The Beautiful Game (Man of the Match Book 1)

by A. Meredith Walters

  “I don’t know, Mo, I think he looks adorable,” Alan teased, handing me a cup of tea.

  “Shut up, Cole,” I snapped.

  The smell of fried egg and mushrooms filled the kitchen. Under normal circumstances the kitchen was my favorite room in the house. It was bright and open, and yes, damn it, guys cared about those things too. But not today. Today I hated just about everything.

  “Here you go, big brother, enjoy,” Anna chirped with a sunny smile handing me a plate laden down with fry up basics. Fried eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms, hash browns and sausages. It looked revolting.

  “I’m not supposed to be eating this sort of food, Anna. I’m on a strict fitness regimen.” I tried pushing the plate away, but Anna pushed it back.

  “One day won’t hurt you. You need the calories. Plus the grease will soak up the residual alcohol in your system.”

  I sat down on a bar stool at the island and took a long drink of water. I felt horrible. I should have known better than to get so pissed last night. Millwood would have a fit if he knew.

  “Here you go, Mo.” Anna put a plate down in front of my agent who thanked her with a sweet smile before turning an angry frown to me.

  “No smiles for me?” I asked with a weak grin.

  Mo slammed a copy of The Sun down in front of me. Across from the page three girls was a grainy photograph showing Alan and the woman from last night carrying me towards a cab with the headline–Football’s Bad Boy at it Again. It went on to describe a night of debauchery. Drinking, screwing, and everything else in between.

  I glanced up at Alan. “Did all that actually happen?”

  He shrugged. “It says we were having a three way in the toilet for part of the night. Too bad the real story isn’t half as good.”

  “I know most of this is bullshit, but it doesn’t change the fact that people will believe it. We talked about this, Lucas. Your image is important. Particularly with you starting in the Premier League. You have to think about your reputation.” Mo was on a roll. He all but wagged his finger in my face.

  Ignoring Mo I looked down at the picture. I pointed to the woman. “Do you know who this is?” I asked Alan.

  “She said her name was Morgan and you definitely seemed to fancy her last night,” Alan filled in.

  “Morgan what?”

  “Carter I think. She was American and pretty damn fit if you ask me. Nice one, buddy.” He fist bumped my shoulder.

  “Morgan Carter,” I repeated, staring down at the picture.

  “I don’t give a toss who she is. We have to talk about how to reframe this for the interviewer because you know you’ll be asked about it,” Mo cut in.

  “Just talk about the time you saved the old lady from the care home fire and you’ll be fine,” Anna suggested sarcastically.

  “Really? I didn’t know about that,” Mo exclaimed excitedly.

  “She’s kidding, Mo,” I deadpanned.

  “Oh, well is there a story you can tell that makes you look less like a—”

  “Asshat?” Anne jumped in. I balled up my napkin and threw it at her. She only laughed, gathering up the empty tea mugs and rinsing them off in the sink. Alan took the wet dishes and dried them, putting them away like he fucking lived here.

  “Look, this interview is about my playing, not about my social life,” I pointed out, pushing egg around on my plate.

  “Considering you like to make such a spectacle of yourself, expect it to be mentioned,” Mo replied, clearly frustrated which was his general state when talking to me.

  “Maybe you should look into hiring a PR consultant,” Mo suggested as he took a drink from a mug with a cartoon poo on the side. He was dressed like he was going to church, or a funeral, in a classic cut black suit and a bright yellow tie. His black hair was slicked back and he had trimmed his beard. Mo was a big man, with a gut from too many pork pies and fleshy hands that were swollen from arthritis.

  Mo had been in my life for years and as much as he annoyed me, I couldn’t imagine being without him. Not that I’d ever tell him that. At the end of the day I knew he had my best interests at heart. And if they coincided with him making a lot of money all the better.

  “I don’t need a PR consultant. I’m not a movie star; I’m a bloody football player. Don’t be daft.”

