The Beautiful Game (Man of the Match Book 1)

by A. Meredith Walters

  “Alan, I’d like to head out.” I turned to find my friend tongue deep in a random woman’s mouth.

  He waved me away.

  I looked around for Martin and found him too snogging some woman who was obviously way too old for him.

  Well bugger.

  I sat back down at the bar. “Want to buy me a drink?” Cheryl asked. It seemed she was still going to try her luck.

  I barely glanced at her. “You can’t buy your own?”

  “I didn’t realize you were such an arsehole,” she muttered.

  “I’m not an arsehole, I’m just not interested.” Might as well put it to her straight instead of leading her on.

  “Fine, but you don’t have to treat me like shite.” She got the bartender’s attention. “I’ll have a gin and tonic and he’ll have—” She looked at me expectantly.

  “I’ll have a beer. Nothing fancy,” I told the guy.

  Cheryl pulled out a tenner and laid it on the counter. “I can pay for my own drink,” I told her.

  She shrugged. “Get the next one.”

  I opened my mouth to remind her that nothing was going to happen and she shook her head. “I’m not trying to get you drunk so I can have my way with you, Lucas. Maybe I’d just like a little company while my friends get lucky.”

  We both glanced back at Alan, Martin, and their overly eager partners. The woman Alan was with was pulling him back towards the bathrooms already. We were going to be here for a while. Alan never did anything quickly. And that included public sex acts.

  I could call a cab. That way I’d still make it to Morgan’s before she went to bed. I pulled up a list of cab companies on my phone as my beer arrived.

  Cheryl lifted her drink and clinked it with my bottle. “To not having sex.”

  I chuckled. “Sure. To not having sex.”

  I drank the beer in one gulp and Cheryl ordered another.

  “So I was at the game yesterday. You played really well. But you’re having trouble on the break. Dubois was trying to feed you crosses and you weren’t always there to get them,” Cheryl observed, surprising me.

  “Pardon me? I was there, but Bolton’s defense was harder to penetrate than it looked,” I defended.

  Cheryl sipped on her cocktail, raising her eyebrows. “I saw some sloppy set pieces. If you don’t tighten those up the big boys will blow through your offense.”

  I laughed. “Oh, so you’re an expert on our set pieces then?” The bartender brought me my second beer as well as a shot.

  “I didn’t order this,” I told him.

  The bartender pointed to a group of uni-aged guys at the other end of the bar. They waved enthusiastically. I lifted the shot glass in thanks and downed it. The alcohol burned my throat and made me a little woozy.

  “I’m not an expert, but I’ve been watching Chester for years. You’re a damn sight better than you were a year ago. The best thing the owners have done was get rid of Gaz—”

  “Now watch it,” I warned her.

  She held up her hands. “I’m not saying he wasn’t good for the club at the time, but you needed someone with bigger ideas. Someone not afraid to shake things up. Jack Millwood has done that.”

  The next thing I knew I was half wankered and arguing football stats with a woman who an hour before had hoped to get in my pants.

  “No way. This is not Liverpool’s year. They haven’t won the league since…” I was having a hard time thinking. The booze had hit my system hard. So much for not getting drunk.

  “Since 1990. And football has changed a lot in twenty-five years,” Cheryl filled in. She ordered us another round of drinks. The bartender reminded us that it was last call and the club would be closing soon.

  I looked at my phone and saw that it was eleven.

  “I need to find my mates,” I said getting to my feet. I wobbled slightly, feeling lightheaded. Cheryl grabbed my arm and helped me steady myself.

  “Maybe I should drive you home,” she offered with a laugh.

  “I have to find Alan.” I looked around the dark club and didn’t see him anywhere.

  “I’m pretty sure he left with my friend Miffy a while ago,” Cheryl said.

  “What? That fucker is my ride. Where’s Martin?”

  Cheryl steered me towards the back doors of the club. “I think he went with them.”

