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  My job did involve analyzing contracts and helping with negotiations, but it just so happened that my first contract was an attempt to sign Jaxon for the New York United soccer team. Major League Soccer had already agreed on a transfer fee with Jaxon’s club, so New York United just needed Jaxon to agree to personal terms, and he would be moving back to New York. Back into my life.

  Jaxon’s agent had played hardball so New York United decided it was time to use its magic weapon—me. That was why I now found myself on a crowded train from London to Liverpool, watching the sun set outside, while the rain increased from a light drizzle to a heavy downpour.

  It was a Friday night so I was surrounded by commuters who’d been working in London for the week and were now heading home. Every other person on the train had a large bag or suitcase with them, and they seemed entirely unaware of the designated luggage compartments, instead putting their suitcases on the seat next to them when the train was standing room only. I’d managed to get a seat, but the guy next to me had a bag at his feet and a suitcase on his lap, leaving me with little room to breathe.

  According to all the hype in the press, Major League Soccer would be paying in the region of $20 million to sign Jaxon. That seemed like a heck of a lot of money to me, and yet I’d sat in economy class on the flight over and on the train ride up to Liverpool. Would a few thousand extra have been a big deal for the club? It certainly would’ve made a heck of a lot of difference to my mood right now.

  Mind you, even in first class, I would have been in a foul mood. I hadn’t seen Jaxon in four years and I was terrified at the prospect of seeing him again. I asked my boss whether I could just deal with the agent, but he insisted I go straight to Jaxon. “He’s your brother, he’ll be delighted to see you,” Sam had said. I explained that he was my stepbrother, not my brother, but that didn’t seem to make much difference. I felt like it was a huge distinction given what had happened between us.

  By the time the train pulled into Liverpool Central railway station, it was already nine o’clock in the evening and—to adopt the local vernacular—it was pissing it down. I hopped into a taxi and told the driver where I was going.

  The driver gave me a curious look. “Really? You’re going there?” he asked.

  I nodded. “You know it?”

  “Yeah, I’m always dropping women off at Jaxon Foster’s place. He’s shipping women in from America now too, is he? I guess he’s gotten through most of the locals.”

  Jaxon’s reputation as a ladies’ man hadn’t passed me by, but I still didn’t like to be confronted with that information if I could help it. I’d spent the last four years avoiding gossip sites as much as possible, and tuning out whenever discussion of him came up among friends.

  Jaxon hadn’t been picked for the most recent World Cup squad, but the general consensus was that he would be picked next time. I must have been one of the only Americans pleased that the team went out of the World Cup early. At least it meant soccer was no longer the main topic of conversation on television and among my friends.

  “I’ll have to drop you off at the gate,” the taxi driver said, as we pulled up to a large metal gate at the end of a huge driveway. “They won’t let me drive right up to the front door.”

  Clearly the driver had dropped women off here before. I pushed that to the back of my mind and focused on why I was here. Last time I’d been looking for Jaxon I had found him with another woman. I fully expected to find him with another woman again, but this time I was here strictly for business.

  I needed to convince Jaxon to leave behind a top Premier League club that played in the big European competitions, for a new American franchise that wouldn’t start playing for another six months and didn’t even have a full squad. Hopefully he would just say no and I could be on the first train back to London tomorrow morning. New York United would find another player, and I could take another stab at moving on with my life.

  I stepped out of the taxi and the driver passed me the small suitcase I had packed for what I hoped would be a short stay. I dragged the suitcase behind me as quickly as I could and ran up to the large metal gate that had a small intercom on the right hand side. There was no protection from the rain, and my umbrella was packed at the bottom of my suitcase. I pressed the button and a male voice answered but it wasn’t Jaxon.

  “And who might you be?” the man said.

  “My name’s Jennifer Ryers. I’m here to see Jaxon Foster.”

  “Are you now. Look up to the camera on your right, love.”

  I looked up at the security camera, and winced as the rain slammed into my face.”

  “Not bad,” the man said. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two,” I answered. I should have told him to mind his own business, but I wanted to get inside out of the rain, and answering his questions seemed to be the quickest way to do that.

  “Alright, you can come in.” There was a loud buzz and then a small door next to the gate opened up.

  I grabbed my suitcase and ran up to the main door, not stopping until I was under shelter. I was already soaking wet and my clothes were stuck to my body, but at least if I got inside it might be a bit warmer. I knocked, but there was no response. The door was unlocked, so I walked inside.

  The second I opened the door I heard loud music to the left hand side. In front of me was a large staircase and there were hallways heading off to the left and right. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how big this place was; hopefully Jaxon wouldn’t be in a rush to leave this lifestyle behind.

  My first instinct was to follow the music, but I heard a man’s voice from a room down the hall on my right-hand side, and this time the sinking feeling in my stomach told me that it was Jaxon.

  I followed the laughter of a group of women that emanated from the same direction, until I reached a large room with what looked like a pool table except it had different balls. On the pool table I saw Jaxon.

