Shut Out: A Soccer Romance

By Ilana Lanir

Teagan Callahan, top scorer in the recent soccer World Cup, arrives in Columbus, Ohio to become the public face of a brand-new team, the Columbus Nightingales. The night before she joins the team, she has a hot hook-up with a sexy Englishman she meets in a bar. But next day, it turns out he's her coach, George Callahan. George swears he didn't know who she was when they slept together. But Teagan isn't sure. Can she trust him?
Then, Covid-19 strikes and they're forced into isolation-- together, And that's when things start getting complicated. Feelings develop -- longings, yearnings they can't act on. But the more they get to know one another, the stronger their feelings become.
Problem is George won't be around much longer. He's going home to coach the England team and is determined to defeat Teagan and Team USA and win a World Cup for his country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098382452

Book preview

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© Ilana Lanir 2021

ISBN: 978-1-09838-245-2

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

PART I — PRE-PANDEMIC

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

PART II — PANDEMIC

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

PART III — POST PANDEMIC

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

SNEAK PREVIEW FOR THE NEXT IN THE LOVE FOR KICKS SERIES

PART I — PRE-PANDEMIC

Chapter 1

Teagan Callahan had been watching the man at the bar for the past twenty minutes, trying to decide whether to go through with her plan. She had one night of freedom, one chance to cut loose, forget who she was, forget the rules, the dos and don’ts, forget everything and just let herself go. But for that, she need a person of the male persuasion who had what it took to give her what she needed. This particular man had a beer in front of him but he’d hardly touched it. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, maybe eight or ten years older than her, and even sitting on a bar stool, she could see he was in excellent shape. There was no bulge to his belly and his arms were tight and muscular under his sweatshirt. One might even say he had an athlete’s body. All around him, TVs were broadcasting college basketball and NHL hockey. This was, after all, a sports bar. The man ignored them all. That suggested he wasn’t an actual athlete which was another plus in Teagan’s book. The last things she wanted was a hook-up with a fellow pro.

Occasionally, fans cheered when there was a good play. It all seemed to go over his head. No, this man was reading a book. Not on a Kindle or other device. He was reading an old-fashioned book with a hard cover and hundreds of pages, which he was turning at a surprisingly rapid rate. A brainiac then – a hot nerdy type. You’ll do, Teagan thought to herself. This man didn’t know it yet but he was about to have the surprise of his life.

Teagan was wearing faded jeans and a black lycra shirt which emphasized her admittedly modest curves. She’d dressed intentionally to avoid attracting attention and she’d recently dyed her streaky blond hair a vivid red. This was partly to avoid being readily identified and partly to signify a fresh start – a new chapter in her life. Normally, she’d wear it in a messy poneytail stuck through the back of a baseball cap or braids if she could be bothered, but tonight she’d let it hang down like a real girly girl. She’d even put on a dab of lipstick and a pair of dangly silver earrings for the occasion. Few who saw her would immediately associate her with the athlete whose shots kept hitting the back of the net with astounding regularity. Barely two months ago, she’d been a national hero – a member of the victorious Team USA Women’s Soccer World Cup squad and winner of the Golden Boot as the top tournament scorer. The entire nation had burst with pride. There’d been a ticker tape parade in New York City, during which she’d learned what ticker tape actually was, and a visit to the White House to receive the thanks of a grateful nation from the President himself. For Teagan, that was followed by a triumphant return to her home town of Waterbury, Connecticut where she was granted the keys to the city in front of her parents and many old school friends. Her face had been plastered everywhere; she’d been interviewed on ESPN and on late night talk shows. As a result of all the exposure, she’d also picked up a couple of endorsement deals. She had it made.

Some of her teammates lapped it up – couldn’t get enough of the publicity and adulation. To them, it was like a drug. But after all the excitement was over, Teagan just felt tired and jaded — tired of being recognized, tired of being pestered and bothered, tired of strangers wanting a piece of her. She’d given away so many pieces it felt like there was nothing left. She was surrounded by people and yet she was lonely. At first, it had been exciting but over time it had become oppressive. How strange, this life of a temporary B-list celeb, constantly surrounded by PR execs, advisers, agents, reporters and sundry other hangers on. They all saw her as a commodity, valuing her for what she could do for them rather than for who she actually was. She felt like a bug under a microscope, pinned in place, scrutinized, unable to crawl free.