  “Why would they leave me here? What a bunch of wankers,” I grumbled. “I live in bloody Chester, are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “It’s only a twenty minute drive. No bother at all,” Cheryl assured me. She waved goodbye to the bartender and then walked me out to the car park. She unlocked the doors of a silver BMW.

  “Nice car,” I mumbled once I was in the passenger seat.

  “Thanks. It’s my baby,” Cheryl said, starting the engine.

  I took out my phone and tapped out a quick message to Morgan.

  Doesn’t look like I’ll make it. I’ll call you tomorrow.

  Then I passed out.

  I never hit send.

  Morgan

  I woke up alone. Lucas never showed up.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  I checked my phone. No messages. No missed calls.

  Why did that hurt?

  Why did I even care?

  It’s not like he had any obligation to keep his word.

  Still…

  I got up and went about the usual routine of getting ready for work.

  I was just starting to dry my hair when there was a knock at the door.

  My heart sped up and I felt butterflies in my stomach.

  Lucas.

  I opened the door, determined not to smile. But I couldn’t help it. I was grinning like a loon.

  “Hey…” My voice trailed off when I saw who waited on the other side of the door.

  “Good morning, Morgan. You look lovely per usual.” Thad, my icky neighbor, gave me a once over that left me wanting another shower.

  “Hi Thad. What can I do for you? I’m in a rush this morning.” I firmly blocked the entrance to my apartment, not letting him inside.

  Thad gave me the willies. He was probably a good ten years older than me. There wasn’t anything overt about his creepiness. He was an okay looking guy, if not a little on the nerdy side. His dark hair was always a bit greasy and his glasses were overly large for his narrow face.

  But it was the way he watched me. The way he hung around. There was something just not right about him. Though he had never done anything specific to set off alarm bells. Call it women’s intuition but I knew I didn’t want to be alone with him.

  “Overslept? Did you have a late night?” Why did his questions always seem to be laced with innuendo?

  “What do you need, Thad?” I asked, not even trying to mask my impatience.

  He handed me a stack of mail. “I keep getting your mail. It seems the postman is intent on throwing us together.” He laughed, I didn’t join him. “You’re a hard woman to track down. I’ve come by a few times to deliver these but you weren’t home.”

  I flipped through the envelopes. “Some of these are from a week ago? Why didn’t you just put them in my mailbox downstairs?”

  “I was hoping we could have a chat. Maybe over a cuppa—”

  “Thanks for the mail Thad but in the future if you get anything, please just put it in the mailbox. I’ve got to get ready for work.” I closed the door in his face before he could say anything else. I wasn’t British; I didn’t care about being polite.

  I got into work just one minute shy of being late.

  “Hiya, Morgan,” Hayley called out after I arrived. I dropped my purse on my desk and turned on my computer.

  “Cuppa?” she asked and I nodded.

  “How was your weekend? I heard you went to a football game with Phil and got to meet the team.” Hayley waited as I took off my coat and then walked with her to get our morning cup of tea.

  “How did you know about that?” I asked.

  “Phil has a
very big mouth. He’s also talking about how you totally fancy him and it’s only a matter of time until he takes a trip to America, if you know what I mean.” Hayley waggled her eyebrows and I made a face.

  “He’s seriously saying that? I guess he’s not telling people how I made it clear we could only be friends,” I snapped, filling the kettle and turning it on.

  “Phil Wickenham is a prat,” she snipped. “He’s selfish and a lout. You’d be best steering clear of him. Shutting that down was a smart thing to do.”

  “You speak as if from experience,” I replied, dropping tea bags in our mugs.

  “Unfortunately,” she murmured.

  “I don’t know why I invited him. I’m not remotely interested,” I said.

  “Good morning!” Libby singsonged as she walked into the room.

  “Morning, Libby,” I responded, trying to be nice.

  “Hayley, that’s a lovely top. Is that the one that was on sale at Primark?” she asked, opening the tiny fridge and getting out a pint of milk.

