“Wasn’t like that.” Great, now he was getting angry at Toby. He stripped off his shirt and shoved it into his bag.
“I’ll bet it wasn’t,” Toby teased, and he and Roderick hooted with laughter while the rest of the team talked around them. Did Loch sleep with any actresses? Did all Americans have big blonde hair like on the television shows? Was New York as dirty and crowded as it looked on the telly?
He deflected questions, keeping his answers vague, but his irritation grew with every passing moment. He needed to leave, or he was going to do something he’d regret, like punch a mate in the face. Loch stripped down and headed to the shower, washing the sweat of today’s game off of his body. Off to one side of the showers, a rookie walked in with a set of towels and the team quickly started to rib him about how he was new and how bollocks he was on the field.
Loch washed his hair, silent.
He was . . . well, he was angry and more than a bit appalled.
Was this what his life had been prior to going to the States? Boyish teasing about women and sports and nothing of consequence? He wiped soap from his eyes, thinking. Roderick’s family was Swiss and in banking. Roderick had never worked a day in his life. Same with Toby, whose British parents had moved to Bellissime to take over the National Hotel. He thought of others on the team—Corey, Mitch, Albert—none of them had worked a day in their lives despite being in their late twenties. They had all gone to school, attended university and then . . . what?
Absolutely nothing. They played polo, and rugby, and drank beer down at the local pub. They dated women and spent money, and that was about it.
And that was Loch’s life, too.
He thought of Taylor.
Sweet, beautiful Taylor with her sparkling, happy eyes. Who found such pleasure in small things, whereas his friends couldn’t even get impressed over a new yacht or three.
Taylor, with her headset on, painstakingly going over instructions with clients on the phone, repeating details over and over again. The hours she’d spent on the computer, logging tickets and answering emails. She’d worked long and hard and for not much money.
So what if she wanted to spend her idle time playing video games instead of sports? She could do whatever she bloody well liked. She’d earned those hours of leisure.
And he didn’t like that they were mocking her for it.
Taylor might have been a nerd, but that didn’t mean she was less worthy than his spoiled friends who rode ponies all day and chased a damned ball.
The shower hadn’t helped his mood simmer down. If anything, he was more angry than ever before. Taylor was better than the lot of them. She was smarter, more independent, more self-reliant and had a better work ethic than every man he knew.
He thought of Rex’s pointed questions about how much money Loch had as he dressed. About his life of privilege and how it had kept him from being in touch with what was truly going on in his life. He put on his belt, tucked his wallet into his pocket, and grabbed his bag of gear. The men were still laughing, talking nearby. Roderick had a towel around his waist but hadn’t yet dressed.
Loch studied him, and then nodded in his direction. “Hey, Rod. How much are you worth?”
Roderick gave him a confused look. “What?”
“In your bank account,” Loch clarified. “Just curious. How much is in there?”
Roderick laughed, throwing his head back. “How the fuck should I know? Do I look like a bloody accountant?”
“Just curious. Cheers.” He waved to the men in the locker room and headed out.
“You not coming to the pub, mate?” Toby called after him.
“Got stuff I need to take care of,” he said, not turning around. “I’ll catch you boys next time.” He was sure they would be confused by his actions—and some might be offended. Loch was always the first one to go out with the guys, and he normally bought the first round. Always said they deserved it after a hard day of work.
God, he was a spoiled git sometimes.
Lost in thought, Loch left the locker room and headed out through the front of the gym he and his friends frequented. There was a girl up front whose name he didn’t recall, but he knew she was there regularly, folding towels and answering the phones. Curious, he headed toward her. “Excuse me.”
She looked up from the stack of towels. “Can I help you with something, sir?”
“Just curious about something.” He rubbed his jaw. “This might come off wrong, but I was wondering . . . do you know how much is in your bank account?”
The woman frowned at him, her brows going up. The look on her face was wary. “Why?”
He raised a hand. “I know it’s prying. But I was just curious. You do know what is in there?”
“Down to the penny.” Her eyes narrowed and she took a nervous glance around. “Why do you ask?”
Hell, now he was making her nervous. Her answer had satisfied him, though. Of course she knew—down to the penny, as she’d said—how much was in her account. It was because it mattered to her. Because she’d worked hard to scrape together whatever funds she had.
She was like Taylor—she didn’t have a trust fund or rich parents to lean on. She didn’t live a life of sports and drinking with friends. She worked, no doubt long hours.
And him? He’d been a spoiled brat who’d pushed people around to get his way all because he didn’t want to be considered in line for king. Because it was too much responsibility and responsibility was something that Loch had hated with a passion.
It was sobering to realize that at almost thirty, he had yet to grow up.