buddy said, following his gaze to Felicity’s backside.

“Fuck off,” he muttered in return, not giving any credence to whatever Cowboy was trying to dig up.

“I’ll just say this, you told me that Anya answers you in her own way. Make sure you’re listening, would ya?”

Cowboy’s words hit hard, sticking with him throughout the game. He did his best to push them out of his head, focusing on his players and what they were facing on the pitch. It was a known fact that San Antonio played dirty, and they were living up to their reputation today. But between all the fouls and the five yellow cards in the first half alone, Gunnar caught himself looking up into the stands to see if he could find Felicity. He didn’t know where she was sitting—probably up in one of the boxes with Cowboy and his family—but his pulse jumped just thinking about seeing her there. It’d been a long time since he’d felt this way during a game. It was the same way he’d felt every time he knew Anya was there watching him—like it didn’t matter what happened on the pitch, because at the end of the day, she was going to be in his arms and that made him a winner.

The second half of the game didn’t start off any less physical than the first half had been, which resulted in Liam colliding with an attacking player, knocking their heads together. Gunnar wanted to puke as he watched the training staff attend to their goalie, while Cardoza got warmed up. Even if the staff did clear Liam to play, which he was pretty sure they wouldn’t, he wasn’t taking the risk. It was only preseason, and Cardoza needed the minutes anyway.

“How’s the patient?” Gunnar asked, walking into the locker room after their hard-fought draw. Liam was sitting up on a PT table, propped up against the wall, the cute redheaded trainer leaning over him checking his pupils.

“He seems fine,” she said, pulling up on his eyelids. Gunnar could see that Liam was trying very hard to keep his gaze focused on where the trainer wanted it, rather than stealing a peek at the rest of her body. “Someone will need to stay with him tonight, to watch that he doesn’t develop any additional symptoms, but I don’t think we really have anything to be overly concerned about.”