Текст книги "Scoring Wilder"

Автор книги: R. S. Grey

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

"But still, I thought that wouldn't be enough for you, Tara, because let's face it, you are the most psychotic bitch I've ever met. So then I set up this meeting today so that I could record you confessing to telling the media lies all in the name of becoming a star."

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She scoffed. "As if, Kinsley. You think you've outmatched me, but you have no clue who you're dealing with."

"No one likes a bully, Tara, and now I have proof. So if you spew one more thing about me in the press, I'll release the tape and we'll see what America decides to do about it."

"They'll assume its fake," she protested, still clinging onto her confident air.

"Maybe they will, but your voice is pretty recognizable. And you know the funny thing about the media? They want the most interesting story. So what's better than an accur-ate story that's also interesting? So why don't you consider which would sell the most magazines? A headline that reads Kinsley Bryant Goes to Soccer Practice Yet Again...

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or Crazed ex-ULA Soccer Player Stalking and Harassing America's Sweetheart?"

I was not America’s sweetheart, not even close, but she didn’t need to know that.

A pregnant pause passed between us and I knew I'd finally broken through to her.

While slightly off her rocker, Tara was still fairly intelligent and she knew I had her.

"I could just come back at you with something twice as big. I'll reveal more details about you and Liam," she said, grasping at her last hope.

"You could, or we could stop this entire show right now. You can walk away with a little bit of your dignity left and I could forget that I even have this recording," I said, pulling my phone off the table and dropping it back into my purse.

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"You're just as conniving as I am," she spat, pushing to stand. Her metal chair scraped against the concrete.

"Maybe I am. Or maybe my claws just come out when someone backs me into a corner," I suggested with an even tone. I had no clue which path she would choose, but I had a good feeling that my talk got through to her.

She stood to leave, casting one last evil glare in my direction before heading away.

The paparazzi's shutters went wild and I sat there for a moment, collecting the last few minutes in my mind, before retrieving my phone to call Becca.

"Kinsley! How'd it go? Are you alive or are you calling me from the other side?"

Becca asked as soon as she answered.

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I tossed my head back and laughed, feeling instantly lighter now that I was done with that showdown.

"I really think she'll back off now, Bec. I won't know for sure until enough time has passed, but she'd be an idiot to not move on and forget about this."

"I hope so.”

I glanced down at the time. "Hey, I'll call you back when I get to Liam's place. He's out of practice soon and I want to beat him home."

"Why?"

"You don't want to know," I laughed.

"Oh my god, ew. Are you going to like wait for him naked on the bed or something?"

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"Becca! Stop! We have to have boundaries," I laughed, standing up and grabbing my purse.

She couldn't stop giggling on the other end of the phone. "Let me know how that works out for you." Then she thought better of it. "On second thought, don't tell me anything about it."

"Ha-ha.

I'll

see

you

at

practice

tomorrow."

"Bye, Kins."

I hung up the phone just as a camera flash blinded my eyes. I blinked, trying to ease the dark spots in my vision, and then glanced up to find a man standing directly in front of my table. Usually the paparazzi kept their distance so as to appear respectful, but this guy apparently didn't abide by those 813/890

rules. His beard was long and unkempt and his eyes were wild. I could see sweat dripping down his forehead as he leaned closer.

I almost opened my mouth to say something to him, but I was already standing, so I decided to just leave it and head for my car. I spun on my flats and turned toward the exit, but the guy beat me to it. He walked alongside me, continuously flashing his camera so that I had to hold up my hand to block his shots.

"Please back up. You're too close... this is ridiculous."

"Just doing my job," he shrugged, and kept walking in front of me, his flashes momentarily blinding me one after another.

I hated the fact that my car was parked a few streets away still. I crossed my arms and 814/890

kept my head down, but that didn't deter him. As soon as we were away from the coffee shop, he started asking me question after question.

"Are you dating Liam Wilder?—Have you slept with him?”

“I’m not answering any of your questions,” I answered, trying to sidestep around him, but he was relentless.

“Did you like that he was your coach when you first met him?—Did he take your virginity?"

"You need to leave me alone!" I shouted, and picked up my pace. His questions were cruel and gross. They made my skin crawl and I wrapped my arms around myself even tighter. The man kept running after me and that's when I noticed how wild his 815/890

movements were. This guy was clearly on drugs or well past drunk. No normal person would act like this.

