A Brit Player (Castle Calder Book 4)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “It was this high school party hot spot,” I explain. “Not an actual library.”

  “We learned a lot there, though,” Max says. His gaze slides over to me as he continues. “Tara learned how to not drink vodka there.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.” I aim a soft fist for Max’s stomach, but he catches my hand as it makes contact with his abdomen and somehow pulls me back tight against him at the same time. My hand flattens over his firm muscles and my other arm snakes around his waist until we’re half embracing. Max’s grip on me is loose. I could escape his arms if I wanted to, but I don’t. Escape or want to. So much for keeping my distance. The force field that is Max Foster has sucked me in like a staple to a magnet.

  “Tara can hold her vodka. Tequila is another story, though,” Scarlett says. If she notices my sudden closeness with Max, she’s giving a BAFTA-winning performance in acting oblivious. To Tilly she says, “Speaking of tequila, Lou made a margarita cheesecake. Let’s go get some and stop harassing these two. Max, great to meet you. Let us know if you’re ever in London.”

  “Or back over here in the Lakes,” adds Tilly. “Next time you could try the restaurant here and maybe bring a couple of your teammates?”

  Max laughs and says he’ll keep that in mind as Scarlett pulls Tilly after her towards the kitchen. We’re in the public bar so we’re getting a few furtive glances. Max steers me towards the exit as he says, “You going to tell me the tequila story?”

  “Not a chance.” I roll my eyes, but it’s mostly at myself. “I thought you had to leave?”

  “I am leaving,” Max says. I slow my steps. We’re in the foyer now and if Max thinks I’m leaving with him… Before I can complete that thought, he says, “But not until you tell me when and where I get to see you again.”

  “Well, I live in London, so…” I let my voice trail off because it’s not like I’m inviting Max to visit me in London. Am I? Though if I am, would that be the worst thing?

  Even as I think it, I know I’m playing with fire because, hello, Plan A is keeping my distance and it’s a good plan. Hell, it’s a great plan. But what if I give myself a little grace and I do see Max? Like…see him. Just for a little while, to sate my curiosity. To see if I’m really past everything. Would that be the worst thing? Would it be worse than saying goodbye to him right now forever?

  “I’ll be in London on Thursday for a game on Friday night, so how about dinner Thursday night?” Max bites his lip and it looks like he’s trying not to smile. “I’ll splurge for Nando’s if you fancy it?”

  My laugh is so loud and unexpected it echoes off the wall, and even though I shake my head, I say, “Well, how can I refuse an offer like that?”

  “Exactly.” Max bends down and kisses the side of my head, then unwinds himself from around me. He doesn’t say anything until he’s at the front door about to pull it open. Then he says, “See you Thursday, T. I had a great time tonight.”

  “Me, too.” I cross my arms over my chest to keep my heart from following him out the door and watch him leave.

  It’s only after the door is shut behind him and I hear the crunch of tires on the gravel drive that I realize I’m still standing in the empty lobby with a goofy smile on my face.

  “Sooo…” Scarlett sidles up next to me. She’s taken her heels off, so I didn’t hear her coming. “That looked cozy?”

  “It’s nothing.” My protest sounds weak, even to me.

  “Did you have a nice time?” Scarlett’s voice is soft.

  “I did.” I take a deep breath in and blurt out, “I decided I’m going to see him again after all. Maybe it will help get me over this funk I’m in, you know?”

  “You mean see him as in date him?” Scarlett raises an eyebrow. “Earlier today you didn’t want to see him, period. What’s changed?”

  “I don’t want to date him.” I feel itchy and suddenly my bra is too tight, but I make myself answer Scarlett. “It’s just…I had a good time tonight and, well, what’s the harm in seeing him again? If it’s casual, maybe Max will help get me past my Mikhail stage, you know?”

  “Maybe.” Scarlett drags the word out to three syllables. “Although how is that not dating?”

  “Dating is full of potential. Max and I exhausted our potential back in high school.” My tone is so firm I almost believe what I’m saying. The truth is, we exhausted a lot of things in high school, but our potential wasn’t one of them. That was killed by everything that came after.

