Table for Two-epub (11 page)

The gin had done its job last night, anesthetizing Liv to her woes for a good fourteen hours. But the numbing effects had worn off by the time Ava marched into her room, demanding she wake up or they’d be late for James’s game. The minute her flatmate had thrown open her windows, blinding her with the rays of the early-afternoon sun, the incessant throb of a headache had begun.

Four painkillers and two bottles of water for much-needed hydration later, and the pain was still intense. Probably as bad as James’s would be when he stood up.

“Oh, great pass,” Theo enthused, trumping up James’s throw to a Randwick teammate a fraction of a second before being tackled.

Play ensued, regardless of the man down, and when a third Randwick player flew over the try line and slammed the ball to the ground, the crowd went wild.

“Go the Galloping Greens,” Ava yelled.

James was on his feet, grinning like a fool and hugging the try scorer before Liv even computed he’d sustained no serious injury.

God, she needed a coffee. Or another four Advil to get through the rest of the match. She eyed James wearily. Splattered in mud, sweaty and with a gum guard shoved in his mouth, he looked ridiculous. And sexy as all hell. Big and bad and delicious.

How come she’d never noticed that before? It wasn’t as if she’d never been to one of his games. She, Theo, Zoey and Ava came to most of the home matches. Theo had played for Randwick a few years back too, but he’d never been as passionate about the game as James. Still, he never missed a chance to see James and his old club in action.

They celebrated the team’s win with beer at the Coogee Bowling Club, the local hangout for the Randwick players. In deference to her throbbing head, Liv chose sparkling water instead of alcohol. As she placed her order, James winked at her, making her stomach somersault beneath her ribs.

Apart from that wink, he gave no sign that she and he had partaken in not one but two episodes of mind-blowing sex in the past week.

Yep, he subtly asked how she was doing and if Spencer had been helpful, and he ruffled her hair affectionately. But that was all. He didn’t shoot her secret looks across the table or openly leer at her breasts as he’d done at dinner.

Nor did he give any sign that he’d kissed her until she almost lost consciousness from desire, or that he’d nearly made her come just by sucking on her nipples. He made no reference to the way he’d tossed her over his shoulder and carried her into his flat so he could fuck her into next week, and he didn’t allude to the fact that just over thirty-six hours ago he’d had his tongue shoved deep in her pussy while she’d swallowed his cock whole.

He made no mention of the orgasms he’d treated her to yesterday morning, or the fact that when he slipped out of her room she’d been so satiated and replete she hadn’t even managed to say goodbye.

Based on his current nonchalance toward her today, if she hadn’t been on the receiving end of every one of those orgasms he’d so generously handed out, Liv would think nothing had changed between them at all.

Only things
had
changed. Everything had changed, and Liv had no idea how to deal with the changes. She also had no idea how to handle his nonchalance toward her.

As James walked around the club, encouraging anyone and everyone to take raffle tickets for Epilepsy Action Australia, she did her best to convince herself his disinterest in her today was for the best.

If she wasn’t ready to tackle the new dynamics between them head-on, then it was best their friends knew nothing about it. If they got even a hint that she’d slept with James, they’d be all over it, demanding answers, making wedding plans and generally taking the piss.

It was in all of their natures to tease mercilessly whenever the opportunity called for it.

Luckily Ava hadn’t questioned her on the subject. She must have sensed Liv’s reluctance to talk and held her tongue. Although she had cast many curious looks in Liv’s direction over the last week. Many, many unabashedly curious looks.

The only mention James made of his and Liv’s interaction was to assure everyone the arsenic had not affected him in any way. Then he, Ava and Theo proceeded to dissect every minute of the game he’d just won.

Liv sat quietly, content to let the conversation continue without her. She had two issues on her mind. James and work. She’d already decided not to bring up the James issue, and the idea of discussing Marion and Beautiful Homes appealed not a bit. She’d tell them all sometime, just not now.

The only other quiet person at the table was Zoey, who looked as wan and tired as Liv felt.

Liv raised a questioning eyebrow in her direction, but Zoey just gave her a feeble smile and shook her head in response, a clear sign she was as averse to talking as Liv.

