A Brit Player

by Brenda St John Brown

  I glance after him until he stops to stow his bag underneath the bus, then turn back to Scarlett. Her lips are pursed and there’s a hint of a smile on her face as she says, “So.”

  “Excuse me, do you know him?” asks a girl behind me. I turn and she snaps her gum so it crackles.

  “We’re old friends,” I reply. Then I turn to Scarlett and say, “Let’s get out of here.”

  Scarlett starts walking and as I follow, I can’t help noticing a lot of smart phones pointed at me. Those cameras look like one-eyed bugs, the fingernails gripping the back of the phones like teeth. I wonder how many people snapped a photo of Max and me together. Thinking of our photo being splashed all over social media is disconcerting. I almost duck my head, but that feels ridiculous. I don’t make eye contact with anyone as they call out questions about Max.

  I worry a little about people following us, but once we get through the crowd and to the gate of the stadium, we’re alone and I let out a long breath. I say, “Wow. That was intense for a minute.”

  “Well, Max is a celebrity, for all intents and purposes. Maybe you need some pointers from Claire?” Scarlett offers.

  Claire is an old friend of Scarlett’s who lives with Greyson Vaughn, one of the hottest actors around at the minute. If I thought that was unnerving, I can’t imagine what Claire and Greyson encounter on the daily. I give a shaky laugh. “No, it’s fine. It’s not like I’m going to see him that much.”

  “Are you sure about that? Mr. I’m-coming-to-London-on-Sunday-to-see-you doesn’t seem like he’s on the same page.” Scarlett raises an eyebrow.

  “He didn’t say he was coming to London to see me. For all I know, he’s got a match that night or something.” That’s it. Because the idea of Max coming all the way here to see me…

  Scarlett cuts off my train of thought. “No match. The next time Norcastle play is in six days in Leicester. Bradley mentioned it.”

  “Well, there must be something else bringing him to London.”

  “What if there’s not?”

  What if, indeed. I don’t know how to answer and I don’t want to dwell on the question. So instead I say, “Don’t be pretending this is something it’s not, Ms. St Julien.”

  “Touché, Ms. Kapoor.” Scarlett flashes her teeth at me, but it’s not a smile. “I couldn’t have said that better myself.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Twelve Years Ago

  The first time Max and I are alone in his flat, we both lose our shirts before stopping to catch our breath – and rein in our hormones. Max flips the telly on, his hand on the remote when I grab him and say, “Oh, stop. I love this show.”

  “Merlin?” Max furrows his brow at me. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why?”

  “It’s good!” Also, my parents are really strict about television. I’ve never seen half the shows my friends talk about, but Max doesn’t need to know that. “Come on, at least watch it for a minute before you judge.”

  “Wasn’t this a thing when we were in Year Six?” Max teases, but he leans back, leaving the remote on the coffee table.

  “Maybe?” I shrug and then give him a sly smile. “But I wasn’t doing this in Year Six, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Me neither.” Max laughs, then turns serious. “When was your first kiss?”

  Oh God. I hate these conversations anyway, but they make me feel extra twitchy with Max because I know he’s more experienced than me. I keep my eyes on the TV as I say, “Year Nine. How about you?”

  “Year Eight.” Max’s voice softens as he continues. “I kind of wish it was you, though.”

  This makes me turn to face him. “Why?”

  “Because no one I’ve kissed has ever looked at me the way you do.” Max sounds sheepish. “Like you believe I’m someone before I really am.”

  “Of course you’re someone.” I give him a pretend scowl. “But I mean, everybody knows that. Like, literally everyone knows you’re going to be a hotshot football star someday.”

  “Someday. Key word. But I feel like I could say I wanted to be a plumber and you’d look at me the same way.” Max shrugs. “I’m being weird.”

  “I blame Merlin and all that magic.” I laugh but then turn serious as I reach for Max’s hand. “You should be whatever you want to be. It wouldn’t change anything.”

