His to Win (The Alpha Soccer Saga #1) (7 page)

Meeting Ellie stirred something deep inside him, something he’d forgotten since Crystal. Playful flirting. Conversation without pretense. His physical attraction to her didn’t hurt, of course. Her curves, her walk that was really more of a sashay, her skin—so smooth and flawless. And what was best, is that Ellie seemed to have no idea how incredibly sexy she was. She was the best kind of woman.

He broke into a wide, goofy grin thinking of her. He had engagements with the press scheduled for the next morning to announce his signing, then some business with the club and looking at apartments, but the day after, his schedule was mostly clear. He brought up the day planner on his phone and put one word in capital letters across the entirety of the day:

ELLIE
.

The second full day in Scotland for Ellie was filled with work, attending meetings and panels, compiling and filing reports. She’d been able to exchange only the briefest of texts with Patrick, who was himself being ushered all over Glasgow being introduced to Celtic Football Club dignitaries and meeting with the press.

An exhausted Ellie slipped into the bathtub in her hotel, needing to relax and forget market research for a while. She brought up her Spotify playlist and the bathroom filled with the sound of Chvrches, a Scottish band one of her local coworkers told her about earlier in the day.

As the steam rose around her and she felt the stress of the day melting away into the water, the music was interrupted by the phone ringing. Glancing over, she noticed “Blue Eyes” flashing on the screen. In her haste to answer, she nearly dropped her phone into the bath, saving it just before it hit the surface.

“H-hello, hello?”

The deep, rich voice of Patrick came through, laughing softy at Ellie’s breathless answer. “Forgive me if it was impertinent of me to call like this, unannounced, I mean. I hope I didn’t wake you?

Yeah, I’d be SO pissed to have my dream interrupted by a call from you, Patrick. That would be terrible,
Ellie thought.

“No, not at all, I actually just got back to my room, it was a long working day today. I was running a bath and I guess my hand was wet, I almost dropped my phone. How was your day?” Ellie replied.

“Bloody awful. Shaking hands and kissing babies all day. I think I might be mayor of Glasgow now. Surely you saw me embarrassing myself on TV? I must have been interviewed on every channel in Scotland, including ones devoted to cooking, gardening, weather, you name it. Celebrity problems, right? I must sound . . . just tell me to sod off if I sound like too much of a twit.”

“Who are you, Roald Dahl?” asked a laughing Ellie.

“Roald Da—ahh . . . that must be English major humor, is it? You’re a cheeky one, Ellie.”

I have to watch myself with this one,
Patrick thought to himself, surprised at being more than a little intimidated at how quickly Ellie pulled out a Roald Dahl reference at his use of the word
twit
.

“If I really wanted to impress you, I’d be able to name an author who wrote something called ‘Cheeky,’ but, alas, I’m coming up empty.” Ellie laughed again, music to Patrick’s ears.

“This is going to sound forward, and I apologize, but you said you were planning to take a bath, yes? I don’t want your hot water to go to waste, and truth be told, I could use one myself to wash all the handshakes and baby kisses of the day away. Mind if I join you? Over the phone, I mean, of course, like I’d take a bath ther—here, I mean, and you’d take yours and we’d talk about it? Talk during it I don’t know what I mean . . . I swear I’m not drunk.” The indigestible butterflies had returned to Patrick’s stomach after two decades away. He was trying to sound smooth, but the words were tumbling out of his mouth under their own volition, faster than he could put them in proper sequence.

Ellie subconsciously moved her hands to cover herself, her mind playing a weird psychological trick on her that sharing such an intimate thing as a bath would mean he could see her in it, something she was far from ready to share with him.

Realizing how silly she was being, and remembering that she’d told a white lie about drawing a bath, but not actually being in one, she agreed to Patrick’s proposal, standing up in the tub so that there’d be some sort of a splashing sound as she eased back down into the water.

“If it isn’t rude of me, I’m getting in while it’s still hot.” Ellie replied.

“Not at all, luv, I’ll run mine while we chat.” The sound of water crashing into the massive tub in Patrick’s suite filled the background on his end before he walked back into the bedroom and began removing his clothes.

He’s taking his clothes off RIGHT NOW,
Ellie thought, stifling a squeal as she imagined him, naked, just outside the door to her bathroom.