  “Are you sure that’s not wishful thinking?” Scarlett gives me a side eye, like no matter how firm I sound she doesn’t believe me.

  “No. I think it’s good. I mean, I hardly know him anymore.” I smile because suddenly I feel lighter than I have in months. “I’ll go out with him a few times and then kick him to the curb. Three dates and done. I did it with Mikhail, I can do it with Max.”

  “Well, I’m not going to lie, I like this version of happy-go-lucky Tara, but you didn’t even like Mikhail? I think this is a little different.”

  I roll my eyes. Scarlett’s right, but… “I don’t know if I like Max these days. He could be a complete bellend.”

  “He could.” Scarlett nods and studies me for a long minute. “Dare I say, he seems decent?”

  “He does.” I feel that damn corkscrew in my stomach again. Max is decent. He’s always been decent. That’s part of the problem. I force a smile at Scarlett. “He didn’t talk about his football stats once tonight.”

  “Well, then.” Scarlett laughs. “If you want to see him, I say go for it. I mean, he’s smoking hot, so there’s that.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” I laugh, too. “It’s good. I’m good. It will be fine.”

  It occurs to me that saying it doesn’t necessarily make it so. But before I can think about that further, Scarlett links her arm through mine and says, “Well, how about some fizz to celebrate? A toast to Tara and Max.”

  “No. That implies way more than is happening here.” I raise my hand in a mock toast. “I’ll raise a glass to old friends, though.”

  “I saw that little cuddle when you two were saying goodbye.” Scarlett’s voice has a singsong tone. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” My tone is firm. Max and I are old friends, and that’s all we’re ever going to be. Anything beyond that means I’ll have to be honest with him about what happened when he left, and I’m not sure I could endure that.

  I’m not sure he could either.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Twelve Years Ago

  Max is in the lounge with my father and Tariq talking football. At least that’s what I hope they’re talking about. I can’t actually hear them since I’m in the kitchen helping my mother with dinner.

  When I asked her if Max could come to dinner, she raised an eyebrow but gave her okay. I’ve never had a guy over for dinner before. Truthfully, the only person who ever comes over for dinner is Rina. We all work different hours and Saturday night is usually the only night the family is all together. So it feels like a big deal to invite someone to join us for our one family meal in the week.

  It feels like a bigger deal to have invited Max, but I can’t think about that too much or I’ll freak out.

  “Is the rice almost done?” Mum asks. “The dahl is ready.”

  I lift the lid on the pot and poke the rice with a fork. Mum doesn’t believe in rice cookers, unfortunately. She says they’re lazy. I say they’re efficient. I also say if we had a rice cooker I could be in the lounge with Max, making sure he’s not getting grilled by my father.

  “Five more minutes, I think.” I lift a lid of one of the pots bubbling away and inhale. My mum’s lamb bhuna is my favorite and I’m betting Max will love it, too.

  “So, your friend Max?” Mum raises an eyebrow. “He likes curry?”

  “Yeah, he loves it.” Truthfully, I didn’t ask, but who doesn’t like curry? Besides, I have a feeling if he hates it, no one will ever know. Including me.

  Proof comes whe
n we’re all sitting around the dining room table and he takes a huge dollop of hot lime pickle on his dahl, following Tariq’s lead. Lime pickle is a traditional Indian accompaniment, kind of like chutney. But my mum’s version is crazy spicy because that’s the way Tariq and my dad like it. I won’t touch it with a ten-foot pole because every time I try it, I end up coughing and sputtering because it’s so hot.

  I try to catch Max’s eye to warn him, but my mother gets his attention first by saying, “Max, Tara says you are quite a football player. What position do you play?”

  “I’m a striker, but I’ve been spending some time in mid-field lately, too. I don’t mind where I am on the field, as long as I get to play.” Max sounds so earnest and I’m so caught up in looking at my mum’s nod of approval, I miss the minute Max takes a massive forkful of dahl heaped with the pickle.

  His face gets red and his eyes water a little. I tense to jump up to get him more water, but he takes a big gulp from the glass in front of him and then laughs, saying, “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  Then he reaches over and takes another heaping spoonful. The difference is that this time he catches my eye. And winks.