"Hey! Just give me a fucking picture, princess," he said, reaching forward and grabbing my arm between his sweaty fingers.

I instantly flinched back, trying to get out of his grasp, but I had too much momentum.

When he released me, I flew back and slammed my elbow and head against the concrete. Pain pierced the back of my head as I cried out. Stars danced around my vision for a brief second as I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the pain to lessen.

Holy shit.

He grabbed me.

I shot up and tried to catch my bearings.

I shouldn’t have gotten up right away with a 816/890

head injury, but my flight or fight instincts took over and I knew I couldn't just lay there.

The man was already coming toward me again, so I reached in for my cell phone and tried to ignore the glimpses of blood I saw on my arms.

"I'll call 911 if you don't leave me alone,"

I screamed with a shaky voice as his dark eyes met mine.

"Hey! Leave her alone! Let her be!" A sweet voice yelled behind him. I blinked, trying to clear my vision. A group of women had just come out of a shop nearby and had probably seen the entire exchange. One of them was already on her cell phone.

“I’m calling the police,” she told him.

The man instantly shoved his camera into his bag and took off running past me.

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"Sweetie, are you okay?" one of the women asked, turning toward me with a piteous expression. I tried to answer, but instead I just nodded as tears streamed down my face.

The woman connected to the police and I gave them details about the man's appearance as they crowded around me and patted my back. They calmed me down enough so that I could speak coherent sentences to the officer. After they had everything they needed, I thanked the women for their help and protested when they tried to walk me to my car. It was still broad daylight in West LA, no one other than a drugged out paparazzi would pay me any mind.

The second I was inside my car though, I called Liam and the tears overtook me again.

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"Kins, good news I got out of practice a little early. I already showered and was about to head home."

I sniffled into the phone, trying to calm down enough to talk to him.

"Kinsley? Baby? What's wrong?" His voice grew more scared and demanding the longer my tears prevented me from answering.

"Kinsley—Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"Liam," I began, taking a big breath. "I was walking to my car and there was a guy trying to take my picture. He grabbed me and I fell back and hit my head—"

"What? Where are you?"

"—It's not bad." I reached back and felt my scalp, not realizing I was bleeding down 819/890

my neck. "Oh, I guess maybe it is bad. I don't know."

"Kinsley– where are you?" he asked again with a sharp tone.

"West LA, near Sunset."

"Are you safe?"

"I'm in my car with the doors locked."

"Don't move. I'll come get you. Do I need to call 911?"

"No! No. I'm fine. I already talked to the police. I just... it freaked me out."

"Okay. You're okay. Stay on the phone with me. I'm only five minutes away."

I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, letting the sound of his breathing calm my erratic heart rate.

Chapter Thirty

"I just pulled up. Hang on, babe," Liam said.

I opened my eyes and peered in my rear view mirror to see him hop out of his car to get to me. I opened my door just as he came around to my driver’s side. I'd mostly conquered my tears when I was on the phone with him, but now that he was here in person, wrapping his arms around me, I felt all the emotion rush back in. He pressed his hand to my neck, brought me into his chest, and held me for a moment, hushing me and rubbing my back with his other hand.

"You're okay. You're okay," he kept repeating until my crying slowed and I was mostly sniffling.

"You're still bleeding, we need to go get this looked at," Liam said, pulling his hand 821/890

away to see the blood on it. I would have been grossed out if I wasn't concerned that I might need stitches.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, eyeing me up and down. At first the adrenaline pumping through my veins had kept me from noticing any of the pain, but now I realized I had a few scrapes and bruises. My elbow was still bleeding and my palm that I'd used to catch myself was scraped up as well.

"Just some little cuts," I answered, "but my head hurts."

Liam clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Let's go," he said, reaching around me to grab my purse and then half-lifted me out of my seat. He carried most of my weight as we walked toward his car. My feet worked just fine, but I knew he was just as scared as I'd 822/890

been a few minutes ago. Maybe it made him feel better to help me.

We stopped at an Emergency Clinic on the way to his house and they gave me six stitches on the back of my scalp. They explained that head injuries bleed much more than other injuries, but we still needed to watch out for any symptoms of a concussion.

While I was getting cleaned up, Liam called Coach Davis and explained that'd I'd be sitting out from practice tomorrow and would let her know how I was doing. Honestly, once the scrapes and everything were cleaned up and I was back in Liam's car heading home, I felt much better. Exhausted, but better.