  Alan sat down with a fresh cup of tea and took the paper from me. “It’s not a very flattering picture. Thank God Morgan was there to help out or you would have been waking up in your own vomit in the ladies toilet. You should send her flowers as a thank you. I think she deserves it.”

  “You said her name was Morgan Carter?” The name rang bells and I could vaguely remember her telling it to me.

  “You asked her for her name before you passed out, don’t you remember?” Alan asked, knowing damn well I didn’t.

  “At least this one didn’t follow you home. I had to kick the last woman out when I found her stuffing our mail into her purse,” Anna said, smearing a piece of toast with Marmite. She pointed her knife at my plate. “You’re not eating, Lucas. You’ll feel worse if you don’t put something on your stomach. A breakfast high in carbohydrates is actually the best thing for a hangover.”

  “Is that your medical advice?” Alan asked, putting the lid on the Marmite for her.

  “It is. Trust me.” Anna pushed my plate towards me. I knew she wouldn’t relent until I listened. I took a bite of sausage and forced myself to swallow. It felt like lead in my stomach.

  “Damn. The people from Match of the Day magazine will be here in twenty minutes. Hurry up and eat that. Drink a Red Bull or something. You look like you’re going to keel over at any minute,” Mo instructed, waving his hands towards my breakfast.

  I picked up another sausage and waved it in Mo’s direction before taking an exaggerated bite. “So Morgan helped me out, huh?”

  Alan raised his eyebrows. “You sure are talking about her a lot. What exactly did you get up to in that toilet?”

  “Ew, you shagged a girl in the toilet? That’s a whole new level of gross, Lucas. What is with you and these women with no self-respect?” Anna complained.

  “We didn’t shag. Not even close. Don’t talk about her self-respect, when you don’t even know her.” I felt the need to defend Morgan for some reason.

  “Now, be nice, Anna. Morgan was a nice girl actually. She cleaned up your brother’s vomit and called us a cab. Quite the lady,” Alan corrected, devoid of his usual sarcasm.

  “Well whatever, it’s still sketchy,” Anna said.

  “Why are we still talking about this woman? You need to focus, Lucas.” Mo clapped his hands as if we were school children.

  Alan and I snickered but I understood why he was getting so worked up. I was on a mission to clean up my image. It was necessary if I wanted to get the kind of sponsors that made me the most money. Plus I had training this afternoon. I didn’t have time to feel like shit.

  I was feeling almost human by the time the Match of the Day magazine people showed up. I was sitting in the living room watching European match highlights when Mo walked in with a small man with very little hair.

  I got to my feet and held out my hand. The small man shook it limply, giving me a bright smile. “Hi Lucas, I’m George Grant, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “I’m honored Match of the Day magazine wants to feature me in their magazine,” I replied sincerely. I had been shocked when Mo had called me with the news. Most days I still thought of myself as a low league player barely getting by.

  All the ways my life had changed over the last year still hadn’t quite sunk in.

  George sat down at the table in the breakfast nook, pulling out an old school pad of paper and pen. He laid his phone down on the table, ready to record.

  “Do you want a cuppa? A coffee?” I asked before we got started.

  “A cup of tea would be wonderful,” George said, fidgeting in his seat.

  “I’ll get it,” Mo offered, getting laboriously to his feet. “Milk and
sugar?”

  “Milk, no sugar. Many thanks.” George barely gave him a look. He gave his attention to me, his eyes a little wide. “I had to fight for this interview. They wanted to give it to one of my co-workers, but I had to all but promise my boss a blowie,” he laughed.

  I had to chuckle. “Wow, so I’m worth getting on your knees. I feel special.”

  “You’re one of the top ten players to watch this season. There’s a lot of buzz about you and Chester that will make for an interesting year. Chester came out of nowhere. There wasn’t a single pundit that expected you to get promoted but Millwood has completely changed the team.”

  Yeah, yeah, Jack was a super star. I wanted to roll my eyes.

