Everything in the UK seemed so damn complicated. Last week I was sent a stern letter telling me that if I watched TV, I had to pay for a license. Why do I have to have a license to watch television?
There seemed to be so many added fees and hidden costs in everything. It was hard to keep them all straight. I was constantly worried I’d mess something up and they’d boot me out of the country, though given the way I was currently feeling maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
It didn’t help that I was given a round of parental guilt over the weekend. I loved my mother, but she had a way of making me feel worse when I thought I was feeling bad enough already.
“I have a doctor’s appointment this week and I’m really worried,” she had told me. My head had been splitting and I had been forced to suffer through a cold shower because the hot water heater was on the fritz. I learned this from a too early visit from Thad, the super creep.
“Why are you worried?” I had asked her, feeling my stomach clench. Leaving Mom alone had been the hardest part of moving across the ocean. She had some friends and the pastor at our church, but family was non-existent. Mom and I had each other and that was it. Now she didn’t even have me.
I felt like a horrible daughter.
“I’ve been feeling dizzy, so I went to the doctor and had some blood work drawn—”
“When was this? Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, angry that she had kept something like this from me.
“You were just getting settled and I didn’t want to worry you,” she had placated.
“But I should be worried now?” I asked, feeling too far away.
The need to go home was overwhelming. The urge to flee this new life and return the old and familiar was far too tempting.
“I don’t know, Morgan. They called and scheduled me for an EKG because there were abnormal levels of proteins.”
“An EKG? But that has to do with your heart!” I had exclaimed. “Who’s taking you to the appointment?”
“I’m taking myself,” she had responded indignantly.
“You shouldn’t drive. What about Lisa or Reverend Daniels—?”
“I’m sorry I mentioned anything. I don’t want you to worry when there’s nothing you can do. And I’m fine to drive myself. It’s only a twenty minute drive.”
But of course I’d worry. And I wasn’t there to help her. The guilt had made me feel even worse than the hangover did.
So I wasn’t in the best mood come Monday, particularly after arguing about the ridiculous hoops I had to jump through just to get a damn account at the local bank.
I rubbed my temples, wishing the headache I had been suffering with for the last three days would go away. “You were waiting for me?” I asked in confusion.
Hayley snickered, leaning against my desk. She wagged her finger at me as if I were a child. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you spent all that time with Lucas Bradley on Friday night!” Hayley scolded.
I frowned. “How did you know about that?” And what exactly did she know? An image flashed in my mind of Lucas. Lucas and me. Lucas with his hands down my—
Hayley outright laughed at my obviously distressed expression.
“You naughty girl, I thought you looked a little disheveled when you came back to the table.”
“I wasn’t disheveled,” I argued, feeling flustered. “Seriously, Hayley, who told you about that?”
Hayley pulled out her phone and showed me the screen.
I immediately wanted to crawl under my desk and hide. There, in full color, was a picture of me holding onto Lucas with Alan’s help as we tried to get him into the back of a cab.
“What the hell?” I grabbed her phone and scanned the article, if you could call it that. It was posted on some sort of gossip blog devoted to soccer players. “Lucas Bradley and Alan Cole seen with mystery woman. Witnesses claimed the three later went home together.”
“Wait, I never went home with anyone,” I protested shrilly, my face growing hot. I shoved the phone back in Hayley’s hands. “That’s a load of crap.”
“So you weren’t railroaded by two of the hottest football players in the country?” Hayley asked a little too eagerly.
“Oh my god,” I groaned, covering my face with my hands.
“You can tell me, I won’t say anything.” Hayley dropped her voice into a whisper. “I understand, I’d probably do the same thing. They’re two fine pieces of man.”
“I was not…railroaded by two football players,” I said a little too loudly. I took a deep breath, trying to control my rising anger. “That’s disgusting. I’d never…I wouldn’t…do people actually believe this stuff?”
