“USUALLY PEOPLE ARE a bit more excited when I call them. I am speaking to Nick Renshaw?”
Excited? Nick’s brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders. He rubbed his eyes as Anna stirred sleepily next to him.
“Who is it?” she asked, her morning voice so husky it sent a bolt of lust through Nick.
As least it woke him up, and he put the phone back to his ear.
“Yep, this is Nick Renshaw. Sorry, who’s this again?”
“Eddie Jones, Head Coach for the England Rugby Union team.”
Nick grunted disbelievingly.
“Yeah, right. Who put you up to this? Because you’ve got the voice really well.”
“I spoke to Mark Lipman this morning. Perhaps you’d like to talk to him.”
For a moment, Nick paused.
“Oh, you’re good, mate, throwing in Mark’s name. Seriously, who put you up to this? Was it Giovanni? No, hang on, was it Jason? Or Bernard?”
The reply was sharp with irritation.
“I suggest you talk to your agent and when he’s stopped cacking himself laughing, he’ll tell you to find your passport and pull your head out of your arse. You’ve been called to play for your country—although I’m beginning to doubt that decision. Have a nice day. Mate.”
By now, Nick was wide awake and Anna was sitting up next to him looking concerned.
A hot flash of embarrassment coloured Nick’s cheeks as he dialled his agent with shaking hands. Had he just made a right royal tit of himself with Eddie Jones? The Eddie Jones, the newly appointed Head Coach of the Rugby Union England team?
Mark answered on the first ring.
“I’ve been sitting by this bloody phone waiting for you to ring me,” he said acidly. “Eddie Jones called at 7.30 this morning. Did he tell you that Alex Bruce is out with a broken femur? Congratulations, Nick, your first cap for England. I always said it would happen. Well done, lad.”
“Thanks,” Nick said, and then more faintly, “Shit!”
“Pardon?”
Nick groaned as he ran through every stupid word that he’d said to England’s Head Coach.
“Everything alright?” Mark asked.
“Yep, fine. All good. Great. Never better. Wow.”
“Well . . . I’ll email over the details, but you’ll be playing in the side against Ireland at Twickenham on 13th February. Okay?”
Twickenham—the home of English rugby—82,000 fans. Holy shit!
“Yep, all good. Bloody fantastic! Thanks, Mark. Sorry to disturb your Sunday.”
“Not a problem, son. I don’t mind being disturbed for news like this. Well done. You’ve worked hard.”
“What’s going on?” asked Anna.
Nick dropped his phone on the bed, a huge grin lighting up his face, pride swelling inside him. I’m good enough to play for my country.
His throat dried as he tried to find the words—the most amazing feelings of achievement, hope and success washed through him.
“I’ve been selected to play for England.”
“Oh my God!”
Anna shrieked and threw herself at him so suddenly, he fell backwards against the headboard.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! This is the best news ever! I’m so proud of you! I knew you’d do it! All your hard work, I knew it! I love you!”
She kissed him hard then leaned back. Tears sparkled in her serious grey eyes. Gently, he swiped a thumb under her eyes, then kissed the tears away.
An hour later, he picked up his phone again to call his parents with the good news.
His mum was the second woman he’d made cry that morning.
Happy tears.
Four days later, Anna finished reading The Independent’s double-page spread with satisfaction. There was a similar feature with a splashier headline in the tabloid newspaper The Sun.
RENSURE! Nick picked for England team!
Nick Renshaw is the shooting star of Finchley Phoenixes, resurrecting his career with an angelic host of fantastic tries and devilishly delightful footwork that has put the formerly ailing team at the top of the Championship table.
Nick, dubbed ‘the hunky honey of Hangar Lane’, has now added to his accolades by being picked to play for England by new Head Coach Eddie Jones.
“Nick is quick on the ball and has a good eye for the game. I’ve been impressed with how he’s played for the Phoenixes.”
“Hey, did you know they’re calling you ‘the hunky honey of Hangar Lane’?”
Nick rolled his eyes as he walked into the kitchen, just a towel slung low around his waist, droplets of water glistening on his shoulders and chest.
“I don’t know why you read that stuff.”
Anna laughed.
“Are you kidding me? I’m having it framed so I can look at my own ‘hunky honey’ every day.”
Nick growled as he bent down and kissed her neck.
“If you put it up anywhere, I’ll use it for a dartboard.”
“I was going to put it in the bathroom,” she teased him.
“Yeah, shove it in the bog. Best place for it.”
She eyed him thoughtfully.
“How does it feel, being picked to play for your country?”
Nick closed his eyes briefly, a small smile playing on his face. When he opened them again, she saw the calmness inside. He’d weathered the storm and come out stronger.
“I feel proud, honoured. I know the hard work it’s taken to get me here.”
He knelt down in front of her, his arms encircling her waist as he buried his head in her chest.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She smiled and kissed his damp hair.
“Yes you could. You were already doing it before I came along. You would have made it with or without me. I’m so proud of you, Nick.”
He lifted his head, his eyes solemn.
“I love you, Anna.”
“I love you, too. Hunky honey.”
His eyes darkened and he swept her up, slung her over his shoulder, and sprinted to the bedroom.