Despite her exuberant public image and her wacky trademark celebrations after scoring goals, which always went viral on YouTube and Twitter, Teagan was actually a shy type who didn’t make friends easily. Now, she had a fresh challenge. Tomorrow she started a new job with a new team in a new city where she knew no-one. There would be daily training for several weeks before the season started; then twice weekly games and grinding travel. There would be knocks and bruises, tired, aching muscles, inadequate sleep, constant stress and eventually total physical exhaustion. It would go on for months.

Hopefully it would end in glory with a championship. But probably not. This was a new team about to embark on their first major league season. Not that Teagan was complaining. She loved her life, her profession and her passion for soccer. How many people got paid for doing the thing they loved the most in the world, even if men doing the exact same thing got paid way more? It was the parts off the field that bothered her. For the past year, her sex life had been a blank slate apart from a few unsatisfying encounters best forgotten. Before she started up on the soccer carousel again, she had tonight. Teagan was a woman on a mission — and now she had a man in her sights. Tonight, she was going to throw off the constraints, lose her inhibitions and get laid, hopefully by someone who knew what he was doing. A hot, yummy, muscular bookworm.

Teagan had entered the bar hiding behind dark shades and now replaced them with reading glasses with plain lenses, another level of disguise even if, in this bar in this town, Teagan didn’t think she was in too much danger of being recognized. Though it did have a fanatical and growing fan base, most Americans still cared little about soccer and even less about women’s soccer. They just liked the feeling of victory that the women brought the nation by winning the World Cup, which even Teagan understood had more to do with patriotic pride than true love of the game. When the World Cup wasn’t on, most Americans lost interest.

On entering the bar, Teagan had carefully surveyed the room checking out the available guys. The one with the beer gut of a forty-year-old lolling in his chair, already half-plastered – no thanks. The frat boys in the corner making lewd suggestions to their server – no way. The three middle-aged businessman with suit jackets off and rolled up sleeves – not happening. Then, she’d seen him. She licked her lips. This one was tasty.

The man turned another page, then raised his head and said a quiet word to the barman who nodded. He was a burly specimen who looked more like a doer than a reader. His body showed the evidence of daily physical work. Even in the poor light, Teagan could see he had the tan of someone who spent much of his time outdoors. Perhaps he worked in the building trade or was a landscaper – or maybe a farmer. He sat on the stool barely moving. Only by looking really carefully could you discern that he was even breathing. His face was dark with stubble, he had a cleft chin and his hair was tightly curled and appeared to be going a bit gray around the edges. Teagan felt herself wondering if those curls would spring back if she pressed them down. There really wasn’t an ounce of fat on that big body. A stool opened up next to him as someone got up and left. Seizing the moment, she wandered over a plunked herself on it. He didn’t look up. She took a moment to examine his hands. No ring. Not that that particularly proved anything. But it was a good sign.

Interesting book? she asked.

He turned slowly to the side and regarded her, expressionless. Then, his mouth opened and a single word emerged. What?

I asked if it was a good book.

Again a long pause, as if he was considering very carefully what to say. He presumably knew a pick-up when he saw one and he was deciding whether to let things develop or cut them off at the pass.

Pretty good. The man continued to look at her carefully, dwelling on her face, not straying to the rest of her body. For a moment, she thought he might have recognized her. Was he a fan of women’s soccer? But his eyes betrayed nothing. She was safe behind her fake glasses. He had a sad kind of face, she decided, like someone who had once known but had long ago forgotten how to smile.

What’s it about?

He showed her the cover. It showed a skeletal black hand spread out against a bright red background. It’s a dystopian novel. Feminist. Some time in the future, women suddenly develop a new power in their bodies to deliver electric shocks through their arms to anyone who pisses them off and they take over the world. Men have to live in constant fear of being zapped to death. Women become all-powerful.

Cool.

And then they start to abuse their power.

Okaaay…

I guess it’s meant to be an allegory.

A what?

He gave her another look. She felt a bit uncomfortable, as if he was assessing her intelligence. Just because she didn’t know a fancy word. Teagan had never been an academic type, but she considered herself plenty smart and resented anyone making assumptions about her. She was considering dropping the whole thing, when he spoke again.

It’s symbolic. It’s about an imaginary future world – but it’s really about our world. It’s meant to make us men realize what it’s like for women in our own society today where they’re under constant threat. In that sense, it’s successful. It’s making me think about male power and the abuse of power. I’m asking myself if things are really that bad. What do you think?

He had a delightful accent which Teagan placed from somewhere in the north of England, perhaps Yorkshire. She’d spent some time over there earlier in her career.