“Well, according the comments on this blog—yes,” Hayley looked at her phone again. “Britgal123 says ‘They look like they’re getting ready to have a good time.’ KyleWNotts says ‘She looks like she can deep throat a sausage or two.’ Then computerraider says ‘Proper slag. Some women will do anything for a piece of cock—”
“Sheesh, I get it, Hayley. I don’t need to hear all that,” I exclaimed. I felt sick. And humiliated.
Who saw this? I glanced around the office, feeling as if everyone was staring. Maybe I was just being paranoid.
“Everyone’s seen it,” Hayley confirmed and I groaned.
“It makes me look like a complete slut.” I felt like crying.
“Eh, maybe a little. But most people are mad impressed that you’ve gotten friendly with the likes of Lucas Bradley and Alan Cole. And they’re jealous too. Because people are a bunch of wankers.” Hayley was trying to be nice, I suppose, but it wasn’t helping.
“I can’t believe this. I’ve been in this goddamned country for less than a month and I’m already labeled—what do you guys call it?”
“A slag. Slapper. Tart. Trollup—”
“Okay, thanks,” I interrupted.
“So, if there wasn’t a ménage, what exactly did happen between you and Lucas Bradley and Alan Cole? Obviously you were together at some point. And more importantly, why didn’t you tell us all about it?” she asked accusingly.
I sighed. I had no plans on telling Hayley what really happened between Lucas and me in that bathroom. That would have to go with me to the grave. Particularly now that my face was all over the gossip sites.
“I wasn’t feeling well. I thought I was going to be sick. I went to the bathroom. I didn’t get sick, just in case you were wondering.”
Hayley pursed her lips. “Yes, I’m so glad you didn’t vomit. Now tell me the important stuff.”
I had to smirk. I actually liked Hayley. Sure she was a little on the nosy side, but I appreciated her candor. Out of all the people I had met in the last couple of weeks, she was by far the easiest to be around.
“Well, I was in the bathroom. I washed my hands and tried to stop myself from falling over. Remind me never to drink like that again.”
“Light weight,” Hayley teased.
“I was in there minding my own business and Lucas busted into the bathroom, end of story.” I turned back to my computer, already tiring of talking about it. I opened my email and saw that I had a message from my boss, Peter Richardson, asking for a meeting in an hour.
It was marked urgent.
That didn’t sound good.
Had I done something wrong already?
Could anything else possibly go wrong today?
“Oh so it’s Lucas now huh? You must have gotten quite close in that toilet,” Hayley goaded and I rolled my eyes.
“You’re not going to let this go are you?”
Hayley shook her head. “No way. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened around here since Charlie won tickets to see Adele two summers ago.”
“Oh, Adele tickets? I’d love to see Adele—”
“You’re not changing the subject, missy.”
We both laughed at that and the entire thing felt less life ruining and more a fun story to share with your friends.
“I’m guessing you’re laughing ab
out that mortifying picture of Morgan that was plastered all over the gossip sites this weekend.” Hayley and I glanced over to find Libby and Clara loitering nearby, obviously eavesdropping.
“I wouldn’t be laughing, I’d be crying if all those horrible things were being said about me,” Clara commiserated nastily as she and Libby exchanged a look.
“I don’t know, I’d be patting myself on the back for bagging two fit lads like Lucas Bradley and Alan Cole if it were me,” Hayley piped up, giving me a smile. I appreciated her attempt at sticking up for me.
Clara made a face. “As if there’s any truth to those stories. It’s obvious Morgan was just in the right place at the right time.”
For some reason her incredulity annoyed me.
“Why wouldn’t there be any truth to it? Why is it so hard to believe that I hooked up with a guy like Lucas Bradley?” I demanded before stopping myself.
Hayley’s eyes widened. “So there is some truth?”
Damn it.
Libby snorted and she shared another look with Clara. It made me want to slap them both. “Lucas has been dating pop stars, why would he mess around with Morgan?”
“Wow, that was nasty,” Hayley responded. “Green really doesn’t suit you, love.”