  I can’t help smiling back, although I bury it by taking a mouthful of food. But I do catch my mum’s smile. Again. And my dad’s. Even Tariq looks grudgingly impressed.

  Still, I’m slightly on edge for the rest of the dinner, even though conversation flows easily, and Max is so obviously making a good impression. I don’t really relax until we’re clearing plates from the table. Max is helping – at his insistence – and we’re piling up dishes in the sink when he slips an arm around my waist and leans down to whisper in my ear. “See? I told you this would be fun.”

  I grin up at him. “You were right. It was fun watching you trying not to die eating the pickle.”

  “I’m going to pay for that, aren’t I?” Max grins back at me.

  I’m so lost in that smile that I don’t hear my mother come into the kitchen until she sets a bowl down on the counter with a clunk. Then I veer away from Max faster than if he pinched me.

  “Mum. Hey.” My voice is too high and I take a deep breath to see if it will help.

  “Tara.” Mum slides her gaze over to Max and says, “I think Tariq has gotten out the sesame sweets in the lounge. You’ll like them.”

  Max nods, although he looks between me and my mum and I can tell he’s weighing up what to say or do. I plead to him silently with my eyes to please go and thank God he does. Although not without a backwards worried glance.

  Mum waits until she hears his voice in the dining room before turning to me and saying, “You said this boy was your friend.”

  “He is my friend.” This is one hundred percent true and I will my voice not to sound defensive or strained.

  “But he’s also more.” Mum doesn’t phrase this as a question.

  “We’ve been friends for a long time. The more part is recent.”

  “You like him.” Again, not a question.

  Maybe it’s Mum’s certainty that sounds like acceptance. Maybe it’s the fact that I couldn’t deny it if I tried. I nod. “I like him a lot. He’s great.”

  “He seems lovely.” Mum allows a slight smile as she continues. “Your brother is suspicious, though.”

  “He’s suspicious of everyone. Remember Akil?” Akil was a kid I was friends with in Year Seven. He was a total dork and perfectly harmless, but Tariq got it in his head that Akil fancied me. He didn’t, but Tariq is intimidating. Akil told me one day that the glares from my brother were aggravating his IBS and that was the end of our friendship.

  “He wants to look out for you.” Mum shakes her head, then says, “That said, you’re more than capable of making your own decisions.”

  “Thank you.” This means a lot coming from my mum. She not-so-secretly hopes I decide on the arranged marriage route someday.

  “Be a good girl and always remember who you are, yes?” Mum gives me a stern look and I nod.

  “You don’t have to worry, Mum.”

  I’ve just gotten used to the idea of kissing Max. I can’t exactly imagine more. But even though I can’t picture it, I feel a little zing in my stomach at the prospect of an undefined “more.”

  “That’s not an answer.” Mum’s eyebrows are raised. She’s prepared to stare me down if she needs to.

  “I’ll remember who I am.” I roll my eyes. “Is that better?”

  “Much.” Mum smiles a little, then her face turns serious. She says, “You are too young to have big regrets. That’s all.”

  I nod like I’m agreeing but Mum’s warnings are a waste of breath. I can’t imagine regretting Max. Or anything that happens between us.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Max and I have gone from not speaking for twelve years to texting several times a day. It’s mostly innocuous stuff – he sends me a lot of photos – but I don’t know what to think of it. I definitely don’t know how to feel about it. All I’m sure of is that I’m anticipating those dings from my phone in a way I haven’t in years. I’m also sure that if I examine that more closely, I’ll get a pretty good idea of what I think and feel, but I don’t want to ruin it.

  I’m grinning at a text from Max in the kitchen at work while waiting for the kettle to boil when Gemma walks in, saying, “Ooooh. Who’s the guy?”

  Gemma is my closest friend at work, but I haven’t mentioned Max to her. Nor do I intend to.

  I shake my head. “Tariq sent me a picture of his lunch. Sharan’s gone vegan, so he’s sneaking in a burger and hoping she doesn’t find out.”