“What’s on the agenda for tonight?” Ava asked. “Liv and I are going to see a movie. Anyone interested?”

“Think Theo and I are gonna have a quiet one at home,” Zoey said.

It was Ava who shot Zoey the raised eyebrow this time. Theo and Zoey never stayed home on a Saturday night. Partiers down to the depths of their souls, they went out at every opportunity.

“It’s been a long week,” Zoey answered Ava’s silent question.

Theo didn’t add anything, but his mouth tightened and he concentrated hard on his beer.

James looked curiously from Zoey to Theo, then shrugged and turned to Ava. “I’d love to take you up on your offer, ladies…another time. Tonight I’m out with the team.”

Something deep inside Olivia twisted.

James spent most of his post-game Saturday nights with his teammates. A group of them headed to The Cross to party…and to score. And no, not tries or conversions like they’d scored today. They scored with women who couldn’t seem to keep their hands off the Galloping Greens.

James’s apartment on Sunday mornings during rugby season was a veritable hub of activity. Over the years, Liv had seen him bid farewell to many, many gorgeous women. They left the building in last night’s clothes, stilettos in hand and satisfied smiles on their faces. At least twice she’d seen two women leaving at the same time.

Before today, Liv had always thought it hilarious, and along with the rest of their friends, had ribbed James mercilessly about his rugby groupies. She’d even given him extra credit for walking the women down eight flights of stairs when the night was over.

But today, already angry about her work situation and ticked off with James for not acknowledging their trysts—although she would have died a million deaths if he had acknowledged them—Liv wasn’t much in the mood for laughing. Now, her belly churned and she suddenly hated every one of those nameless women.

Had she been alone, she would have dropped her head in her hands, stamped her feet on the floor and screamed.

Jealousy, Liv? Seriously?

Yep, it appeared that was exactly what churned through her belly. And the knowledge that James would hook up with another “hot babe” before the night was through made her want to throw up.

The afternoon took on a decidedly sour taste, which stayed with Liv well into the early evening.

By seven o’clock the sourness and irritation had turned into a seething mass of discontent. She despised Marion, a jackhammer pounded at her skull—thanks to the still-present hangover—and to complicate matters, desire snaked its way through her body until Liv thought she might scream from it all.

How could she crave the touch of a man when her fists itched to punch someone in the face, and her head felt like it might explode at any second? Moreover, how could she crave the touch of a man who was about to hook up with someone else?

Oh, and the cherry on the top? Why the heck was she thinking about sex when her whole, entire life was falling apart?

When Liv could take it no more, and her brain tried to crawl through her eye sockets to escape the merciless drilling in her skull, she grabbed her bag and yelled out, “I’m off to the pharmacy, Av.” She’d popped so much Advil today, she’d done the bottle in. “Be back in time for the movie.”

And with that she fled the flat, only just stopping herself from running through the door.

With his muscles pleasantly stiff and the bruise on his right arm blossoming into a dark shade of blue-grey, James stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. As he stood before the bathroom mirror, dragging his razor over his cheeks, he tried to keep the black thoughts at bay. It wasn’t easy. They’d been at the back of his mind since pre-training had begun in February.

Time was running out. James’s days on the team were limited.

At twenty-nine, he was getting too old to play first-team rugby. Next year he didn’t stand a chance of being selected. While he might make the seconds, both common sense and his doctor had warned him against trying. His knee, injured a few years back, was only getting worse. If he continued subjecting it to trauma—and every tackle was considered a trauma—he’d likely do permanent damage.

A fucked-up knee was no laughing matter. Neither were the numerous surgeries he’d no doubt have to endure.

But how the hell could he give up rugby? It was his life. Three evenings a week were spent at training and rehab, and weekends were filled with games. What would he do next season if he didn’t have to leave work by six o’clock sharp or risk the wrath of his coach? How would he spend his Saturdays if he didn’t have to be at games?

And how would he fill his Saturday nights if he didn’t get to hang with the blokes? Rugby had been part of his life since he was a kid, and he’d been part of the club his entire adult life. 

His future loomed like a black cloud.