I covered my mouth to hide my chuckle.
“Why would I be jealous? She’s being called a slut. That’s just sad,” Libby gave me a fakely sympathetic smile. “You must be so upset.”
“Not really. I’d be a lot more upset if I had thrown myself at him and he rejected me,” I found myself saying before I could stop myself.
“Harsh,” Hayley murmured, clearly enjoying herself.
Libby drew herself upright, looking as though she had sucked on a lemon. “We’ll talk to you ladies later.” She stalked off, Clara scurrying after her.
“Wow, you sure know how to take someone down a peg or two,” Hayley said with obvious admiration.
“I shouldn’t have risen to the bait. Being a bitch doesn’t help anything.”
“But it can feel pretty damn great,” Hayley added.
I grinned. “Yeah, it can.”
“Libby and Clara are a couple of wannabe goal diggers. When I say they’re jealous, trust me,” Hayley retorted.
“Goal diggers?” I asked.
“The kind of girl that chases after professional football players hoping to get their attention. They go to Rosies almost every weekend because the players from Chester Athletic are known to party there. They’ll never admit that’s why they go, but everyone knows better.” Hayley picked up my empty tea mug. “Come on, let’s get a cuppa.”
I followed her to the breakroom. “Goal digger? Is that what people will think I am?” The idea was mortifying. The last thing I would ever be was some sort of groupie.
“Who cares what people think. I thought you Americans weren’t supposed to give a toss about things like that. You sound entirely too British,” Hayley joked, dropping a tea bag into my cup and then filling it with hot water.
“Americans care about that stuff too. Though you’re right, I shouldn’t. I’ll just drive myself crazy.” I dumped a spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk into my cup. “It’s a good thing my mother doesn’t know how to operate a computer, let alone surf the internet. I’d never hear the end of it.”
Hayley held out an open sleeve of chocolate cookies. “Biscuit?”
I took one and popped it in my mouth.
“I think you need a quick pint after work. That’ll make you feel better,” Hayley stated, dunking a cookie—sorry, a biscuit—into her cup of tea.
“It’s not even eleven on Monday morning and you’re already talking about drinking. I don’t think I have the stamina to keep up with you,” I laughed.
“Oh, are we talking about going to the pub after work?” Charlie asked, appearing in the doorway of the breakroom.
“We are. Will the wife let you out past five thirty?” Hayley asked him.
“I’ll tell her I had a late meeting. With the way this week is going to be, I think a cheeky pint is just what the doctor ordered.”
“Did I hear talk of a cheeky pint?” Phil asked, coming in from the hallway and grabbing a biscuit from the sleeve in Hayley’s hand.
“Is this going to become a regular thing? If so I need to get a new liver on standby,” I said.
“We don’t have to drink—” Hayley began to say.
“But it’s strongly encouraged. Consider it a team building exercise. A way to make friends,” Charlie suggested.
“Plus it’s a great way to get to know each other,” Phil added with a nice smile.
“Okay,” I agreed. “Sounds great.”
“I say we duck out around four thirty. No one will know,” Hayley whispered conspiratorially so that only I could hear. “And then you can tell me all about Lucas Bradley before the rest of the tribe show up.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I protested but Hayley waved away my comment, taking the cookies and leaving the breakroom before I could comment further.
“There’s nothing to tell about what?” Phil asked, pouring his own cup of tea. Charlie was hanging around, obviously not in a rush to go do actual work.
“Oh, um, nothing really…”
“The picture of you and Lucas Bradley?” Charlie asked, finding an old box of licorice in the cabinet and shoving a few in his mouth.
“A picture of you and Lucas Bradley?” Phil asked frowning.
“I really don’t want to talk about it. Nothing happened,” I lied. Because stuff happened. Crap, my face was getting hot again.
“There was a picture of Morgan with Lucas at the pub on Friday. It’s in a couple of the gossip rags. The Sun too I think.” Charlie picked at his teeth, which were now coated in black candy.