  “No, Top Shop, I’m afraid.” Hayley rolled her eyes behind Libby’s back.

  Libby turned around and leaned against the counter. “So, it seems you’ve been dethroned as head slag, Morgan. What a relief for you.”

  Hayley and I shared a look. “What are you talking about?” I asked, knowing deep down that I shouldn’t.

  Libby handed me her phone. “You’re old news, love. That must be such a relief for you.”

  Hayley and I looked at the screen. Libby had an article from one of the numerous online gossip rags that detailed the exploits of football players and other celebrities, mostly of the reality show variety. I could see a grainy photo obviously taken from someone’s phone, showing Lucas in a car with a woman.

  “What’s all this?” Hayley asked, taking the phone and handing it back to Libby.

  “More Lucas Bradley adventures it would seem. He was out with some woman at a club last night. Was seen leaving with her too. Then there was this picture.” Libby held up her phone again to show a picture of Lucas and a very pretty woman hugging at a bar. His face was pressed rather close to her breasts.

  My face felt hot and my throat tight.

  I guess I knew why he never came by last night.

  Why should I be surprised?

  Because he showed up a couple of nights ago and we had the best sex of my life? That didn’t spell monogamy. If anything, I should have predicted this.

  Then why had he texted me last night saying he wanted to come over?

  That was before he was offered something better, of course.

  Hayley was watching me closely. “It could be like the picture of Morgan, something taken completely out of context.”

  Libby laughed. “I doubt it. These football players are all the same. Using their fame and money to sleep with anyone they want.” She looked at me pointedly. “Except for Morgan, right?”

  I swallowed. “Right,” I said weakly.

  “Okay, well I have a report to finish this morning. Ta ladies.” Libby wiggled her fingers and left.

  “All right, Morgan, you need to tell me what’s really going on,” Hayley said as soon as Libby was gone.

  “What in the world are you talking about?” I asked with a forced chuckle. I pulled the tea bag out of my cup and threw it in the trash, busying my hands so I didn’t have to look at Hayley.

  “When Libby showed us that picture you looked as if you swallowed a mouthful of tacks. Then there are the footie tickets Lucas Bradley gave you—”

  “Phil told you that too?” I interrupted.

  “Mr. Big Mouth told everyone everything.” Hayley narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on with you and the super striker? I’ll know if you’re lying. My mum always said I could read people.” Hayley took a sip of her tea, all the while watching me over the rim of her mug.

  Deny, deny, deny. That’s all I could think to do.

  “There’s nothing going—”

  “I can tell by your face that’s a lie.”

  I had no close friends to talk to. None in this time zone anyway. I couldn’t tell my mother, who I would normally talk to about everything, that I had a night of amazing sex with a famous soccer player. She would be scandalized. And disappointed.

  I was desperate for a friend to confide in.

  I was lonely.

  Living in a foreign country was an isolating experience if you weren’t particularly good at people skills.

  And Hayley was nice. She had gone out of her way to make me feel comfortable.

  Seeing that picture of Lucas with another woman hurt. Even if I told myself I had no right for it to bother me.

  “We slept together,” I whispered.

  “What?” she gasped. I hurriedly closed the door to the breakroom so we wouldn’t be overheard. “You slept with Lucas Bradley? At the pub? You dirty, dirty girl.” She playfully punched my arm.

  I shook my head and made a face. “Ew, no. I do have some standards.”

  Hayley looked confused. “Then when—?”

  “On Saturday night. He showed up at my apartment. He stayed the night. It was—” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It was amazing, Hayley.”

  Hayley put her mug down and held up her hands, stopping me from speaking any further. “Wait a minute. Lucas Bradley—the Lucas Bradley—showed up at your apartment. Out of the blue. And you shagged him? And he spent the night? What sort of bizarre universe are you living in?”

  I laughed. It felt good to laugh about it. Because otherwise I’d cry. “I know. It’s weird. And then he texted me last night saying he was coming over. He never showed. And then I see that picture of him with another woman,” I let out in a rush, thankful to get it off my chest.

