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The sun streamed in through the glass wall of the restaurant, and rays of light bounced off the sparkling cutlery that was laid out in preparation for lunch. The Warriors’ restaurant could easily be mistaken for a hotel dining room if it weren’t for the unmissable view of the pitch. The decor reminded me of a beach hut, with its soft sand coloured walls and laminate wood floor. Huge potted plants surrounded large pillars, and artsy photos of Los Angeles hung behind the bar. The tracksuited team members looked out of place amongst such delicate furnishings, but there was no denying it was a great spot for relaxation.
Freya and I headed into the restaurant after helping ourselves to some coffee from the machine, just as McCoy and teammate, Bryce Warren, were leaving.
Thank you God. Thanks for ruining my day before it’s even begun.
Will’s words about laying low around McCoy weighed heavily on my mind. He was right, of course, but holding my tongue while being irritated was not a skill I possessed.
“Morning,” Bryce greeted us, and we smiled in response.
Bryce Warren was beefy with a capital B. Okay, so it’s not entirely professional to get a kick out of rubbing a player’s muscles, but every job has to have some perks. Bryce’s biceps were mine.
“So anyway,” McCoy said, “you should’ve seen her, man. She was stacked!”
Clearly we’d inadvertently interrupted a conversation that would have been more at home in the locker room. The stench of testosterone filled my nostrils and Freya and I walked on, not wanting to be subjected to any more of McCoy’s bragging. Unfortunately for my bullshit sensitive ears, they stopped by the coffee machine.
As McCoy poured himself a drink, Bryce said, “So what happened?”
“What do you think?” McCoy laughed. “I woke up in her room after a wild night! I left her in bed. She was pretty tired.”
“Okay, okay, I don’t need to hear all the details. Not after Wednesday night.”
The mind boggled.
The guys strolled back into the restaurant, still laughing, but halted when they reached our table.
“Did you have a good evening, ladies?” McCoy asked.
“Yes thanks,” I answered, reminding myself to stay calm.
“Another night at home alone?”
“Well, we don’t all have an endless parade of desperate groupies following us around so we can have meaningless sex.”
Dammit.
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Oh, but I do. In the morning, the world will be treated to another detailed news story about some bimbo’s night of passionate love making with the great Radleigh McCoy, complete with photos of said bimbo exposing too much of her cleavage and complaining about how you never called her, but hopes you’ll be in touch soon to rock her world again. Sounds divine.”
McCoy’s grin faded, his blue eyes turning cold. I’d only ever seen him use that look out on the field when someone crossed him and it was usually followed by a spectacular foul. The chances of him tackling me in the middle of the restaurant were pretty slim so I gave him my most charming fake smile until he took the hint and walked away.
“Well that put him in his place,” Freya giggled. “Urgh, I can think of nothing worse than spending a night with him. He’s so self-involved, I bet he shouts out his own name when he reaches orgasm.”
My mouthful of coffee burned the back of my throat as I choked out a laugh.
I didn’t want to pick a fight with him but if he thought I was going to let him attempt to degrade me, he had another think coming.
****
The morning passed without any major problems. As soon as the clock struck twelve, Freya, Will and I got changed and headed out of the training ground for some retail therapy.
Rodeo Drive thrilled me more than any place I’d ever been. It was a work of art for people who love to shop with its pristine stores and palm tree lined pavements. I wouldn’t be able to afford anything for a while, but just walking along the immaculate paths and breathing in the air of wealth was a dream. Freya and I dragged Will in and out of designer clothing stores, browsing the rails for things I could buy when my first pay check came in.
After three hours, I’d purchased a $1000 dress.
Call me weak, but I hadn’t splurged on anything so frivolous since I lived in London and discovered Manolo Blahniks. Before I could spend any more of my savings, I pleaded exhaustion and we went home.
I still struggled to think of Freya’s apartment as mine. She insisted I spread my personal belongings around so I’d feel more comfortable and it helped, but I was very aware that almost everything had lived there long before me. It was a gorgeous place to live though. The building contained six flats on three floors, all overlooking the ocean. The view seemed to stretch for miles. For a beach lover like me there was nothing better than looking out at the endless blue, listening to the calming sound of the waves.