Anna shrieked, pulling his towel free and swatting his bare ass.
“Put me down! I can’t be late for work!”
Nick didn’t listen. He tossed her onto the bed and ripped open her robe, making fast and furious love to her.
Already hard, he thrust inside, loving the feeling as her heels dug into his backside.
Minutes later, she sat up panting and Nick checked the bedside clock as he rolled onto his side.
“Got you off in four minutes,” he said with a huge, satisfied smile on his face.
“That’s not necessarily a recommendation,” Anna laughed, still gasping. “Although it could be another reason your nickname is the Rocket.”
Nick grinned up at her. “You said you didn’t want to be late for work.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
“That was an awesome orgasm,” she said sleepily.
She saw the smug grin of satisfaction on Nick’s face.
“Hey, that wasn’t all you!” she protested. “I’m responsible for at least half of the awesomeness, buster!”
“So you said. Hey, I’m going to cook for you tonight! Cottage Pie with garden peas.”
“Aha! The world famous Cottage Pie that isn’t a pie! I can’t wait. Sounds good to me. Maybe I’ll bring home some sticky toffee pudding for you.”
Nick’s eyes turned misty.
“And custard,” he said in a dreamy voice.
Anna laughed. She was happy to indulge his sweet tooth. She was happy to indulge him, period.
As she showered slowly—and alone—Anna’s thoughts turned to this time last year and how different her life had been. Her business was doing well and she was all but living with this amazing man who cared for her, who loved her, and told her so every day.
She should be happy that the Phoenixes had kept her on a retainer because they were so pleased with the positive effect she’d had on the team. She should be, but part of her was saddened, because it meant that she and Nick were still a secret.
Wild rumours flew around the locker room about where Nick spent most of his nights. Once or twice a week he’d put in an appearance to spend time with his flatmates, but the team was incredibly gossipy and had speculated that he was a secret tranny and lived as a woman, that he must be dating a married woman, that he was dating a guy. Since the team’s captain was gay and nobody gave a damn, that rumour died pretty quickly, but still, they were intrigued.
Nick wanted to be able to tell them, but he couldn’t. On the nights when wives and girlfriends were invited to team events or evenings when the Press were there, he attended by himself, hanging with the other guys who weren’t currently dating. Several times he’d been asked to escort someone’s sister or wife’s best friend, and he felt a fraud doing it. He particularly hated it when Anna saw the pictures and read the speculation in the newspapers the next day. He hated the shadows in her eyes.
The secrecy ate away at him, and although he wouldn’t have said he was famous, the newspapers were starting to take an interest. He and Anna had to be even more careful. He was frustrated that simply taking her out to a nice restaurant was a risk. On his birthday, they’d ordered pizza. They ate in every night because they had to, but he’d thought of a way to spoil her and show her how much he cared.
He’d overheard Anna talking to her dad and realised that it was Thanksgiving and that she’d be missing it for a second year running. She’d played it down, but he knew that she must be feeling sad, homesick for her family.
He couldn’t do anything about that. But if she couldn’t go to Thanksgiving, he could bring Thanksgiving to her.
Anna came home after a long day spent with a young female soccer player who had a history of suffering from depression. She had the chance of a scholarship in the US, but the university had asked Anna to give her professional opinion on whether the young woman would be able to handle the stress.
It had been a difficult decision, but Anna believed that the young woman was too vulnerable to be separated from her family right now. She suggested that the offer be held over for a year to give the player time to mature and prepare for a major upheaval in her life. Her recommendation hadn’t gone over well with the girl or her family.
So when she opened the door of her apartment and caught the delicious aroma of roasting turkey, she thought she was hallucinating. But no, there was Nick in her kitchen, mashing potatoes with the ferocity of a man who hadn’t eaten for a month.
He’d even decorated the table with two miniature pumpkin-shaped candles and tea lights on the window ledge.
“If you have pumpkin pie with whipped cream as well, I might have to marry you.”
Nick spun around, his eyes wide. With shock or surprise, Anna wasn’t sure, but she wished she could call back the words.
Instead, she forced a smile.
“It all looks wonderful! Thank you so much. This is amazing.”
Nick relaxed but his eyes held a wariness that she hadn’t seen since they’d gotten back together again.
He gathered her into a hug and kissed her hair.
“Happy Thanksgiving, babe.”
“Thank you so much,” she mumbled into his broad chest.
He gave a quiet laugh, then unbuttoned her coat and slipped it from her shoulders.
“Tea’s in five minutes,” he said.
Anna still couldn’t get used to the way mealtimes seemed to be interchangeable. ‘Lunch’ could also be ‘dinner’ if it was served in the middle of the day, but ‘dinner’ was also an evening meal, which could also be ‘tea’. Or ‘tea’ could be a cup of tea, or an invitation to enjoy a pot of tea and a slice of cake at four o’clock. At least breakfast and brunch had the same meaning as in the US, although she did like elevenses which meant coffee and a biscuit mid-morning. On the other hand, one of her Australian clients said that the mid-morning break was smoke-oh, even though he didn’t smoke.
“Divided by a common language,” she smiled, as she washed and dried her hands in the bathroom.