  Hayley seemed to be having a hard time wrapping her head around what I was telling her. “So Lucas Bradley calls you? He makes plans to see you? Are you…dating?”

  It annoyed me how everyone had to refer to him by both his first and last name. Like he was some sort of demi-god.

  He was just a man. A jerky man at that.

  “I hardly call multiple orgasms dating. Plus he was with someone else, so exclusivity is not on the menu.” I poured myself another cup of tea. I was becoming slightly addicted to the whole process of it. Even if I still added too much sugar and not enough milk. Or vice versa.

  “Multiple orgasms? Seriously?” Of course that’s what Hayley latched onto.

  “Many orgasms. I thought I was going to pass out,” I admitted, my belly warming at the memory. And then it twisted at the reminder that those were most likely the only orgasms he’d ever give me.

  Whatever. He’s a dick. I didn’t need that sort of complication in my life.

  I was really bad at lying to myself.

  “This was after you went on a date with Phil? I’m only asking for clarification.”

  I winced. “Yeah, it was. Wow, that makes me sound like a grade A slutbag.”

  Hayley snorted. “Slutbag? I need to remember that one.” She handed me the milk for my tea.

  “It’s no slag, but it’s a good one,” I grinned.

  “Well, from what I know of you Morgan, you’re no goal digger like Libby and Clara. You were lured in by a sexy smile and gorgeous eyes. You’re a woman, after all.” Hayley made me feel better. Not a lot, but some.

  “I guess I can just chalk the whole thing up to an experience of some sort and move on,” I sighed.

  Hayley patted my shoulder. “Love, we all wish we could have that kind of experience. But you’re better off without all that nonsense. Being with someone like Lucas Bradley comes with a world of headaches.”

  I smiled. Or tried to. She was right of course.

  So why did I still want to hit something?

  Mostly Lucas’ pretty, pretty face?

  Our conversation petered out after that. And with a plan to grab something at lunchtime, I headed back to my desk. I wasn’t imagining everyone’s eyes on me. People were definitely staring, and t
hen looking away when I caught them.

  Charlie and Andrew were whispering in the corner like schoolgirls.

  I purposefully made eye contact as I walked past. Andrew flushed red and Charlie quickly took a drink of his tea, liquid dribbling down his chin.

  Damn Phil and his stupid mouth. Men were just as gossipy as women.

  I sat down at my desk and tried to concentrate on my work. I had a project to think about. And a boss that was less than pleased with my performance so far.

  But my mind kept drifting.

  To the one person I didn’t want to think about.

  It had been only sex.

  That’s all I had wanted, right?

  I didn’t need to think about relationships. I had a job I needed to keep. A new country to get used to living in. Anything else was only a distraction.

  A nice distraction.

  But not good for my current situation.

  I could hear a cell phone ringing from somewhere. I absently wondered whose it was.

  It kept ringing.

  How annoying.

  It was only a matter of time until the bossman came out to bitch at someone about personal phone calls.

  I glanced around the room, trying to figure out whose it was.

  “Morgan, your purse is ringing,” Mark Bates said from his desk beside me.

  “Huh?” I frowned.

  Morgan glanced at my purse by my feet.

  I picked it up. He was right. It was my phone making the racket.

  I quickly pulled it out to silence it and my stomach dropped.

  It was Lucas.

  What the hell?

  Why would he be calling me?

  I muted the ringer and shoved my phone back into my bag, determined to not think about it. Or him. Or why he would be calling me in the first place.

  Then my purse began to vibrate.

  “Sorry,” I muttered to Mark, who was looking put out by my noisy phone. I picked up my entire purse and headed towards the front doors of the office.

  Out on the sidewalk, I answered the call, figuring I might as well see what he was hounding me about.

  “You are a difficult one to get ahold of,” Lucas chuckled after I said hello.

  “I’m at work,” I replied blandly.

  “Right. I’m sorry. I forgot.”