  His muscular arms were stretched out on the table as he took a shot. He knocked a white ball and sent a red into the far pocket. Jaxon looked up to celebrate and saw me standing there dripping water all over his floor. His eyes moved up my body until he reached my face. He paused for a few seconds and then I saw the look of recognition in his eyes.

  “Jenny?” I thought I detected a sense of excitement in his voice and the beginning of a smile on his face, but perhaps I was just imagining things. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to bring you home.”

  “You’re here to bring me home?” Jaxon repeated my words back to me as if he was speaking in a strange, foreign tongue.

  “Yes, hopefully. I want to bring you home. I mean we want to bring you home. The club wants you home.”

  What the hell was I blabbering on about? I was here to negotiate a formal and expensive business transaction and all I could spit out was something about bringing him home. I was supposed to say “my employer is prepared to pay you a small fortune to kick a ball around in New York.”

  Not that Jaxon was short on money right now. Jaxon had expensive equipment littered all over the place. In addition to the pool table, this room contained a foosball table and a large flatscreen TV on the wall with surround sound speakers in each corner. And this was just a games room. I dreaded to think what the living room looked like.

  Jaxon stared at me with those dark brown eyes I hadn’t seen in person since before he locked lips with Emilia. At least now he wasn’t kissing another woman, although the flock of them around him wasn’t exactly doing my confidence the world of good either.

  They were dressed as if Jaxon was throwing a beach party with bikini tops and short skirts or shorts on the bottom. You’d never know it was raining hard outside judging by what they wore in here. If I’d come in an hour later they’d likely be wearing even less.

  The women were frowning at me with looks of disgust on their faces. I saw one girl actually turn up her nose at me and look away, as if I had some disease that could be passed
through eye contact.

  I turned my attention back to Jaxon who at least wasn’t looking at me like I was something he’d stepped in. He was shirtless and wore ripped denim jeans that revealed the top of his boxers. It was a familiar sight, but not one I’d seen in the flesh for four years. He used to walk around the house in a similar state of undress; he’d spotted me staring at him and teased me about it relentlessly.

  I forced myself to look away from his chest and back up to his eyes. I considered myself competent at reading facial expressions for the most part, but I’d never been able to read Jaxon. Four years ago, I thought I’d seen a real look of desire and affection in his eyes; how wrong I had been. Jaxon had to be confused right now, but I also detected hints of the way he used to look for me before he decided to kiss someone else.

  “Jaxon,” one of his women said in a sickly sweet voice. “Do you want us to get rid of… it?”

  Jaxon turned to glare at the floozy who had spoken. “Helen, go get her a towel,” he snapped. “She’s soaked through.” Helen looked less than impressed that she’d been sent on an errand. I tried not to think about why she knew where the towels were located. She stormed off, muttering something under her breath, and came back thirty seconds later with a towel, which she threw at me.

  “Thanks,” I said quietly. I used the towel to dry off my hair a bit, but there wasn’t much I could do about my blouse and jeans, both of which were clinging to me. I needed to get back to the hotel and have a shower, but first I wanted to get this conversation over with.

  “What are you doing here, Jenny?” Jaxon asked. Jaxon now sounded annoyed with me for ruining his evening. The guy Jaxon had been playing pool with put down his cue and started ushering the women out of the room.

  “I work for New York United,” I said slowly. God, I wish he’d put on a shirt. I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking a peek at his chest every time his eyes looked away from me. I knew it wasn’t subtle, but I was acting on instinct.

  “You do? I thought you hated soccer?”

  “I do,” I replied. “I mean, I did. It doesn’t matter. Your mom got me the job when I finished college.”

  “You finished college? Wow, does that mean it’s been four years since—”

  “Since I saw you kissing another woman? Yes, it’s been four years since then.” So much for keeping this conversation professional. We’d been talking for less than a minute and already our failed attempt at a relationship had come up.

  I hated how little he cared about that night. He’d never once attempted to reconcile with me or make an excuse for what happened. He hadn’t even noticed that I’d graduated from college even though his mom must’ve told him. He just flat-out didn’t care.

  I thought about him every day and he’d never given me a second thought. I’d even pictured him when having sex with other men, imagining I was underneath Jaxon’s muscular chest and arms, or that he was throwing me around the bed in a way that my college boyfriends had never managed.

  Jaxon stayed silent for a few seconds and I wondered briefly whether he was going to make any attempt at an apology for that night. I desperately wanted to hear him say he was sorry even though it was too late to change anything now. I just wanted some acknowledgment from him that he’d ruined my life that night.

  “My agent has made it perfectly clear that I will not be moving to New York United. I’m not taking such a huge step down at the age of twenty-four. Maybe when I’m thirty-four, I will move back to America and play a few of my twilight years there, but not before.”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “That’s just what I wanted to hear. It was such a pleasure to see you again, Jaxon. I’ll let you get back to your toys.” I was referring to the women, although they weren’t still in the room to hear my attempt at insulting them. It probably would have gone over their heads anyway. I knew I shouldn’t judge people from such a brief meeting, but they all looked like stereotypical blonde airheads who just wanted to be wined and dined by a rich soccer player.

