Gray's Girl
Contents
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Gray’s Girl
Mina Carter
Copyright Warning
EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (
http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/
).
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Published By
Etopia Press
1643 Warwick Ave., #124
Warwick, RI 02889
Gray’s Girl
Copyright © 2012 by Mina Carter
ISBN: 978-1-939194-03-9
Edited by Jennifer Fitzpatrick
Cover by Mina Carter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Etopia Press electronic publication: October 2012
~ Dedication ~
To Milly, for her unwavering support, willingness to listen to the most disjointed ramble and for the fact that the words “Wait, I’ve got an idea” don’t send her screaming for the hills.
As always, many thanks to my editor Jenn and the team at Etopia, whose efforts and hard work mean the world to myself and all the Etopia authors. You guys rock!
Finally, to my readers. Whether this is your first time reading one of my stories, or you’ve been with me on many journeys…thank you for having the faith to pick up this book. Each and every one of you.
Chapter One
“Move yer lazy arses!” Leighton Gray, known to his friends as Big L, hollered as he thundered around the end of the pitch and onto the dead ball line behind the goal posts, almost trampling the team’s props in the process. The two smaller players, both built like minijuggernauts, swore as he passed.
Thighs pumping like pistons, he flashed a grin over his shoulder. “Too slow, midget!”
“That’s not what yer mam said when I was climbing off ’er!”
Gray lifted a hand and flicked them the V over his shoulder as he powered down the small straight and turned to run back up the other side of the pitch. As he reached the halfway line he slowed his pace and jogged, feeling the ache in his muscles. With the season slowing down now, they’d assumed that Coach would let them off a little but no, it looked like Butler planned to keep their noses to the grindstone until the last match. Bastard.
Rolling his shoulders, Gray kept to the slower pace as his body cooled down. Two laps, a quick stretch, and he was done. He could already feel the shower calling his name. As he ran, he allowed his mind to wander.
Charnwood Road was a large stadium, nothing on par with Twickenham, but no measly offering nonetheless. The stands rose up around him, empty now. He didn’t play on the wing but that didn’t stop Gray daydreaming about scoring a try, his mind filling in the roar of the crowd as he thundered toward the try line.
“Gray! Gray! Gray!”
He felt the familiar surge of adrenaline as the twin posts rose up ahead of him, his attention fixed on the thin white try line as he sprinted toward it. Imagination conjured up the sound of pursuit behind him, the pounding of the opposition’s feet as they raced after him. He was too quick for them though, every inch of his six foot nine frame bent to one purpose, getting the ball down behind the line. Scoring a try, gaining points for the team, was the ultimate goal, and there was no rush like it. Ever.
The line rushed toward him, his feet flying over the turf. Elation wrapped around the adrenaline as he launched himself into the air, twisting as he hit the turf to slam the ball into touch.
Try!
The dream-crowd went wild as he rolled to his feet to bask in their adoration and the jubilation of his teammates. Hands ruffled his blond locks, a little overlong for the game but he didn’t care. They were his trademark and it was a brave man who tried to mess with the ’do.
“’Ey up, Blondie’s here,” one of the guys piped up as Gray trotted up and dropped down next to them to start stretching.
“Fuck you, Vicky,” Gray shot back as he leaned forward to grab his toes and stretch the backs of his legs. Most of them had nicknames, some liked by their owners, others…not so much. Vicky had gained his for the simple fact his parents had been unwise enough to name him Darren, which with his surname of DeMarcos, gave him the initials DD. It hadn’t taken the rest of the squad long to link that to breast size and he’d gone from Double D to Victoria’s Secrets, aka Vicky, overnight.
“Nah, you ain’t my type, mate. What do you reckon, Sylvie Martin or Jess Ellison?” the other man asked, naming two popular actresses.
Gray lifted up and shifted to fold his left leg at the knee. Bending over it until he could feel the stretch, he looked up at Vicky questioningly. “In what way? Looks, intellect? Body of work?”
“For fuck’s sake, get with the program! Tit size, man.” Vicky cupped his own boatlike hands in front of his rib cage. “Which do you prefer, big knockers or fried eggs? Sylvie or Jess?”
Gray shook his head. That was just typical of his teammates. Reduce a woman down to her mere physical attributes with no thought whatsoever to her mind, or her personality. Animals. Sometimes he wondered if any of them had a mental age above fourteen. Say the word “sex” and at least three snickered.
“They’re both nice-looking women.”
His answer was noncommittal as he continued to stretch, leaving Vicky and another of the players to a mind-enhancing discussion of breast size. Before long, he was done, leaving the other two to chatter as he trudged toward the changing room and the hot showers within. His studs rattled on the painted concrete of the players’ tunnel as he headed in, leaving clumps of dirt and turf in his wake.
It wasn’t as if he was immune to the charms of the fairer sex, but…was it too much to expect to be able to have a conversation with a date? That wasn’t a possibility with the arm candy the team usually trotted out, each of them trying to outdo the rest. Hair extensions, breast implants, and vacuous expressions. It was enough to drive a bloke mad.
“She’s pretty. Intelligent. Easy to get along with…”
The male voice that reached his ears as he pushed open the door to the changing rooms was familiar. He and Damon Cross had been friends for years. They’d gone to nursery, then school together. Skipped classes and raised hell in detention together, and when their PE teacher had introduced them to rugby, fallen in love with the sport together. Now, years later, they were both at the top of their game, Damon playing scrum-half to Gray’s lock and the two were still inseparable.
“Don’t tell me you’re trying to palm your mother off on someone again, Cross?” Gray joked as he clattered over to his locker, throwing a grin over at the two men sitting on the center benches, Damon and the other man already dressed and ready to quit for the day.
Damon didn’t stop speaking, just extended his middle finger in Gray’s direction. “And we’ve already got tickets so you wouldn’t be out of pocket.”
“Hmmm…” Steve Bryant, the player Damon had cornered, pursed his lips and ran his hand over his jaw. “I’d need to rearrange picking my brother up from the airport. How old did you say your sister was?”
Gray froze, hand buried in his locker. Sister. Damon’s sister. Frankie Cross. The girl Gray had had a crush on since he was twelve years old.