Team Niklas (The Saints Team #3) by Ally Adams Page A

He put a hand on Nik’s shoulder and
Nik flinched and moved away. The Russian held his hands up in a peace gesture.
What’s that about? The man looked as though he didn’t mind being touched last
night when he wanted me on his lap.
    “If you want to talk to Sasha,
you’ll need to carry a first aid kit,” The Russian joked. “We had an
agreement.” The Russian was taking this security stuff seriously.
    “I told you I’d do my best not to
thump the ex-husband, but I need to talk to Sah-sha,” Nik said, staring at me
with a look that said he was hungry.
    “I’m really sorry about your eye,”
I said, again, looking at the dark bruising. “Maybe you shouldn’t be here;
you’re going to get questions about it.”
    “It’s fine,” he said and came another
step towards me.
    “Actually, after the ambulance
statement we had to put out earlier this week, I’m thinking you’re too risky to
have at this press conference now that you’ve got the black eye as well. I
should have thought of that first thing this morning,” I said, my stress levels
rising. I held my hand up for them both to wait and I quickly pressed a direct
dial number in my contacts.
    Nik shook his head and crossed his
arms across his lovely suited chest.
    “Sorry buddy,” The Russian was
saying to him.
    “Shayne, it’s Sasha, oh good,” I
hung up.
    “What was that?” Nik asked and I
pointed to the door where Shayne had just walked into the media room. He was in
the suit pants and a white shirt, carrying the tie and jacket. The media would
be arriving in about fifteen minutes and he had to set a good example.
    “What’s up Sash?” Shayne asked, putting
his phone back in his pocket and slipping on his jacket; he was always so
supportive. “Hi lads,” he said taking in The Russian and Nik. Then he saw it.
“Fuck Nik, what happened to your eye?”
    “I think he should leave,” I added
quickly, “especially since we had to release a statement from the doctor about
his health on Monday night.”
    Nik looked as though he’d be
ganged up on. “I’m rostered to be here, it’s not like I requested it… I had to
come off the beach, shave and get changed.”
    “I know and I really appreciate
you coming, I do, but…” I said, and looked to Shayne for his thoughts.
    “For real?” Nik said, looking from
me to Shayne to The Russian. “Every one of us is sporting different injuries
every week, we’re professional athletes.”
    “Yeah, but a black eye begs a few
questions,” I said.
    “Sash is right,” Shayne said,
“it’s risky.”
    “Oh for fuck’s sake, you’ve got to
be kidding,” Nik said, turning his attention back to me as though the decision
was all mine. Then Doc arrived early. He was on hand to answer any player fitness
queries if Johan the coach asked him too. The Doc came up to us and addressed
Nik.
     “How are you feeling since
Monday?” and then he saw Nik’s black eye. “What the… that wasn’t there Monday
was it?” He looked at me.
    Nik threw up his hands.
    “Stay still,” Doc ordered him as
he studied Nik’s face. Nik brushed him off and glared at me with a look that
had nothing to do with undressing this time. I shrugged apologetically.
    A camera crew strode in behind us
and Shayne winced seeing them. “Too late now, you’ll have to stay Nik.” He
nudged our group together. “Okay, so it’s just an injury from last weekend’s
game right? Unless your ex is likely to say something?”
    I saw the Doc’s eyes widen as he
took in the reason for the black eye. Crap, all this shit was not good for my
career at the Saints.
    I shook my head. “I don’t know for
sure that The Daily is sending him, but he won’t do anything stupid
while he’s working,” I said, and silently prayed to the god of idiot men that
he wouldn’t make me a liar.
    “Nik, keep a low profile,” Shayne
ordered. “Russian, keep him out of trouble…”
    Nik went to protest and Shayne
held up his hand and kept talking,