“Why were you with Lucas Bradley?” Phil asked nonchalantly, though his brow was furrowed in obvious consternation. Charlie didn’t seem very bothered about the whole thing, which surprised me given what a football fan girl he seemed to be.
“He was at the pub. I was at the pub. It was just a matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time,” I replied breezily though my cheeks were on fire.
Phil either didn’t notice or was too polite to comment on my blushing cheeks. “Well, that’s no big deal then, is it? People just like a good gossip. Don’t let it get to you.”
“It would be easier if everyone didn’t know,” I said, appreciating how nice he was being about it.
Phil bumped my shoulder with his and gave me a smile. “It will be forgotten this time tomorrow. People have short attention spans when it comes to gossip.”
I wasn’t sure how true that was, but I was inclined to want to believe him.
“Bradley will be photographed with some fit model soon enough. Then you’ll be yesterday’s news,” Charlie piped up and Phil nodded.
“Uh, thanks?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about their casual dismissal, even if what they said was true.
It’s not like I shared some amazing moment with Lucas. It was a random encounter. He was trashed. I was trashed. Then he threw up and passed out. Not exactly the epitome of romance.
But I didn’t like being anyone’s forgotten footnote. It sort of pissed me off. Lucas probably did this sort of thing all the time. Stupid jerk.
Charlie took another handful of licorice and stuffed it in his pocket. “Bye kiddos. See you after work.”
Once he was gone Phil let out a nervous laugh. “I never thought he’d leave.”
I looked at him in confusion and he shoved his hands in his pockets, which made him appear less confident than he normally did.
“I really enjoyed hanging out with you on Friday,” he started to say.
“Really? I was worried I was loud and obnoxious.” I needed to get back to my desk. I imagined my email was filling up. I was already behind on several key elements of the project I was working on.
“No, not at all. You were perfect,” he assured me and I had to snort.
&nbs
p; “If by perfect you mean sloppy, then sure.”
“The pub was great and all but maybe we could get together another time,” he suggested.
I picked up my tea and started heading to the door. “Well, you’re coming with us after work today right?” I pulled my phone out and opened my work email, scrolling through the long list.
“Sure, but maybe we could have dinner sometime,” Phil said.
“Oh, sure,” I answered distractedly reading the new emails that had just come in.
“Really? Great! Well maybe this weekend?”
Wait. What?
“Um, this weekend?” What had I agreed to do? This is what I get for being rude. My mother always got after me when I didn’t give people my undivided attention.
“You can’t speak and listen at the same time, Morgan. You need to do one or the other. Not both,” she would tell me.
It seemed I couldn’t read and listen simultaneously either. Because I was pretty sure I had just agreed to go out on a date with Phil.
“Can I get your number? I’ll call you and we can shore up the details.”
I didn’t want to give him my number. Sure Phil was cute but I wasn’t looking to date anyone. Particularly someone I worked with.
But I didn’t want to be a jerk. Phil seemed like a nice guy. A little eager and maybe a bit on the conceited side, but nice enough.
And I was the new kid on the block. Friends were in short supply and I wasn’t in a position to alienate the people I interacted with on a daily basis.
“I could use some friends, so that sounds nice.” I made sure to emphasize the word friends.
Phil’s smile faltered slightly but he kept it firmly in place.
I tore off a piece of paper from a notepad and quickly wrote my cell phone number on it, handing it to him.
He quickly punched it into his phone, not wasting any time. “There you are.” He showed me the screen where he had typed in my name with a flame emoji beside it.
Was that supposed to mean I was hot?
How lame was that?
I gave him a wane smile. “Great.”
“I’ll talk to you later then?” He posed it as a question. I nodded and he walked out of the breakroom, thankfully not prolonging the awkward.
“Wow. First Lucas Bradley, now Phil. You sure get around.”
The Beautiful Game (Man of the Match Book 1) Page 7