  “However, everything we are today is because of Gaz Newsome,” I couldn’t help but point out.

  “But it’s Jack that changed Lucas’ position. The team is stronger than ever because of the current management,” Mo piped in, putting a cup of tea in front of George.

  George nodded. “Absolutely. Jack is known for turning mediocre teams into champions. And that’s obviously what he’s doing at Chester.”

  “Yes, that’s his reputation,” I agreed, trying not to clench my teeth. I hated how everyone so quickly dismissed everything that Gaz did for the team. What I said was the truth; Gaz had laid the groundwork. Jack simply fine tuned it.

  George peered at me curiously. “There have been a lot of rumors about your relationship with the manager. We all know it was Newsome that signed you to Chester and that you were incredibly loyal to him. There’s been talk of arguments between you and Jack. Care to comment on that?”

  “Jumping right into it, are we?” I mused, raising an eyebrow. George shrugged.

  “Lucas has a great relationship with the Jack Millwood,” Mo said from his perch on the couch. George, once again, ignored him.

  “There’s no denying the transition from Gaz to Jack took some getting used to. Gaz had a way of managing the team that was very different from how Jack manages the team,” I began, carefully considering my words before speaking. I knew how journalists could twist things around. But my head was pounding and I still felt nauseated. My hangover was making hard to concentrate on anything but the need to vomit.

  “So what you’re saying is you preferred the way Gary Newsome managed the Athletics?” George asked, taking a sip of his tea. He held his fucking pinkie out. What was he, the queen? I glanced at Mo who gave me a pointed look. I knew he was shitting a brick. I wasn’t the most diplomatic person at the best of times. My mouth got me into more trouble than I cared to think about.

  “I didn’t say that. I said their managing styles are different.”

  George made a note on his huge yellow pad. I tried to read what it said but his handwriting was worse than a first year.

  “Well Lucas, it’s no secret you’re the newest big name in the Premier League. You set your club’s all time scoring record last season, surpassing local legend Sam Fry’s 1976 record. There was talk that some of the biggest clubs in the League were looking to sign you, yet you just reupped your contract with Chester. Can you talk a little about what why you decided to stay?”

  I let out a sigh, more comfortable with this line of questions. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs in front of me.

  “I love Chester. We have a great team. I think it would do me a disservice to leave when things are just now getting good.” I grinned. “The guys need me. I need them. So no, I’m not going anywhere for the time being.”

  George cocked his head opt the side. His eyes bugged out from his face, it was a bit off-putting. “But you do think you’ll leave one day? Just not right now?”

  I cracked my knuckles, hating the feeling that I was being prodded. “One day probably. You never know what the future will bring.”

  “Makes sense. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, right?” George smiled and I nodded in agreement. He made more notes.

  “Well let’s move onto the juicy stuff.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a stack of newspapers. He laid them out side by side and my blood began to boil.

  “What is this shit?” I seethed, looking at the articles that depicted some of my less than savory behavior. Including one from this morning showing Alan and Morgan carrying me from the Thorny Rose.

  “The story of Lucas Bradley isn’t just about football is it? It’s all this as well.” George pointed to each article. “You’ve become a fixture in the national papers for some rather scandalous behavior. Just last night it was reported that you went home with a one of your teammates and an unnamed woman for a night of debauchery.” George seemed to be enjoying himself. He glanced around the room. “Are they still here?”

  “Look, I thought this interview would be about football, not tabloid fodder,” Mo snapped.

  “I won’t be commenting on these stories. I didn’t think Match of the Day would be interested in this kind of bollocks,” I snarled, getting to my feet.

  George laughed, obviously amused, which made me want to hit him. Hard.

  “You’re right. That was in bad taste. I apologize.” George held up his hands trying to placate me. “I won’t bring up these again.” He gathered up the magazines and shoved them back into his bag. “Let’s talk about the game.”

  “YOU HANDLED THAT well, Lucas,” Mo complimented after George the journalist had left.

