Page 24 of Surrender
Smiling politely, I reply, “Nice to meet you, Hobo. Can I ask why they call you that?”
He ruffles a hand through his mop of curly brown hair. “Well, my footy career has been a bit of a mess. I’ve had more transfers than Joey Barton, not for the same reasons, mind you. I’ve just lived a bit of a gypsy life in football. People took to calling me Hobo because it seemed I was destined to be homeless for a while there. But Man U has managed to keep me a whole year, so here’s hoping!”
I laugh politely at the sheepish look on his face. “Well, I’m happy you’re a bit more settled now. And please, call me Sloan.”
“Will do,” he says with a genuine grin. “It’s so nice to meet you. Gareth speaks very highly of you.”
Goosebumps spread over my body at the mention of Gareth’s name. The fact that Gareth has spoken highly of me, even after I blew him off like I did, invokes a nearly toe-curling sensation all over me.
Hobo doesn’t seem to notice my reaction as he leans in and whispers, “I wanted to quietly mention that the little woman isn’t happy about this meeting, so can we discuss fees later?”
My quizzical brow is torn from him as a tall blonde steps up behind him and leans against the doorframe with a hand propped on her hip. I can’t help but ogle a bit as she stands there in all her powerful and intimidating glory. She’s dressed in a pair of shimmering black soccer shorts and a black sports bra with a white Nike swoosh across the chest. Her shoulders rise and fall quickly, indicating she just completed a rigorous workout. I can’t help but turn green with envy over the outlining of a perfect six-pack that becomes visible every time she exhales.
“This is my lady, Brandi Smith.” Hobo introduces us. “Brandi, this is Sloan Montgomery.”
“You don’t need to be here,” she bites in a crisp Welsh accent while shaking my hand. “Hobo thinks this is a good idea, but I think it’s ridiculous.”
“Schatz,” Hobo says in a warning tone. “It’s not ridiculous. This is how you play the game.”
“I do play the game.” She turns her icy blue eyes on him. “It’s called football.”
He scoffs with annoyance. “My Schatz is maddening.”
“It’s not my fault that you earn more in one week than I do in an entire year.” She turns away from Hobo, crossing her arms over her chest to brood in silence.
Exhaling heavily, Hobo looks back at me. “I’ve asked you out here because, in order to get endorsements, you have to play the part. You have to show sponsors that you have the look. I’m attending an upcoming awards gala where there will be lots of press, a red carpet, the works. This stunner will be on my arm, and she needs to look phenomenal. She is sexy and strong. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be on billboards all over the world.”
She rolls her eyes, but I see a tender look exchanged between the two of them that makes it obvious this is about a lot more than landing an endorsement deal.
“He’s kind of right,” I add, turning their attention back to me. “I’ve styled a lot of athletes, and it didn’t take me long to learn that the game is just one part of your job.”
Hobo smiles triumphantly. “Super. Where do we begin?”
After about an hour and a half of looking through Brandi and Hobo’s clothes and showing them some catalogues, I get a sense of a lot more than their style. Style-wise, Hobo tends to gravitate toward mismatched eccentric fashion. Very European. Brandi likes comfort and athletic lines. A racerback gown that displays her legs is an obvious choice because, holy shit, her muscular thighs could probably crack a walnut between them.
Their relationship, on the other hand, is pretty much adorable. Hobo is the funny one. Brandi is the one who rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs. They play off each other. One only amusing when the other is annoyed. It’s delightful. And when he told me that his sweetheart word for her—Schatz—literally means “treasure,” I may have swooned a bit. Until of course it made me think of what Gareth called me the night we were together.
Treacle, meaning “sweet.”
Remembering that brings a small smile to my face, and it’s not only the compliment behind the word. It’s the affectionate way he said it. Even in the locker room, when he uttered that term of endearment from his deep, husky voice, my toes curled inside my boots.
My palms are sweaty from my errant thoughts as we make our way downstairs. I think the world is playing a hilarious joke on me when at the foot of the stairs, I see none other than the man who’s consuming my thoughts.
Gareth.
And not just any Gareth.
A shirtless Gareth.
A shirtless, sweaty Gareth.
The plastic of his water bottle cracks noisily as he guzzles the remaining drops and crushes it in his meaty paw.
“Hullo, neighbour!” Hobo booms, hopping off the railing he just slid down and smacking Gareth on the shoulder.
“Hiya, Hobo. Brandi.” Gareth’s deep voice reverberates in the entryway and makes a lot more than my ears vibrate. He slides his eyes to me and gives me a simple raise of his brows. “Sloan.”
Good God.I have to inhale deeply to keep myself from falling down the steps because of the way his gaze drops down my body. I’m dressed in a crew knit sweater dress. It’s a modest cut but form-fitted. From the looks of it, Gareth likes what he sees.