“This tub is the size of a bloody swimming pool. It’ll take forever to fill. Hope you don’t mind staying up a little while. What’s your plan for the day after tomorrow, Ellie? Tomorrow is pretty full, but I’ve got the next day mostly free and was hoping I could see you.”

“I’ve got work tomorrow, then the day after is the last scheduled day of work. I’m supposed to leave around lunchtime Friday. We got a lot done today. I think we’re supposed to have dinner as a group Thursday night, and somebody mentioned going out for pints,” Ellie explained, soaping herself in the tub.

Patrick pulled his shirt off and tossed it into the pile, standing naked in front of the mirror on the bathroom door, admiring his reflection, especially his legs, sculpted by years on the soccer field. He stuck his head in and found the tub filling more quickly than he’d expected, but still a few minutes short of being full enough. He walked over to the picture window overlooking the city and gazed out over the lights of Glasgow.

“I’m looking out the window, Ellie, trying to find your hotel. I don’t know this city well enough yet. Suppose I’ll get the chance soon. The club’s arranging an apartment for me over the next few days, though I probably won’t move in until midsummer.”

“I’m waving, but with my bathroom door closed, you probably can’t see me.” Ellie replied, laughing.

Thank God,
she thought.
I’d need bubbles at least a yard deep in this tub before I’d let Patrick see me take a bath!

“How’s Maisie faring with you away, Ellie? I always wished I’d had time for a dog, we always had them growing up, but with how much I travel it would hardly be fair.”

“Heather, my niece, sent me a picture while I was at work today. Maisie playing at the dog park. She couldn’t have looked much happier. Didn’t seem to miss me a bit!”

“I doubt that,” Patrick offered. “I’ll bet she’s counting the minutes until you’re home.
I know I would be,
he thought. “I think my tub’s close enough to full, I’m going to join you.”

Ellie bit her bottom lip at the thought and sound of Patrick sliding into the tub.

“How is it?”

“It’s divine. I should do this more often. The only tub I usually soak in is filled with ice water. After matches or training sometimes I’ll soak in ice water to keep swelling and inflammation down. I have a love-hate relationship with my knees,” Patrick replied.

Ellie dreaded sounding forward in any way, saying or doing anything that might make Patrick reconsider whatever direction their budding relationship was going, but she had to know.

“Patrick, can I ask you sort of a personal question?”

“Anything. Please do.”

“OK, well, I just want to know, I’m curious . . .”
Fuck, Ellie, get it together,
“Why isn’t there a Mrs. Patrick Sievert? Or is there? Or do you have a girlfriend or something? I mean I don’t know how all this works, besides meeting a few authors at book signings and growing up with my dad and, like, people who would be on the local news or something, I’ve never met anybody as famous as you are. And you have money and you must have, I don’t know, would they be called ‘groupies’ over here? I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, or even in the same book?”

Patrick was silent but for some small splashing movement of water Ellie could hear in the background, and Ellie was sure she’d pushed too hard, that he’d hang up or laugh at her. The blissful relaxed look on her face had been replaced by a scrunched up countenance, full of worry, as she waited to hear Patrick’s voice again.

“Do you ever listen to George Strait?” If Patrick had replied by listing the moons of Jupiter, his answer couldn’t have come from any further out in left field.

“I know a few of his songs,” a puzzled Ellie responded. “But I’m not a huge country fan, really. I’m more into pop music.”

“I want you to bring up a song on your phone if you can find it. It’s by him, George Strait. It’s called ‘I Can Still Make Cheyenne,’ or some such. Play it. Listen to it. I’ll listen with you. Then we’ll talk about it.”

Ellie was completely baffled, but she did as Patrick asked and brought up the song, closing her eyes to absorb every word.

By the time the song reached the second stanza, tears stung Ellie’s eyes. She didn’t need Patrick to explain it, but she craved his voice, craved him, felt so close to him, having shared something so personal.

“Ellie? Still there?” Patrick asked.

If the hotel were burning down around me I wouldn’t leave this tub or hang up this phone,
Ellie thought.

“Yes, Patrick, I’m here. That song was so sad, but so beautiful. Thank you.”

