Too Much of a Good Thing?. Joss Wood

heaving club below.

      Will’s grin faded at Kelby’s serious face. ‘What are you talking about?’

      ‘Both you and Jo became too successful, too young...and it went to your heads. Jo was the bad girl of professional sports, and because you wanted to get into and stay in her pants she pulled you into her crazy lifestyle.’

      ‘Sex, drugs and rock and roll,’ Will said bitterly. ‘Then I married her.’

      ‘And, because you’re a competitive SOB you thought that whatever she could do you could do better. God, the press loved you two.’

      Thanks to their exploits, they’d sold so many newspapers that the holding companies should have offered them shares, Will thought sourly. They’d fallen into bed within an hour of meeting each other, been married within a month. Theirs had been an instant sexual connection, an adrenaline-filled lust that had been as compelling as it was dangerous.

      ‘Jo did walk on the wild side and I loved it. The clubbing, the drinking, dallying with recreational drugs.’

      Then had come the hell of trying to juggle their schedules to be together, the massive fights when they did meet up, and his slowly dawning realisation that they didn’t have anything keeping them together other than a waning sexual chemistry.

      ‘But what’s that got to do with being competitive?’

      ‘After the divorce you wanted to show Jo that you didn’t need her to have a good time. The parties got bigger, there were different girls every night, and you were still making the papers for all the wrong reasons.’

      ‘Nearly losing my career by pitching up at practice either drunk or constantly hungover. Yes, I remember! You covered for me that entire season. When the management team threatened to fire me you promised them that you could straighten me out, why?’

      ‘You were too talented to be allowed to mess up your life,’ Kelby stated.

      Will shuddered. If Kelby hadn’t stepped up and fought for him to stay employed by the rugby franchise there would’ve been no captaincy, no career.

      Damn straight he owed him.

      ‘But I didn’t think I’d create a Frankenstein! When you finally heard my come-to-the-light talk you went from Mr Wild to Mr Disciplined Control. You hardly drink, you’re rabidly anti-drugs, and you never allow yourself to have a relationship that lasts longer than a night. Maybe two.’

      ‘The spark usually only lasts that long,’ Will muttered. Bitter experience and a couple of brief affairs had taught him that the hotter the sexual flare of attraction, the quicker the flame died.

      ‘Fires need to be fed, Will. Your problem is that you think sex fuels a relationship. It doesn’t. Not long-term anyway. Love fuels sex. Maybe if you tried getting to know a woman first before taking her to bed you would actually learn this.’ Kelby sent him a knowing look. ‘Or maybe you do know this and that’s why you limit yourself to one-or two-night stands. You don’t allow yourself to get to know anyone because you don’t want to risk falling in love.’

      Why would he want to fall in love? Love was the pits! A rollercoaster ride of hot sex, huge fights and total loss of control. Control...he never lost it. Not any more. Not on the field, not in relationships, never in the bedroom. It reminded him of who he’d been and he didn’t like it. Didn’t want to be reminded of it.

      ‘Have you been taking some of Angie’s girl pills?’ Will demanded. ‘Geez, you sound like one of my sisters!’

      Yet Kelby wouldn’t shut up. ‘Here’s an idea...why don’t you try being friends with a woman instead?’

      ‘That’s not the way it works.’

      ‘On planet Normal it does,’ Kelby retorted.

      Will couldn’t find a clever retort so he fell back on an old, trusted response. ‘Shuddup.’

      Kelby just snorted into his beer.

      Will looked over the railing to see some of his team in the heaving mass of dancers below, surrounded by a lot of nubile, barely dressed female flesh. They were so young and so obvious. He looked right, to the woman at the bar who was the complete opposite of them. Older, but inadvertently sexy, he mused, fascinated by her. Understated, yet compelling, with her minimal make-up and short, no-fuss hair.

      Kelby banged his empty bottle down on the table. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

      Will nodded and drained his beer. His eyes swept over the crowd below and he saw that she was still there, standing by the bar, a long glass of what looked like mineral water in her hand. Unlike the rest of the clubbers she looked completely sober, and when she lifted her arm, and swung her watch-bracelet around her arm, he saw that she was checking the time. Her body language screamed that she wanted to leave and he was momentarily disappointed not to have met her.

      You’re here for three months only. Sex was important to him, although he was still weary of casual hook-ups. But as the thought of a permanent relationship gave him hives it didn’t leave him with a lot of options. What could be worse than being trapped in a relationship with someone after familiarity and boredom had snuffed out all sexual attraction? It had happened with Jo, consistently rated as one of the world’s sexiest sportswomen, so it was bound to happen with anyone else.

      If he got bored, fell out of lust and couldn’t maintain a relationship with someone as hot as her, he held out little—actually, no hope that he could do it with someone more...normal. He was, he admitted, a dysfunctional ass when it came to women.

      As Will and Kelby walked down the steps from the VIP area he debated which exit to use. If he turned right it would take him past the bar and he might see the woman again.

      Not that he’d do anything about it when he saw her; he just wanted to satisfy his curiosity about the colour of her eyes.

      He traded high-fives with the more sober clubbers and rugby fans who recognised him, and Kelby willingly allowed himself to be pulled into a conversation with a couple of devoted fans. Rugby talk and free beer. Will grinned. Kelby couldn’t resist either.

      Will dismissed the raucous comments flung his way and flatly ignored the offers from women—and one camp man—to buy him a drink. It took him about fifteen minutes to get to where he’d last seen her and he looked around. She’d disappeared.

      Gone.

      Later, he couldn’t have said why he looked in that direction, what made him glance over his shoulder. But there she was again. Except this time she was swaying on her feet. A large man, one whom he hadn’t seen before, had put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. She wasn’t resisting. She just looked past him with glassy eyes and her head bobbed on her neck.

      She was high as a friggin’ satellite.

      Will frowned. Fifteen minutes ago she’d been dead sober and wanting to go home—now she was spaced.

      He knew drugs—could spot the signs—but he was convinced she’d been telling her friend that she wanted to go home. Why take a hit if she wanted to leave? And whatever she’d taken had propelled her into la-la land very, very quickly.

      Will looked at her and his gut instinct screamed that something was wrong. He really didn’t like the look of the broad, hairy hand that was cupping her ribcage, one grubby-looking thumb resting just under the curve of her breast. She’d refused the advances of far better-looking and better-dressed men than him the whole evening. There was no way that she’d hook up with that jackass now.

      Date-rape drug. The thought slammed into his head with the force of a rugby scrum.

      And where the hell was her friend...boyfriend...date—whatever he was? Will gnawed his bottom lip and swore, considering what to do. He was ninety-nine percent sure that her drink had been spiked, and if it had been, he couldn’t just leave her. Who knew what would happen to her?

      But...what if he was wrong? This could all be consensual and