  “Yikes. Slippery slope.” Gemma grabs a mug from the cabinet. “Hey, you want to go check out the Anthropologie pop up on South Bank with me after work? Marie went on her way back from a client meeting and said it’s fab.”

  Shit. Normally this is something I’d be all over, but even though I’m not meeting Max until seven-thirty, there’s no way I can do both. An outing with Gemma always morphs into more. “I can’t, actually. I’ve got plans tonight.”

  “Oh? Whom are you doing?” Gemma grins as she pours herself a coffee.

  “No one. I’m meeting an old friend for dinner.” It’s not a lie, but I glance away anyway.

  “What time?”

  “Half-seven, but I need to pick up my washing on the way home.” I point to my last-resort laundry day shapeless grey skirt. “I’m not going out in this.”

  “You won’t have to go out in that. Buy something fabulous and wear it to dinner,” Gemma says.

  “I think you forget who you’re talking to. The last time I bought something and could wear it off the rack was when I found those jumpers in the John Lewis winter sale.” I pause. “In the kids section.”

  “Fine. God, I need to find taller friends.” Gemma rolls her eyes. “Where are you going to dinner?”

  “I’m not sure.” Max has asked if I prefer Indian or Italian. If this were a date, my answer would have been neither because neither are date-friendly options. Since it’s not, I said Italian. “We’re meeting at Prohibition, so somewhere over by Victoria, I imagine.”

  “How the hell are you getting into Prohibition?” Gemma’s voice rises in excitement. “Do you have some secret connections I need to be exploiting?”

  “Not that I know of. Why?” I know Prohibition is a hot new place, but that’s about all I know.

  “It’s bloody hard to get into. Even Bradley and Scarlett couldn’t get in the other night.”

  “Yikes.” I haven’t seen Scarlett all week, but I’m surprised. She and Bradley are gorgeous, both separately and together. I’d let them in just to be able to ogle them. “I’m pretty sure we’re only going for drinks?”

  “Well, yeah. They only serve drinks. Hence the name. But it’s one of those places where you have to know the password to get in, and apparently it changes frequently within the same evening.” Gemma lowers her voice. “Hey, do you have a password for tonight? I might call Oliver. Maybe if we go right after you
, we can get in too?”

  “Oliver, huh?” I grin. Gemma insists that she and Oliver are only friends, but she mentions him way too often for that. “Trying to impress him?”

  “No.” Gemma rolls her eyes. “But if I were, you’re no help.”

  “I know. Sorry. I didn’t realize you need a password.” I shrug. “So maybe we’re not going there after all?”

  If anyone can get a secret password, it’s Max. And when he texts me at seven as I’m about to go hop in my Uber, I’m not surprised at all to read: Say Nando’s at the door and I’ll meet you inside Prohibition. Looking forward to seeing you.

  His text makes me smile and I text back: Is this what you meant by going to Nando’s? Because I heard this place is a little more exclusive?

  Exclusive enough that I’m wearing date clothes even though I refuse to call this a date. And I’m paying for an Uber, even though the Tube would be cheaper and faster. But I don’t want to navigate the stairs in my red stilettos. I’m wearing my LBD, which was the only thing in my closet that didn’t scream work clothes. It was hanging in my closet, still in its plastic bag from the last time it was dry cleaned after one of my last nights out with Tom – an awards dinner for WS.

  For self-flagellation’s sake I made myself scan through the photos on my phone until I found the ones from that night. In most of the photos, Tom and I are laughing and affectionate. Then I come to one that takes my breath away. It’s a photo he took of me alone, staring into space and looking so damn sad. I hadn’t wanted to end things with him before the event, but I knew it was inevitable. Just like I knew the awards dinner would be our last real date.

  I broke up with him a week later.

  “You know you need a password to get into Prohibition?” The Uber driver catches my eye in the rear-view mirror as we crawl through Westminster past Big Ben.

  I nod. “Apparently I’ve got one.”

  “That’s lucky.” The Uber driver nods. “I’ve had a couple people tell me a lot of celebs go there. Maybe you’ll get lucky and spot someone famous?”