Fortunately, his morose thoughts were cut short by a knock on the door.

More like a persistent banging.

James dried his face, splashed on aftershave and crossed the flat. He’d barely inched the door open before it was shoved out of his grasp, and a lone figure pushed past him, slamming the door in her wake.

“Liv?”

Her cheeks were red, her eyes narrowed and her mouth pursed in a grimace. She panted softly, perhaps from the eight flights of stairs she’d just climbed?

“Hey, are you okay?”

“No.” She whirled on him, tossing her bag on the sofa. “No, I’m not in the least bit okay. My brain is threatening a full-on revolution, I’m broke, my accountant suggested I lay charges against a woman who’s been my mentor for six years, and I stupidly slept with one of my best friends—twice. So, no, I most decidedly am not okay.”

“Uh, okay.” He gave her his most understanding nod.

“And you want to know what makes it even worse? Like, way, way worse?”

Did he? Judging by Liv’s mood, probably not. “Tell me.”

“What makes it worse is you going ou—” She bit off her words with a frustrated cry. “Is…is you standing there in…a towel and nothing else. Nothing. Not a bloody thing. You’re just standing there, showing off all those muscles as if there’s nothing in the world wrong with it.”

There was something wrong with wearing a towel in his own home?

She heaved in a shuddering breath. “And Goddammit.” She inhaled deeply again. “Do you have to smell so bloody good?”

“Uh—”

“You!” She stabbed a finger in his chest, the daggers back in her gaze. “You are my number one problem.”

“Me?”

“What are your plans for this evening, James?” As she spoke, she took the hem of her long-sleeved tee in her hands, tugged it up and over her shoulders and dropped it on the floor. “You going to go out drinking with the lads?” Her bra landed in a pile on top of her shirt.

James would have answered, would have said yes, but he seemed to have swallowed his tongue.

She toed off her Converses and socks. “Planning on hooking up with someone tonight?” She worked at her button and zip and asked something else, but James failed to hear the question. Blood roared in his ears as she shimmied out of her skinny jeans and panties.

Not that she seemed to expect an answer. She was too busy fumbling with the pocket of her pants and grumbling at him about his plans. Which was a good thing, because James had no idea how he’d answer. He hadn’t thought much past a few drinks with his mates. The idea of hooking up hadn’t entered his head. Truthfully, the only woman he’d thought about since last Sunday was her. And he’d thought about her a lot.

Christ, she was gorgeous. The heightened color in her cheeks was reflected in her flushed chest, and her eyes flashed with emotion, the likes of which he couldn’t begin to read.

“It is, in my opinion, totally unfair that any one man should look that good in a towel,” she complained, and, as if the towel itself was offensive, she grasped it and ripped it off his waist. “And damn it.” She poked him again, whether in anger or irritation he couldn’t tell. “It’s even more unfair that you look better without the towel.”

Liv stilled and eyed him suspiciously. Then she leaned in and sniffed his neck, her breath feathering over his skin. The blood that had roared in his ears just seconds ago emptied into his groin—along with every other drop of blood in his veins.

“Jeez, what did you do? Shower in chocolate?” She sniffed again. “Fresh-baked cookies?” This time, she didn’t sniff, she…licked. Darted her tongue out, touched it to his neck and groaned. “Testosterone?”

James swore he saw spots before his eyes.

“God, you smell good.” She snuck an arm around his neck, her lips latched on to the point she’d just licked, and she sucked.

Droplets of water from his wet hair ran down his back, the cold a sharp contrast to her hot mouth.

“Liv,” he growled, every thought centered on the ravishing woman wrapped around him and her bewitching mouth and tongue.

She rubbed her naked breasts sinuously against his chest.

She thought he smelled good? He had nothing on her. Nothing. Liv smelled like a perfect mix of roses and musk. Flowers and arousal. As horny as she had him, she was just as turned on.

James planted a hand on her ass—a part of her body he was developing a strong affinity for—and pulled her closer, slipping his leg between hers.

Her response was exactly as he hoped. She squeezed his thigh with both of hers and instantly ground down on it, her pussy slick and warm against his bare skin.