Teagan considered. This was a really strange way to begin a conversation. Perhaps he was a college professor who spent a lot of his spare time in the outdoors. Did she really want to get into a conversation about feminism? How was that supposed to lead to the bedroom? But he seemed to expect an answer, as the price for moving forward.

She said, For lots of women, I think it is that bad. There’ve been times in my life I could have used that kind of power.

Hopefully, this is not one of them, the man said.

Hopefully.

If you had that kind of power, I’d have to walk away very carefully right about now, the man said. He smiled for the first time—a tentative grin that almost but not quite lit up his face. His eyes, Teagan noticed, were an extraordinary bright green, quite unusual and a little mesmerizing.

Instead of which you can buy me a drink, Teagan said.

He gave her another long, scrutinizing look which she withstood without flinching. He seemed to be asking her, without speaking, if she was sure she knew what she was doing. Finally, he shut the book after marking his place, turned stiffly and gestured to the barman.

What’s your pleasure? he asked.

What’s my pleasure? Ah, so he wasn’t totally clueless. Now things were back on track.

I mean, what do you want?

She grinned, enjoying the double entendres. I guess that remains to be seen. If you have the balls to find out, she replied, a bit amazed at her daring. But what the hell. It had been literally months. She was horny – and truth be told, lonely, and fate had brought her this nice chunk of male goodness with lovely eyes and a body to die for. Also not stupid, which was an additional turn-on. Tomorrow, she’d get back to being herself again but tonight she felt reckless. It was an intoxicating, freeing sensation.

What’s your name? he asked.

Er, m, Morgan um…

Morgan Um? he repeated, not betraying even a trace of skepticism.

Morgan Umquist, she came up with.

Hmm. Interesting name. Swedish descent no doubt, he said.

Right. Swedish all the way on my father’s side, Norwegian on my mother’s, Teagan said, seizing the lifeline he’d thrown her. What about you? What’s yours?

George Knightley.

The name was vaguely familiar. Teagan thought she’d heard it before somewhere. It definitely rang a bell. She tried to place it in her memory but she couldn’t come up with anything. Probably it would come to her later.

George? Like King George?

Like George Knightley. You can call me Mr. Knightley if you like. Lot of women do.

Why would I do that? Was he kinky?

He gave her a long searching look. Not a fan of Jane Austen?

I know who she is. Read one of her books in high school.

Pride and Prejudice?

Maybe. Don’t remember. But I saw the movie, the one with Keira Knightley. Does that count? Hey, is she a relative of yours?

Sadly not. But there is a character in one of her other books who has my name.

Which book?

Emma. He’s the romantic lead, Mr. Knightley.

Enough of this repartee. Teagan hadn’t come here to discuss English literature. Time was short, she had an early start next day. Either this guy was up for it or he wasn’t.

Do you live here in Columbus? she asked, wanting to know if there was any danger of running into him again.

Just arrived. New assignment. Yourself?

Same. Starting a new job tomorrow.

Oh yeah? What do you do?

Time for another lie – or half lie. I’m in sporting equipment.

Ah. He shifted on his stool, winced and rearranged his left leg, stretching it out in front of him. Teagan recognized the signs of a person trying to suppress pain. The guy’s leg was hurting but he didn’t want her to know it.

There was a long pause. Teagan realized this man, whoever he was, was toying with her. He was deliberately making himself obtuse, forcing her to take the initiative. Left to himself, he would make no move at all. Perhaps that was smart in these days of the Me Too movement. She licked her lips and wriggled her hips, feeling the imprint of the three condoms she placed in the back pocket of her jeans.

Do you want to get out of here? she asked. I’m staying in a hotel down the road until I get myself fixed up. But just so you know upfront, this is a one-time offer. Tonight only. No details, no exchanging contact numbers, no relationship of any kind. It’s strictly one and done. I don’t know anything about you and you don’t know anything about me. That’s the way it stays. If our paths cross again by some chance – unlikely but not impossible – then we don’t know each other, we never met, this never happened. She reached out a hand and hesitantly touched one of his curls. A strange frisson of something – static electricity perhaps – shot through her body. She was aware of her breasts beginning to pebble.

Knightly stiffened but made no effort to remove her hand. He seemed to be thinking about her offer quite seriously. Finally, he nodded and said, I have the balls, Morgan Umquist. And all the sporting equipment I need. I agree to your terms. One and done, no details, and if by some strange chance we ever meet again, this never happened and we don’t know each other. Remember, you’re the one who said it. But if it happens, I’m holding you to it.