We were quiet most of the way to his house. Liam had his hand on my knee and 823/890

he'd glance over or squeeze his fingers to make sure I was staying awake. I think I just felt tired from all of the tears. I was usually better about pain. After all, soccer was an intense sport, but a lot of the emotion and tears stemmed from the man's verbal abuse rather than the injuries.

"I keep hearing the man's voice," I admitted when we were a few minutes away from Liam's house.

"Was he asking you for a picture?" Liam asked, eyeing me cautiously.

"He was demanding a photo– but he was also asking really personal questions about us. He asked if you took my virginity and if I liked that you were my coach... you know..."

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Liam's hand gripped the steering wheel even tighter and I knew my confession didn’t sit well with him. I had to tell him though, the paparazzi's words were slimy; I didn't want to keep them to myself and let them rot.

"That won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it. Do you hear me, Kinsley? I'll never let him near you," Liam bit out harshly.

I nodded and glanced out the passenger side window. Liam couldn't be with me all the time, but I believed that he would keep me safe when he could, and that's all that mattered.

When we go to his house, he helped me out of the car and then led me straight to his bathroom. I leaned back against the sink and he slowly helped me out of my dress, bra, 825/890

and panties. His touch was gentle and soothing against my skin, and I sighed into him, letting him hold my weight. He drew a warm bubble bath and then gently set me inside.

When I was comfortable lying in the bubbles, he kissed the top of my head and headed for the bathroom door. "Wash up.

I'm going to start dinner," he said with a tight smile. I knew he wasn't over the events of the day yet, but neither was I.

"Liam—" I said, getting his attention. He spun around in the doorway, and for a brief moment, I let myself take in his handsome features: the sweet lips, the straight nose, the chiseled jaw.

"I love you."

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He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if soaking in my words, and then he smiled and glanced back at me. "I love you, too."

It was over dinner that Liam asked me to move in with him. I was taking a bite of the spaghetti when he said plain and simple,

"Move in with me."

My heart paused for a moment as I finished chewing. Then I glanced up at him as if he were insane. "Here?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter where. If you don't like this house then we'll find another."

That's not really what I had meant, but I couldn't comprehend his request.

"We've been dating for two months," I stated as if maybe he'd forgotten.

"Two and half actually, but it doesn't matter."

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"Is this because of what happened today?" I asked, setting my fork down on the edge of my plate.

He sighed. "It has a little bit to do with that. I've wanted you here with me from the start. We have such busy schedules that it would just make sense for us to live together.

When I'm not working or practicing, I want to be with you."

"But—" I couldn't even process all of my protests into one coherent list. I was too young, I had to live in the house with the other rookies, I would miss Becca, my parents would flip, and our relationship was still so fresh. Any of those were valid reasons, but I knew they wouldn't be good enough for Liam, and to be honest, a part of me, a very 828/890

big part of me, thought they weren’t good enough for me either.

"Can I think about it?" I asked with a gentle tone.

His gaze scanned over me, memorizing the planes of my features. "Of course. It's a big decision."

"And you're 100% sure about asking me?

You won't regret it in the morning?"

The edge of his mouth tipped skyward and he shook his head. "No, so you can't use that as an excuse.

I smiled and then took another bite of spaghetti, hoping to pause the conversation until my head wasn't aching.

We finished the rest of our dinner and he cleaned up quickly while I went to lie down in bed. I loved Liam's bed. It was 829/890

oversized in everyway, with too many pillows and light airy blankets that layered on top of one another. I felt tiny when I climbed inside of it and most of the time I never wanted to leave.

A few minutes later he came in carrying two Ibuprofen and a cup of water for me.

"Here, take these before you sleep or you'll wake up feeling terrible," he said, handing me the pills.

"And it's okay if I go to sleep?" I asked, fearful of the fact that I could still have a concussion.

Liam nodded and brushed my hair back from my face. "The doctor said you could sleep normally."

I swallowed the pills as Liam crossed the room to change into his pajamas. He pulled 830/890

his shirt overhead and tossed it into the dirty clothes hamper, and for a moment I could hardly breathe. It was a sight that I'd never get used to: tan skin covering contoured muscles fit for a professional athlete. I loved each ridge and didn't even bother turning away when he spun around and found me staring.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he joked, dropping his jeans and tossing them aside so he could put his sleeping pants on.