  “Not for you, maybe, which is basically my point.” Max rolls his eyes and threads his hand through mine. “Like I said, I’m being weird. Although speaking of magic…”

  Max’s segue is cheesy, but the way he kisses me definitely is not. Neither is the way he squeezes my nipple between his two fingers, shooting a thrill right down to my core that makes me gasp.

  “Are you okay?” Max sounds as breathless as I feel.

  “Yeah. I’m just so…” I hesitate because I’m not sure I’m brave enough to say it. Ah, sod it. “Turned on.”

  “Jesus, T.” Max sucks in a breath.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean – ”

  “Can I touch you?” Max’s voice is soft. “I want to know what I do to you.”

  Now it’s my turn to suck in a breath. I’m not sure I can speak, so I nod. Max gently lays me down on the sofa and keeps his eyes on mine as he thumbs open the button on my jeans and slowly draws down the zipper.

  “Is this okay?” His voice is a low whisper.

  Besides the fact that I’m about to hyperventilate? “Yes.”

  He tugs at the waistband of my jeans and I automatically lift my hips for him. Neither one of us look away from the other’s gaze, but I hear his breathing turn ragged as he pushes down my jeans and panties in one motion.

  For a minute I feel like I’m observing myself from the corner of the ceiling. I would have thought I’d feel more self-conscious, lying here mostly undressed on Max’s sofa. But I don’t. I feel a lot of things, but the look on his face wipes away any awkwardness. Because Max’s expression is downright reverent.

  He bends down and places a kiss on my stomach and my hips buck, almost against their will. Max chuckles low in his throat. “You like that, T?”

  “I do.” I don’t sound like myself, my voice is so breathy.

  Then Max moves his hand to my mound and his finger flickers over my wet center. Bloody hell. I almost launch myself off the sofa with the way my hips jerk.

  “Do you like that too?” Max asks.

  I don’t get a chance to answer because suddenly Max’s fingers are moving so quickly, then a finger teases my entrance, and I am lost. I’ve experimented with self-pleasure – more lately – but it’s nothing like this. When I make myself come, I’m hardly wet. Now I’m hot and shimmering like an oil slick on a wet road and Max is the driver, fully in control, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

  I’m so close and I want it. I want that release more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Max knows it, too. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me.

  “Please.” Somehow, I manage to eke out the word.

  It opens a floodgate in Max. He kisses me so hard my lips will be swollen and thrusts a finger inside of me while flicking me with his thumb. I swear I climax for a thousand years riding his hand and when my body finally stops shuddering, I feel like I’ve been away for a very long time.

  “Wow.” My voice sounds croaky and unused. “I don’t…I’ve never…”

  “Ssshh. Don’t.” Max kisses me gently. “You’re perfect.”

  “So are you,” I whisper.

  “I hope you know I’m falling for you.” Max eases himself down on the sofa next to me and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into him.

  Falling?

  Oh, Max.

  I squeeze Max’s arm and say, “I guess that makes two of us.”

  The truth is, I’ve fallen so far, I’m not sure I’ll ever get up. I’m not sure I ever want to.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Flowers show up at my office at 2:47 the next afternoon. The bouquet of Gerbera daisies is a brightly colored rainbow and any other time they�
�d make me smile like a fool. Except today I’m sitting with Bradley Waring-Smith, reviewing my blueprints in the conference room, when Gemma brings the vase in with a loud exclamation, saying, “Oooh, lala. Look what was at the front desk for you. ‘It’s lovely seeing you again. Max.’ And he signed it with two kisses.”

  Gemma sets the vase down on the sideboard and turns, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “Oh, Bradley, sorry. I couldn’t see you there over the flowers. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “It’s fine. It’s nothing confidential, thank you.” Bradley’s tone is neutral, and he waits until Gemma backs out of the conference room with another whispered ‘sorry’ before he says to me, “Those are lovely flowers.”

  “They are.” I will myself not to squirm. Bradley and I are friendly because of Scarlett, but I’m still his employee and I’m ever mindful of that. Plus there’s the fact that he is friends with Tom, which is what makes me blurt out, “They’re friendly flowers. They’re really not a big deal.”

