That night, I sit in my hotel room unable to sleep. Instead, I’m out on the balcony with a cup of chamomile tea and my laptop proppedopen, channeling my inner creep. All because I can’t get Moore’s words out of my head. On a hunch, I type Alia’s name in the search engine. While there are no mentions of her personal life apart from a short article announcing her divorce from a Namik S, a banker at a well-known financial institution, there are tons more I never expected to see.
“Holy. Shit.” I scroll through picture after picture of a young woman in white pants and a collared t-shirt on a green field, playing with her teammates and glowing in a way I can only hope I’ll see in person someday.
The national fucking team? Alia was a serious cricketer. She downplayed it as a hobby when I’d asked. I study a picture of her, possibly a decade old. She looks like she’s in her late teens, but that’s not what makes me pause.
It’s her smile. Unafraid, certain, assured.
She’s staring straight at the camera, like she’s in a dare and refuses to be the first one to blink. As beautiful as Alia is now, she glances away when I speak with her. Like she’s scared of what I’ll see if she allows me a closer look.
Then, I find a headline with the picture of a crushed car which sends a sharp jolt of fear twisting at the base of my spine. Anyone who walks away from a wreck like that with their lives intact is lucky. The more I read, the clearer it becomes why she doesn’t play anymore.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve skimmed through at least half a dozen articles that help me piece together the story of a rising star cut down in her prime. I sit back, perturbed. I need to hear about this from her.
Sunday can’t come soon enough.
11
CALLUM
It isn’t often I skip working out with the team during the season. But, when Alia mentioned needing to find a new gym, I figured I could help her out and take her to mine. Like someone smart once said, “no good deed goes unpunished”.
As I finish my run and set myself up at the deadlift station, I know I’m responsible for creating my very own hell today. Because Alia in workout gear? Lethal.
My eyes scan the floor and I’m rewarded with a vision of her moving with the grace of a gazelle. Those baby-blue tights make her legs look miles long and her ass phenomenal. She bends over to pick up a pair of barbells and my brain misfires. All the blood in my head rushes south, making me dizzy.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve run game plays in my head instead of counting reps, all to distract my dick from reacting. I surreptitiously adjust myself in my shorts before it becomes tooapparent that I’m enjoying the gym for reasons that have nothing to do with exercising.
Like a magnet, my focus snaps to her flushed face. I track the bead of sweat that trails down her neck before disappearing into the darkened hollow between her tits, and it’s all I can do not to whimper miserably. Her tank top should be illegal with how seductively it pushes her perky tits together, high and proud. Fuck, they look like they’d fill my hands just right.
Her eyes meet mine and I straighten.
“Hundred and forty-three,” I grunt, nodding nonchalantly as she passes by to head to the water cooler. What the hell am I counting? “Hundred sixty-eight.” My eyes follow the sway of her ass until she stops to fill her bottle. In no time, another man chats her up, gesturing to his own bottle, one that is full.
The noise that erupts from me is a cross between a snort and snarl. Pathetic. It’s like they haven’t seen a pretty girl before.
Alia’s ponytail swishes as she nods at something he says before returning to her bench. I breathe easy once again. We finish the rest of our respective workout, but I make it a point to stay nearby, just in case. The longer we’re here, the more I understand why Rohan warned me off.
Alia draws male attention but possesses no awareness that she’s doing so. I’ve already watched two dickheads trip over themselves trying to get closer to her station. Anytime they pass by in a poorly disguised attempt to engage with her, she smiles at them. That fucking smile is so sweet, they keep returning like addicts hoping for another hit.
If my eyes were lasers, they’d bounce off the mirror and fry the assholes to a char. I flex my biceps as I curl the weights in. Despite the extra plates on each end, I feel none of the burn. I push through my reps distractedly, too busy cataloguing every male body peacocking around the one woman I can’t look away from either.
Someone needs to insulate her from the hounds that’ve come sniffing and,clearly, that someone must be me. She probably thinks they’re being friendly, but I recognize gym creeps even from a distance.
I glare at the asshat approaching her for the third time and drop the bar on the mat in warning. The clang of the weights hitting the reinforced floor sounds through the air, grabbing his attention. His eyes widen when I maintain eye contact.
Step the fuck away from her.
My Jedi mind command works because he looks uncertain, his gaze bouncing between me and Alia who’s busy with her post-workout stretches. I stalk over to her, making him stumble backward in a hurry.
Good.
Alia turns as I reach her, the relaxed expression on her face faltering when she sees me. “Everything okay, Cal?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You’re scowling.”
I wipe away my frown with the back of my hand. “That’s my hangry face. Wanna grab a bite after you’re done hitting the showers?”