  “Yeah, well once he stopped acting like a prat, we were fine.” I took three headache tablets and drank a large glass of water.

  “You can’t expect to dodge the questions about your infamous exploits forever,” Anna lectured in that way that got under my tits.

  “Shut up. I don’t need you telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing.” I rubbed my temples. I had an hour before I had to be at the training grounds. It was a thirty-minute drive so I needed to get a move on. But I wasn’t in a rush to get there.

  Fuck Jack Millwood and his need for punctuality.

  “You’re so cranky when you’re hungover.” Anna teased good-naturedly. She put up with too much of my shit.

  “I’m not hungover,” I protested causing Anna to laugh at me.

  “And I’m a unicorn.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re going to be hurting at training this afternoon.”

  “I don’t know how many times we have to have this conversation, Lucas. You can’t afford to make mistakes like this anymore. Your image is important—”

  “He’s not doing anything that any other twenty something guy would do with a pocketful of cash,” Anna pointed out, defending me.

  Anna and I were intensely protective of one another. She could give me shit all day long, but the second someone else came down on me, she took a stand. Her incredible loyalty was one of her better qualities.

  “Not all twenty somethings are in the spotlight the way your brother is. He needs to get his head out of his arse if he wants to go to the top,” Mo lectured.

  Anna’s cheeks went red and I knew she was about to let him have it so I stepped in quickly.

  “Okay, thanks, Mo. I’d better get ready for training. I’ll talk to you later.” I started to steer him out of the kitchen.

  “Okay, I’m working on a couple more interviews for you, though this is a bit outside my remit. I think we need to look into getting you a publicist. Someone to manage your image, keep you in the media for the right reasons. Are you on social media?”

  “Er, I’m on Twitter. Though I don’t post much.” I glanced at Anna and she shrugged.

  “You need to be a positive presence online. Tweeting about games, thanking fans for their support. That’s what a PR person can do for you. Let me get some names together and we can have some phone calls.”

  “Is this shit necessary—?”

  “Yes. It is. After hearing what that journalist was gunning for, and given your increased media presence over the last few months, you need one and soon.” Mo nodded. “I’ll email you with some names after I do a bit of research.”

  “Oka
y. Sounds good I guess.”

  “Great.” And then Mo left. No goodbye. He was there one minute, the next he wasn’t. For such a pudgy guy, he moved around a lot.

  “He makes my head hurt,” Anna said after he left.

  “You and me both. But he’s damn good at what he does,” I countered.

  “So no more pub crawls, huh?” Anna asked, raising an eyebrow, her mouth twitching in a smirk.

  I thought about Morgan Carter. I wondered if she lived in town. Or whether she went to the Thorny Rose often.

  I had this strange need to see her again. If nothing else to say thank you properly.

  At least that’s what I told myself.

  The memory of touching her had nothing to do with it.

  “You want to come with me after training and grab a beer?” I asked my sister, surprising her.

  She let out an audible gasp. “You’re asking me to go somewhere with you? Socially? What have I done to deserve such an honor?”

  “Stop being such a smart ass. At least with you I’m less likely to get wankered,” I pointed out.

  “So it’s a purely selfish invitation?” Anna seemed to mull it over before nodding. “Sure, I guess that would be fine. But I need to be home early. I have revising to do.”

  “I’ll come by and get you around 7:30.”

  I wouldn’t say my real reason for going back to the naff pub.

  To see Morgan again.

  That would be too pathetic.

  Morgan

  “I’ve been waiting for you to show up all morning so I could give you a good talking to!” Hayley exclaimed after I walked in the door.

  I sighed, dropping my purse on my desk and sitting down heavily. I felt horrible. Was it possible to still have a hangover three days later?

  It didn’t help that I was late because I had spent the last hour going from bank to bank trying to find one that would let me open an account. I had two weeks before I was issued my first paycheck and I needed to have something set up by then. I was currently using my US account and the exchange rates and bank fees were depleting my minimal funds.