  “Friendly flowers?” Bradley’s lips twitch with a hint of a smile. “I’m not sure I’m familiar with that type.”

  “You know what I mean.” I let out a sigh. “They’re not romantic flowers. Max and I are old friends.”

  “Well, they’re lovely either way.” Bradley doesn’t say anything more and I know that this is his way of letting me off the proverbial hook. We could go back to talking about my architectural drawings and the topic of my flowers would never come up again.

  So why I don’t let it rest is a sign I need my head examined. “Tom and I have been over for a while now, but it’s not like I’m looking to replace him. I mean, I can’t replace him. He’s a great guy – one of the best. I’m as surprised as anyone that Max is back in my life, even briefly.”

  “Why briefly?” Bradley’s expression is intent. “You and Tom broke up for a reason.”

  “I know.” And I know Bradley knows the story, although not from me. I intend to keep it that way. “How is he anyway? Scarlett said you saw him last time you were in New York?”

  “He’s fine.” Bradley nods and his next words come out in his measured tone. “Yes, he was upset when your relationship ended, but Tom wouldn’t want you to endlessly flog yourself for it. He’s moving on and making a life for himself back in New York. He’d want you to do the same.”

  “Is he seeing anyone?” I realize that this question is inappropriate as soon as I ask it, but I can’t make myself take it back.

  “He didn’t say, but he was meeting someone after we had dinner.” Bradley pauses. “And he had his overnight bag with him.”

  I know exactly the bag Bradley means. Tom had – has – this brown leather satchel that he used to throw his clothes into for the next day when he was staying over at mine before we moved in together. It was a bit of a joke around the office because everyone knew when Tom had his satchel that he wasn’t going home that night.

  “Oh.” My mouth purses into a small O. “That’s good. I’m glad he has someone.”

  “Yes, me too, and I think he’d be glad for you as well.” Bradley nods once and then points to a line on my drawing. “Tell me what you’re thinking with this column here.”

  I take a deep breath and focus back on my drawing. “It’s in the middle of the room, but it’s a support beam and we can’t get around it, so I was thinking it could be used as a natural divider between the bar area and dining room. We can put some additional pillars in to increase the feeling of separation without actually walling it off. It will allow for plenty of natural light to filter through as well.”

  Bradley nods in agreement and for the next fifteen minutes we talk through a few more details. Then his phone rings with a call he has to take and he leaves the conference room, speaking French like a native, his mind already onto the next project. I smile a little and shake my head. Bradley and Scarlett really are a perfect match, and I wouldn’t want to keep up with either one of them.

  Max, on the other hand… I turn to look at the flowers he sent. They’re gorgeous and I wonder if it was a lucky guess or if Max really did remember that they’re my favorite.

  I pick up my phone from the table and shoot off a text to thank him. I don’t expect a reply. It’s the middle of the day and he’s probably practicing. Or whatever it is that football players do in the middle of the day.

  Maybe it’s not practice after all, since my phone dings ten seconds later.

  Max: I’m glad you like them. They made me think of you.

  Me: They’re my favorite, so good choice.

  Max: And you’re my favorite, so an excellent choice all around.

  I stare at my phone. That’s flirtatious, right? Although Max is sort of naturally flirtatious and I don’t want to read into it. So I take the safe route and type back: Why aren’t you at practice?

  Max: Waiting for our team talk. How’s your day?

  Me: Good. Working. You know.

  Max: I do. Gotta run. Coach is here and if we don’t pay attention, we have to do hell runs.

  I send back a thumbs up. I don’t know what hell runs are, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to do them either. Max was always a runner though. Sometimes he’d even run for fun.

  I make a face. No thank you. The only times I’m happy to run is if I’m going to miss my train or for a zombie apocalypse. Thank God, I know the train schedule by heart, and I’ve seen no sign of zombies in London.