“What’s that, luv?”
“I was just thinking how different British English is from American English.”
“Yeah, you lot talk funny,” he teased, putting a plate in front of her piled with thick slices of turkey breast, peas and broccoli, and a veritable Everest of mashed potatoes.
A ready argument sprang to her lips, but then her eyes feasted on the plate and she breathed in the aroma of roast turkey and gravy.
Nick smiled as his clever, argumentative woman was silenced. And yes, he did have pumpkin pie with certain plans in mind for the whipped cream.
Full of great food and a couple of glasses of wine, Anna sprawled on the sofa, her head resting on Nick’s thighs. She’d almost embarrassed herself by becoming teary when he flipped to the children’s movie section and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving started playing.
When her phone rang from the kitchen, she was too full and sleepy to move, and waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the annoying ringing.
“I’ll get that then, shall I?” Nick chuckled quietly.
She heard him walk to the kitchen and answer her cell.
“It’s your dad,” he said, handing it over to her. “I’ll be clearing up in the kitchen.”
“Hi, Dad! Happy Thanksgiving!”
There was a long pause.
“Hello?”
“How’s my favourite daughter?”
She felt a swell of emotion at hearing his voice across the miles.
“Dad! I’m an only child! But I’m good, really good! How are you and Mom?”
“She’ll talk to you in a minute.” He paused. “Who answered the phone just now?”
Anna sat up.
“That’s Nick.”
“The man you told us about. One of the players.”
“Yes,” she said in a clipped tone.
“You’re still seeing him, despite everything I said?”
Her brain couldn’t come up with an answer quickly enough and her silence spoke louder than the words she choked on.
She could hear her dad swearing in the background as he passed the phone to her mother.
“Anna, it’s Mom. What’s going on? Why is your father so mad?”
“I . . . I’m still seeing Nick,” she whispered, clutching the phone tightly in her hand. “He wasn’t a client when we met.”
It was stretching the truth, but she had first seen him when she was out having dinner. She cringed at her own words and her mother’s disappointed sigh.
“Not again, Anna.”
“It’s not like that! Well, it is, but . . . I’m sorry, Mom.” Why am I apologizing? I’m thirty years old! “You’d like him. He’s really great! He cooked me Thanksgiving dinner.”
“I hope he’s good to you because you know the risk you’re taking. Is he worth it?”
“I love him.”
Her mother sighed again.
“Please think carefully, sweetheart. We discussed this months ago. You didn’t tell us you were still seeing him. I can’t help thinking that’s because you know it’s a bad idea.” She sighed softly. “I’m not sure your father could go through it all a second time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.”
As the call ended, tears tracked down Anna’s cheeks. She hated disappointing her parents. She felt disgusted with herself, upset by the worry she heard in their voices, her father’s anger.
Her mother’s allusion to the affair with Jonathan stung deeply. She knew that in their eyes she was making the same mistake again. It had been one hell of a truth-bomb.
But this wasn’t a mistake! She and Nick loved each other! He told her every day that he loved her.
The tears came faster.
Was Nick worth her job? Undoubtedly.
Was he worth her job, her reputation and her parents’ disappointment and pain?
She hurried into the bathroom splashing cold water on her face, trying to reduce the unhappy flush in her cheeks, but it was a losing battle.
When she trudged back into the living room, Nick was sitting on the sofa waiting for her.
It was obvious to Nick that Anna had been crying. She tried to deny it, saying she’d eaten too much and felt a little queasy, but he knew her well enough to read the misery on her face. It frustrated the hell out of him that she wouldn’t tell him what had upset her. Although he could made a damn good guess.
It scared him that the continued secrecy was poisoning their relationship. They couldn’t go on like this.
Two days later, Nick dragged the truth out of her. He was angry at her old man, but couldn’t blame him either. The whole thing left him feeling like the world’s biggest arsehole. Because of the spat, she’d decided to stay in London for Christmas and as he was going to his parents, she’d be alone. He wasn’t about to let that happen.
“Come with me when I go home at Christmas,” he said as she started to make a grocery list.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” she said, dropping the pen and crossing her arms across her chest.
Nick was momentarily distracted as his eyes followed the movement of her breasts, then brought his brain back online.
“Why not?”
“Because!”
She swept the air between them with her hands.
Nick just stared at her, a puzzled frown on his face. Anna huffed in frustration.
“Because no one can know about us!”
Nick laughed. He absolutely laughed and Anna wanted to smack his smug face. Then kiss it better.
“I told Mum and Dad about you months ago. They’re looking forward to meeting you. And Trish.”
“You . . . you told them?”
“Course I did.”
“But . . .”
He took her hands and wrapped them around his waist, then pulled her against his chest.
“You’re important to me. I love you. Of course I told my family about you. They know how much you’ve helped me. And they know why we have to keep it quiet for now.”
“Oh.”
Worry hung in the air like fog.
“We’ll drive up on Christmas Eve. If we leave it late enough, the traffic shouldn’t be too bad.”
“Oh.”
He grinned and kissed her on the forehead.
“Time to meet the in-laws,” and he released her with a wink.
Wait, what? In-laws?!