Page 19 of Pressure Point

“Other than shopping, what else is on the agenda for finding her sexy?” Felicity asked. The light in her eyes told Liam that she wasn’t going to let up until he told her. He’d seen that look on the faces of his brothers many times, and he knew better than to try and dodge the question.

“Dancing. Not that I know how to do that either.”

“Just talk to Link.”

“Link Weston? The guy from Bunz?”

“Yeah. He was a professional dancer. Trained at Juilliard. He also has a couple of classes he teaches.”

“Think he’d help?”

“I know he will!”

Liam nodded, shoving a large spoonful of curry into his mouth. The spice overwhelmed his senses at first but calmed down after a moment—and a long gulp of water. But it had kept him occupied long enough for Felicity to be forced to change the subject to something else. He said a small thank you for the new topic, but also for having these two in his life. It really was like a new little family in a way. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to talk this whole thing out with someone. And while he was still feeling more than a little unsure about how all this would end, it was nice to know that he had people in his corner rooting for him and willing to help him figure it out.

“I can see the worry in your face, lad,” Gunnar said as they were cleaning up from dinner.

Felicity had stepped into the bedroom to take a phone call, and it was finally just them. Liam let out a sigh, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets. Gunnar knew him about as well as anyone on this planet—maybe even better. He’d been there through the breakup with Orla and all the aftermath. Gunnar had known that his interest in coming to the Rising was about more than just a starting spot on the squad and had supported him the whole way.

“Feels a wee bit familiar. I’ve come in second a lot, Coach. What if that’s just my lot in life?”

“I think you’re selling yourself short there, Liam. I don’t get the impression that Avery is anything like Orla.”

“I spent eight years with Orla and didn’t think she was anything like that. I don’t know that we can trust my judgment.”

“I can see why you would feel that way, but trust my judgment, and I don’t think they are at all the same,” he said, giving Liam a pointed look. Liam understood what his coach was getting at and told himself to trust the man. He hadn’t led him wrong yet. “This time could be different.”

“Could be. Could not.”

“You don’t know if you don’t try though. Just like with football, you didn’t know what would happen when you came to the Rising. You could have traded one backup slot for another. But you took a risk, and it’s paid off. You just have to decide if Avery is also worth that chance.”

Liam didn’t have to think about it. He knew the answer. The thought had already crossed his mind. He wanted Avery in his life, even if it was just as a friend. If he went his whole life with these feelings being one-sided, then he’d figure out a way to deal with that. It would suck, that he knew, but it was better than not having her friendship at all. And at this point, he really had nothing to lose.

Chapter Seven

From her office inside the medical center at the Atlanta Rising training facility, Avery had an almost perfect view of the lush green practice pitch—plus all the players on it. And oh, what a view that was.

It was one of six full-size fields on this thirty-acre campus, including a “show pitch” that featured a three-thousand-seat stand and open pavilion where fans were sometimes invited to watch the team. The state-of-the-art medical center was located on the lower level of the thirty thousand square foot main building, around the corner from the locker rooms for both the first team as well as the academy that was in the works, and directly connected to the sports science facility that included two gyms and three hydrotherapy pools. Down the hall from them was a full service kitchen and dining room, where the players ate at least one meal a day, if not two. Upstairs was home to staff offices and the players’ meeting room, which looked more like a movie theatre with its wide leather chairs and a large projection screen.

A few clouds littered the unbelievably blue sky, making the scene seem like something off of a postcard. If postcards featured sweaty, half-naked athletes with chiseled abs and thighs that made her think all sorts of dirty thoughts. She’d had no idea that it was possible to be turned on by a thigh, but then she’d started working with soccer players and had discovered a whole new world. Many of the players liked to hike their shorts up during practice, showing off their impressive quads, which made sneaking a peek that much more irresistible.

Back to work, Avery, you’ve drooled enough for one day…although, watching them work out is work, right? You’re just assessing their fitness…

Allowing herself another moment of lingering at the window, she watched as the team ran drills, balls flying between them at various speeds, looking like an army practicing for a fight. As if he knew she was watching, Dash sprinted straight toward her, coming to a stop right as he was perfectly framed by her window. He wasted no time in peeling off his sweat-soaked practice jersey, revealing his perfect body. Her heart skipped a beat as she drank him in, thinking he could not be more perfect if he’d actually been sculpted from clay.

Avery’s phone buzzed, the vibrations making it dance across her desk. She reached for it, not even bothering to look before picking it up and answering it.

“Avery Houghton,” she answered, her eyes still glued to Dash.

“Hazel Phillips,” her best friend’s voice called from the other end.

The familiar cadence of Hazel’s voice pulled Avery from her trance, her attention returning to the moment. She’d lost track of how long she’d been watching the team and was now feeling a little unsettled as she tried to clear her head of thoughts of Dash’s body against hers.

“Uh, hi,” she stumbled.

“Uh, hi? Everything okay over there? Or did I catch you midmassage?”

“Yes…no…ugh,” Avery said, stopping herself to take a breath and swiveling her chair around to face her computer, rather than the large picture window currently framing her own personal male review. “Yes, everything is fine. No, I’m not midmassage. Just doing some paperwork before today’s training session ends and the guys pile in here for recovery.”