  I turned and walked back towards the front door. I could just go home now and tell my boss that Jaxon had explicitly refused to join us. Of course, I would embellish my story slightly and pretend that I had made every effort to persuade him but that he had insisted on staying put.

  “Why did you come here in person?” Jaxon called out.

  I stopped ten feet from the front door. I considered just carrying on and walking out, but I didn’t want him thinking I’d come here out of choice.

  “The club insisted,” I replied. “Trust me, if I had my way I would have dealt with your agent from the comfort of my New York office.” I didn’t have an office, I had a cubicle, but there’s no reason for him to know that. “My boss figured seeing your stepsister in person might give you an extra incentive to come home. I told him how little respect you have for me, but here I am anyway.”

  “I have plenty of respect for you, Jenny,” Jaxon said. He walked towards me, closing the gap between us in just a few seconds. He now stood close enough that I could reach out and touch his firm chest. I’d only touched it a few times before, but I remembered every contour of his body. The last time I’d touched his chest had been one of the times we nearly ended up in bed. The warmth had spread from his chest, through my fingers, and down to my sex. I’d been dripping wet in seconds.

  “Bullshit,” I said harshly. “You made your feelings about me perfectly clear that night four years ago.”

  “I had hoped you’d moved past that by now,” Jaxon said. “I know I’m not easy to forget,” he added with a smile, “but it’s been a long time. You really should move on.”

  “I have moved on,” I lied. “For fuck’s sake Jaxon, I’ve graduated from Harvard University since we last saw each other. I’ve changed a lot in those four years. You’re the one who needs to move on.”

  Jaxon frowned. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, Jenny, but I think you’ll find I moved on from you a long time ago.”

  “I meant, you need to grow up. You’re still the same old Jaxon you were four years ago; screwing around and spending all your time with bimbos.”

  “Are you including yourself in that category?” Jaxon asked, but then continued speaking before I could answer. “Why did you take a job with New York United in the first place? Am I supposed to believe this was all just a coincidence and not part of some grand scheme for you to come back into my life?”

  “I know you’re rich and famous and everything,” I said, “but despite what your posse may lead you to believe, you’re not actually God’s gift to this earth.”

  He was to me, though. At least, I thought so four years ago. He was the guy who’d made me realize that all those romantic movies and TV shows my mom used to watch were not as cheesy as I’d thought. There was more truth to them than I’d given them credit for. It was possible to be swept off your feet by a man and fall for someone in a matter of weeks or even days. I only wished it were that easy to forget about them afterwards.

  “Your mom helped me get the job,” I explained. “New York United’s parent company is one of her clients. I’m going to work there for a few years before going to business school.”

  “Congratulations,” Jaxon said. He sounded genuine this time. “Where are you staying?”

  I gave him the name of my hotel. “I’m here for four days, but since you’ve made your feelings perfectly clear I will try and get an earlier flight.”

  “That’s for the best. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I stood there looking up at him, unable to move. I’d forgotten how much he towered over me. Jaxon was six foot two whereas I was only about five foot five. The age gap between us was less than two years, but I felt like a child looking up at him. Even though the house was well heated—presumably so women could walk around in bikinis—I started shivering thanks to the cold wet clothes that were still stuck to me.

  Jaxon reached out and for a fleeting second I thought he was going to touch me, but instead he just grabbed the towel
out of my hand. “Want me to call you a cab?” he asked.

  “I’ll manage,” I replied tersely. I turned around and this time I did walk straight out of his house and didn’t look back. I wanted to take one last look at his half-naked body, but instead I forced myself to keep walking. Besides, if I wanted to see his chest I only had to pick up a magazine or look online. He wasn’t exactly scared of doing half-naked photo shoots.

  I found some trees which offered a semblance of shelter and called myself a cab to take me back to the hotel. After a long conversation with the receptionist, who spoke in a regional dialect that I struggled to understand, I finally walked into a small, but comfortable hotel room.

  I immediately peeled my clothes off in the bathroom and stepped into a hot shower. After seeing Jaxon four years ago, the first thing I’d done when I got home was cry in the shower. Seeing him again tonight had the same effect. The tears mixed with the water from the shower, but I could still feel them running down my face. I stayed under the water until my body felt warm all the way through and wrinkles appeared on my fingers.

  Before going to sleep, I lay on the bed with my laptop and sent an email to Sam explaining the situation and asking him to book me a new flight home. I couldn’t be in the same country as Jaxon. Even being an ocean apart hadn’t helped so I sure as hell couldn’t be in the same city.

  Just like every night for the past four years, I pictured Jaxon as I tried to sleep, except this time my mental image was of him from tonight, half naked with his chest glistening in front of me. At least it was an improvement on the image of him kissing Emilia. If this trip helped rid me of that image, then it might be worth it.

  One thing was for certain, Jaxon wasn’t lying in bed right now thinking of me. He wouldn’t be alone either. I doubted he would even limit himself to one woman. Jaxon had been right; he had moved on and I hadn’t. I wanted to, but it was impossible. I would keep thinking of him at night and I would keep masturbating to the fantasy of him fucking me. I was a mess and I needed to get on with my life. That meant no more Jaxon Foster. It would be best if I never saw that man again.