My eyes scanned down the front of him, drinking in the sight of him and trying to quell my raging hormones. I was tired and injured, you'd think that would be enough of a turnoff, but unfortunately nothing could turn me off about Liam.

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"You're making it impossible to sleep," I said with a cheeky smile. I sat atop the blankets with my long legs crossed at the ankle. My sleeping shirt barely hit the tops of my tan thighs and Liam's gaze dragged down them, then back up to me.

He slowly walked toward the bed, forgetting his sleeping pants all together. I could already see his erection growing thick beneath his briefs and I licked my lips in anticipation of the next few minutes.

"How are you feeling?" Liam asked, glancing up at me with a mischievous air.

"Good," I replied. It would have taken a gunshot wound to take me out of the game at that point.

"And your feet? How do they feel?" he asked, stroking his fingers and palms 832/890

beneath my feet and massaging my soles gently. I was slightly ticklish, but he didn't linger long enough to make me laugh. Once I nodded, he moved onto my legs.

"And your calves? Are they okay?" His eyes were growing darker, more intense, and I felt myself starting to breathe quicker, harder.

"They feel fine," I said separating my legs slightly so that he'd know I wanted him to continue. He grazed over my knees and gently massaged higher.

"Are your thighs injured?" he asked, skimming his fingers along the inseam of my leg and pushing my shirt up over the top of my panties. His breath hit the flesh just inside my thigh and my stomach quivered in response. The way his fingers dug gently into 833/890

my skin made me whimper. He hadn't even neared his end goal and I was already close to losing it.

"Liam, that feels so good," I moaned as his thumbs inched higher up my thigh. I could feel his erection against my calf and I had to bite my lip to keep from pleading with him to hurry up. I didn't want to rush him, not when his touch was erasing every bit of sadness and pain from my day.

"Does this make you feel better, baby?"

he asked just as his finger skimmed over the outside of my panties.

I arched my neck and whimpered toward his bedroom ceiling. My wound stung slightly, but the pain was nothing compared to the pleasure stemming from his finger.

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"Yes, it makes me feel... go—good," my voice broke midway through my word as he pushed my panties aside.

"Lie back and spread your legs for me. I don't want you to move. You should be resting," he said just before his mouth pressed against me.

He'd told me to lie still, but he said nothing about gripping his hair and moaning for him to continue. I couldn't help but twist my hips and angle myself so that his mouth hit me at the perfect angle. His fingers and mouth worked in tandem to bring me to the brink of oblivion. I watched the seductive rhythm of his fingers sliding in and out of me for a moment before the sensations became too much and I had to clamp my eyes closed.

Two more sweet strokes and then my toes 835/890

were curling and I was crying his name without an ounce of inhibition.

He slid up and smiled sinfully toward me as he propped himself onto his knees. His briefs were tugged off and tossed aside in seconds, and then he resettled himself against me with smooth confidence.

"This is going to be slow and easy, Kinsley," he promised as he pressed himself into me gently. I wasn't used to the slow-and-sweet version of his lovemaking, but it had its advantages– like when his mouth found mine as he slid all the way into me.

Slow and delicious. It was enough to make my head spin. I knew it was driving him wild as well. He held himself up and I wrapped my small hands around his biceps, feeling their power and weight above me.

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His hips worked their magic and I reveled in the luxurious feel of his lovemaking. I laid back and tried to cling onto each delicious thrust until we were both coming and murmuring each other's names. Our voices mingled together as he kissed me and whispered 'I love you's' into my ear.

I don't remember drifting off to sleep, but sometime in the middle of the night, my pain medication wore off enough to jar me awake. The throbbing settled in like a hazy cloud. As I waited for the new pills to kick in-to effect, I contemplated the last 24 hours. If Tara backed off would anything change, or would I be splashed across the media no matter what? If I made the Olympic team I’d be thrust into the spotlight, but the fact that Liam was interested in me made me a whole 837/890

lot more interesting to the rest of America as well.

I sighed and tried to push away the negative thoughts. The bed dipped around me as Liam rolled over and pulled me closer to his sleeping body. He did it subconsciously, and I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe even if the media didn’t back down, I’d be okay. I could get used to it just like every other person that chose to have a public career. And if not, I’d make Liam buy me a private island. Hmm, maybe that was the better option. I’d ban pants on the island. Only Calvin Klein boxer briefs.