“That song really speaks to me. The same way the bloke in the song has given his life to the rodeo, even beyond his wife, his family, sometimes even his happiness, he doesn’t know anything else, doesn’t know how to stop, how to let anything interfere with his passion for the rodeo. It perfectly describes my career, my pursuit of football. Our season goes the better part of nine months. Past that, as I’ve gotten older I have to train harder, longer, to keep up with the lads. My commitment has to be so complete that I miss out on things most people take for granted. A girlfriend. A dog. Kids. I often wonder if, when I hang up my boots for good, if I pile up all the accolades, the trophies, whatever fame and money comes with this life, if I stack all of that up, can it possibly replace the real stuff, the chance to have real happiness, lasting happiness? Am I doing this because I don’t know what else to do? So when you ask me if there’s a girlfriend, or a Mrs. Sievert . . . no. Besides my mother, there’s no Mrs. Sievert.” The last few words came out choked. Making himself so vulnerable seemed so silly, went against who he always was, a stoic. He didn’t know why he was doing it, but at the end he was near tears, but also filled with not a small amount of relief.

Ellie was floored. She sat soaking in a tub in a hotel in Glasgow, listening to the most perfect man upon whom she’d ever laid eyes, completely spilling his guts to her.
Whose life was this?

“I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! Patrick, that’s so . . . I’m speechless. I wish I could hug you through the phone!” Ellie instantly regretted the last sentence, but it just came out. It couldn’t be unsaid. She was, again, ready for Patrick to put up the stop sign.

“I’m taking a rain check on that hug. Next time I see you, I’m cashing it in, love. Don’t try to get out of it, either—verbal contract!”

Ellie exhaled a held breath and imagined being hugged by Patrick, a genuine, loving hug, warmer than the tub she was in, imagined what it would be like to be swept up in his powerful arms. Nothing could touch her there, nothing could hurt her, and, it seemed to her, it was where she was meant to be.

“Let me ask you this—are you locked in to leaving on that flight Friday? I mean you aren’t expected to rush to the office when you land or anything, are you? Could you possibly push it back a day? It would cut into your weekend, I know you’ll need the weekend to adjust to the time difference and everything, but if you could stay an extra day I could show you around London or what little of Glasgow I know. Or do you have a hot date planned for Friday night back in the States?” Patrick waited nervously for her response.

Ellie laughed. “No, the only hot date I had planned for Friday night was with Maisie. Work shouldn’t mind if I push the flight back a day, as long as they have a seat for me, I’ll try to make it work.”

“If you’d like, I can have somebody from my agent’s office arrange it. May I do that? Anything to make it easier for you,” Patrick asked.

Maybe your agent could put in a call to my boss about transferring me to the Glasgow office while you’re at it?
Ellie thought to herself. The whole business of agents, press conferences, and jumping back and forth across the Atlantic Ocean was so silly to Ellie, who just last weekend was sharing bad Chinese takeout with her beagle while watching hours of Bravo.

“I don’t want you to go to any trouble, but if you’re sure I wouldn’t be interrupting anything, I think I could afford an extra day over here if you wanted to do something,” Ellie offered.

“Ellie, I’ll take care of everything if you’ll let me. I haven’t done this in quite a long time, I don’t want to insult you by offering to pay, but whatever you decide you want to do, as my guest in the UK, please let me be a good host. Just tell me what you’d like to do on Thursday night or Friday or whenever you have time for me and we’ll do it, OK?”

“The UK seems a big place to explore in a day, but you’re the expert. I’m supposed to check out of here Friday morning.” Ellie replied.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll have Tom’s office get you sorted out. Ellie, I hate to seem rude, but this bath has me knackered. Tired . . . sorry. What I mean to say is if I don’t get out and into bed soon, I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep in here and shrivel up. The maids will find a prune in the morning.”

“Not rude at all. I’m exhausted, too.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow when I know something. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Patrick.”

Patrick was quickly out of the tub and into bed, not long in falling asleep. Ellie, on the other hand, was energized. She still had gnawing doubts that any of this was real, that she wasn’t the victim of an elaborate practical joke, but the prospect of spending an entire day with Patrick Sievert was too good to pass up, too wonderful a dream not to throw every penny she had into a wishing well if it would somehow come true.