Chapter 2

Teagan’s mouth was dry. Was she really going to do this? She took another look at the man sitting in front of her. He really was delicious. There was something understated about him she found refreshing. He was quiet but she suspected that once unleashed, the beast within would be formidable. If she had to choose one man for one night, he looked like a pretty good bet. And he really seemed to have no idea who she was. There had been no hint of recognition in his eyes when he looked at her. The last thing Teagan needed was some sleaze boasting on social media that he had nailed a Team USA soccer star. But this quiet man with his dystopian feminist novel seemed not to be the type to do so.

So what are you waiting for? she said.

He stood up, stretching to his full height, six or seven inches taller than her. I was waiting for you. You’re in charge here.

Good answer. Let’s go.

She walked out, shucking on her coat, not checking to see he if he was following, instinctively knowing that he was. Once she hit the sidewalk, she turned back toward him, aggressively grabbing his face with both hands, pulling him in for a kiss. Before she made her final decision, she wanted to see what kind of chemistry they had and whether she was right about the electricity arcing between them. As she stepped into his space, her senses were instantly flooded with his smell, sharp, minty and fresh, all male. Whatever body wash he’d been using, she approved. Then she stopped thinking as his tongue invaded her mouth and began to wreak havoc with her pleasure centers. She was already getting damp – and her question had been answered. Yes, they had chemistry, enough to ignite a chain reaction. She couldn’t remember being so aroused so fast. She broke away, grabbed his arm and half dragged him down the street toward her hotel.

Hold up, slow down, he said, pointing to his leg. Bum leg, can’t move too fast after sitting for a while. Need to loosen up.

Ah, okay, she said, matching her pace to his. No sweat. I just wanted to get the show on the road.

Eager little beaver aren’t you? he said.

Just shut up. If I wanted witty comebacks, I’d have gone to a comedy club.

He laughed.

They reached the hotel and she led him through the lobby. He nodded at the night clerk behind the desk as they strode toward the elevator. He seemed altogether too cool and collected, while Teagan was almost frantic in her need to get him inside her room. But then she caught herself. What was she doing? She didn’t know this guy from Adam, knew nothing about him at all. She needed to slow down. She didn’t want to stop but she needed to act smart and take some precautions.

Wait, she said, tugging his arm back and beckoning him toward a sofa in the corner of the empty lobby. Before we do this, let’s set some terms.

I thought we already did that, he said mildly. But it’s fine, you’re allowed cold feet. I’ll just say goodnight and be on my way.

I don’t have cold feet. I just wanted to slow down a bit before I shut myself in a room with you. I was thinking about your book and what you said about male abuse, she said pointing at it.

If you think I might abuse you, what are you doing?

George, you seem like a nice guy, very well read and all. I obviously don’t think you’re an abuser or we wouldn’t be here. But looks can be deceiving and we don’t know each other

I thought that’s the way you wanted it.

It is. I only want to take a few basic precautions before we get naked. Show me your driver’s license.

Don’t have a US license. Will a British one do? Or my passport?

Sure, either one.

He extracted a license from his wallet and handed it over. She examined it, then pulled out a phone and took a photo of it, pleased to see he’d given her his real name. She couldn’t say the same to him. Is it OK if I email this to my best friend? Just in case?

He paused. Bit of invasion of privacy. I don’t know your best friend. I don’t want some stranger googling me. And I don’t know you either, Ms. Umquist. I’m fine with you calling someone and asking them to check on you in an hour or something like that. Or you can ask the desk clerk. I’m actually staying at this hotel too so they have all my details. I’m in room 866. Or maybe all this talk is turning us both off and we should just drop the whole thing.

Teagan thought about it. She wasn’t a risk taker or promiscuous. Tomorrow, she’d get back to being herself, totally focused on soccer, the physical and mental grind. But she still had tonight – this one night – and this man. His idea seemed reasonable. She went over to the reception desk.

Can you verify that Mr. Knightley here is a guest.

The clerk nodded. He is.

And could you please call my room in one hour.

What for? asked the puzzled clerk.

To see if I have everything I need in the mini-bar. I might be running low on peanuts.

A light switch went on and he nodded his agreement.

OK, now we’re ready – if you still want to, Teagan said, turning back to George whose face was a study in blank neutrality. Then, he nodded. They stood silently in the elevator. Teagan wanted another one of those supercharged kisses but Knightley seemed content to wait as the floors pinged, one by one. Perhaps they’d killed the mood. But no, judging by the hungry looks he was giving her, he was still primed for action. So was she. They finally reached the 12th floor and the doors opened.

Teagan led the way, found her key card, flung the door open, dragged the man in behind her, threw her glasses on the