“You know what I heard?” Simon says under his breath. “His wife used to be married to Rome Castellano and she was sleeping with Morrisonwhilethey were still married.”
“What?!” I gape at him. “Are you sure?” Rome Castellano is not just my former teammate, he’s Billie’s boyfriend.
He shakes his head. “No, but I heard it from more than one source.”
“Castellano was your old teammate, right?” West asks me.
“He and my sister live together,” I snap. “Jesus.”
“It might not be true,” Simon says quickly. “It’s just gossip.”
Vik murmurs in Russian.
“English, buddy,” I say gently.
“This bad,” he says. “If true, she is…” More Russian words none of us understand but we don’t really have to. His meaning—and tone of voice—is pretty clear.
“Let’s not spread any rumors that’ll get us benched,” West says diplomatically, but his gaze moves in the direction of the house, where Coach’s wife Lourdes has just come outside.
Her hair and makeup are done up like she’s about to walk a red carpet but she’s not wearing much in the way of clothing, just a halter-style summer dress that her boobs are practically falling out of. It doesn’t even hit mid-thigh and she’s got on heels far too high for a pool party/cookout.
Not my place to judge, though.
“This is her?” Vik asks under his breath.
All four of us are staring and West is the first to look away.
“Could we be a little less obvious?” he murmurs.
A couple of kids run past us and jump into the pool, splashing everyone in their vicinity. A couple of people laugh but Lourdes looks irritated, scowling in their direction. But a second laterher face morphs back into what I can only describe as a plastic smile—one that doesn’t reach her eyes. Women like her scare me because they tend to do whatever the hell they want, and almost always get away with it.
“Hello, boys.” She sashays over to us with a bright but calculating smile. “Are you having a good time?”
“You’ve got a great place here,” West deflects with a friendly smile. “The patio is incredible.”
“Itislovely,” she agrees. “Hugh gave me carte blanche to redecorate when we bought it, and I think a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. Also, I’ve opened an interior decorating business, so if you need help, you know where to turn.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Simon says politely.
“Ma’am?” Her eyes widen innocently. “I’m too young for that. Please—call me Lourdes.”
“Yes, ma’am—er, Lourdes.” Simon gives her an engaging smile.
“Are you all settling in okay?” She fans herself dramatically. “Atlanta is quite a change. This humidity is no joke.”
“It takes getting used to,” I say. “Coming from L.A., it’s definitely a big change for me.”
“Same.” West takes a pull of his beer and there’s no mistaking the way Lourdes’s eyes glitter as she watches him.
Jesus, is she openly gawking at West? I should be offended but, in this case, I’m more relieved than anything else.
“I’ve been here for three months now,” Lourdes continues in a sugary voice, “so if you need recommendations on where to go for dinner, dry cleaners, or anything else, please don’t hesitate to reach out. Hugh and I want to make sure you’re all happy here.”
“That’s thoughtful. Thank you.” West doesn’t make eye contact as he says it.
“And Viktor.” Lourdes puts her hand on his forearm. “I know you’re struggling with English—if you want to practice, I’malways available to you.” She squeezes his arm meaningfully and Vik blinks.
I can practically see the wheels turning as he struggles to come up with an appropriate response—in English.