  I’m crossing the room to pick up the flowers when the door opens behind me. I half expect Bradley – he’s known for having ‘one quick item for follow-up’ – but it’s Gemma, her eyes shining and her smile bright.

  “So? Who’s this Max guy?” she gushes.

  “He’s an old friend. The guy I went to Prohibition with?”

  “Really? None of my old friends send me flowers when we go out for casual drinks.” Gemma gives me a knowing smile. “Just saying.”

  “I don’t know. It’s complicated.” Understatement. “But they’re friendly flowers. I think.”

  “Are you sure they’re not hoping-for-more flowers?” Gemma asks.

  I think back to Wednesday night and the fact that Max made not a single overture and shake my head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

  “So you’re friend-zoning him?” Gemma walks over and strokes a petal of one of the pink flowers.

  I’ve never been able to friend-zone Max. That’s the problem.

  Aloud I say, “Well, I’m not friend-zoning him quite yet.”

  “Oh?” Gemma’s eyebrows shoot up behind her heavy fringe.

  I’m wary of sharing my plan to see Max long enough to sate my curiosity, but not long enough to get serious, with Gemma. Not because she’ll judge – she’s the least judgmental person I know – but because she’ll assume Max is just another guy, when, in truth, he’s anything but. I settle for, “Well, he’s quite fit. Maybe I’ll see what happens.”

  “Why not?” Gemma laughs. “Are you seeing him again?”

  “Sunday.” I nod. “We’re going to brunch or lunch, I think.”

  “Oh, he’s keen then. At least a little? I mean, on the one hand, Sunday is an unusual day for a date. On the other hand, you’ve got all day if it goes well.”

  “Right.” Wow. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not sure I’m ready to spend the whole day with Max. The prospect makes my stomach flip. A whole day with Max Foster. My stomach flips again.

  But this time it feels a lot more like anticipation.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Twelve Years Ago

  I wish I kept a diary. Not because I want to confess all my secrets but because I’m so happy. Max is amazing. Max and I together are amazing. I honestly feel like I’m floating through my days. I’m not even arguing with my mum, a fact she can’t help noticing.

  “I have to admit, I’m enjoying this version of Tara,” Mum says as I help her fold the massive pile of laundry on her bed. It’s at least four loads worth, but folding laundry is a chore my mum hates, so I alw
ays get dragged into it.

  “What are you talking about?” I keep my focus on the pile of my Dad’s white T-shirts I’m working through.

  “You seem happy. That’s all.” Mum shrugs, then gives me a sly look over the towel she’s folding. “How are things with Max?”

  “Good.” I smile. “He’s nice, Mum.”

  “I’m glad.” She nods and then her expression turns serious. “Have you thought about what happens next year? He’ll be playing football somewhere, yes?”

  “Hopefully. That’s his dream.”

  “Dreams don’t always leave room for relationships, you know.”

  I do know this, but I’m steadfastly ignoring it. And I don’t want my mother ruining that for me. So I do what any self-respecting teenager would do and change the subject. “Hey, do you want to come shopping next week with me, Rina, and Rina’s mum? We need to start thinking about costumes for Shake a Leg and we were thinking maybe we could go into downtown Manchester and have lunch at that coal oven pizza place.”

  “Really?” Mum’s face breaks into a smile. “I’d love to, but are you sure you and Rina don’t want to go by yourselves?”

  “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of shopping to do. Shake a Leg isn’t until the end of April.” I roll my eyes because Rina can shop like it’s her job and I’m not nearly as enthusiastic. She’s already talking about a separate trip for shoes and make-up.

  “What couple are you going as?”

  “We talked about it over the weekend.” When we were both naked, but Mum sure doesn’t need to know that. “I want to go as Benedick and Beatrice, but Max thinks Antony and Cleopatra is better. Beatrice dresses like a boy for most of the play, so I think maybe Max is going for the Grecian dress option.”

  “Well.” Mum furrows her brow, but her lips twitch with a smile. “You would make a gorgeous Cleopatra, although I’d rather we find a nice potato sack for you to wear.”