Striker (Book 1 in the 'Striker' Trilogy)

by Michelle Betham

  ‘You’re on,’ Ronnie said. ‘So, Amber Sullivan, party girl, is coming out to play?’

  Amber just smiled, sliding her sunglasses up onto her head as she turned away and started walking towards the entrance to the training ground. ‘I never said that. Come on. I’ve got work to do before I can even start thinking about having any kind of fun.’

  But, all of a sudden, fun seemed like a really great idea. Especially if she was sharing that fun with Ronnie. Yeah. Maybe a night out was something she needed. After all, what harm could it do?

  *

  Ryan was having a good day. So far nothing was telling him that this move back to his native North East was one he was going to regret but, even if it was, he couldn’t go back. Anyway, wasn’t playing for the club you’d supported all your life a really big deal for a professional footballer? That hadn’t been the first thing on Ryan’s mind when he’d asked Max to find him a northern club, but he was secretly over-the-moon that Newcastle Red Star had wanted him so much they’d agreed to all the terms Max had put forward. His wages had increased significantly, they’d provided him with a fabulous, if not slightly-out-of-the-way, house to live in, and everyone was treating him like a returning hero. Everyone except that reporter from News North East. The one with the hard-faced attitude and the sexy-as-hell body. What a conundrum that posed. Despite the fact he’d been seriously unimpressed at her reaction towards him – being cold-shouldered wasn’t something he was used to – he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. More’s the pity. He’d never had to chase after a woman in his life and he wasn’t about to start now. It was pointless even trying with her, anyway. Pointless going after something that was only going to kick you in the balls, metaphorically speaking, of course. Why bother with all that shit when he had Ellen ready and waiting for him to just click his fingers whenever he wanted her? Not to mention all the potential conquests that would doubtless be lining up to meet the newest addition to North East football when he hit the town later. Some of his team-mates were taking him into the city centre for a bit of a “welcome to the club” night out, and even though it was a Wednesday, and probably not the kind of night that was going to throw up the biggest choice in women, Ryan was absolutely certain there wouldn’t be a shortage. It was almost as if these girls could sniff out a footballer at fifty paces, and before you knew it you were surrounded by a barrage of them all trying to “get to know you”. Ryan couldn’t fucking wait!

  ‘Okay you lot, back on the pitch, come on!’

  Ryan pulled himself up off the ground, glugging back one last mouthful of water. He had no intention of ignoring Colin Bailey. The man was a legendary football coach who, along with Jim Allen, the charismatic, American-born ex-player-turned-manager, had joined the club in the hope that they could bring Newcastle Red Star the success that had eluded them for far too long. Bailey had a reputation as a stern but fair coach, and it was a reputation that had gained him the respect of any player who’d trained under him. But he could also put the fear of God into you if he thought you were slacking in any way. Ryan, however, intended to start as he meant to go on – getting on the good side of his new coach.

  ‘Over here, Fisher!’ Colin yelled in his tough Glaswegian accent. An accent that only solidified his no-nonsense attitude. ‘A quick kick-about about to end the session, okay? But let’s not treat this like a piss around in the park, alright? I’m watching the lot of you. Especially you, Fisher. We need to know exactly what to do with you on Saturday.’

  Ryan ran back out onto the pitch, ready to give not just the coach but also the gathering crowd of press and TV that had been allowed access into today’s training session something to really look at. Ryan Fisher was one of the greatest strikers out there right now, and he was in the process of showing them just what it was this club had paid millions for.

  Fifteen minutes later and all he had to do was talk to a couple of journalists, give a handful of quick interviews to camera, and he was done for the day. But Ryan didn’t intend to waste the afternoon playing golf or spending money on some ridiculously over-priced shirt to wear tonight; he had enough of those already. No, he intended to give Ellen a ring, see if she could get away for an hour or so. He was going to spend the afternoon getting some practise in for his night on the town. Ellen was the warm-up act, but Ryan was definitely on the look-out for a different main performance.

  ‘You ready, then?’ Max asked, sauntering over to Ryan, his mobile phone attached firmly to his ear.

  Ryan rubbed a towel along the back of his neck, looking over towards the throng of assorted journalists and reporters who were across the other side of the pitch talking to some of his team mates. ‘Yeah. I’m ready.’

  ‘Great. Hang on a second; I’ll just take this call. Don’t wander off, okay?’

  Ryan sometimes wondered if Max actually knew how old he was because, at times, he still treat him like the nineteen-year-old kid he’d been when Max had first started representing him. Or maybe he just knew him too well.

  Looking over once again at the crowd of reporters, Ryan squinted slightly as a familiar figure stepped back from the crowd. Was that Ronnie White? What was he doing here? Hang on; was he with that reporter from yesterday? What was her name again…? Amber. That was it! Amber Sullivan. Daughter of Freddie Sullivan, apparently. So Max had told him. Pity she hadn’t inherited any of her father’s charm. Shit! She looked even sexier with that new hair colour. Red suited her. Ryan guessed it matched her temperament, which probably meant she was shit-hot in the bedroom – Jesus; he had to quit thinking like that. It wasn’t easy, though. This was one tough girl with attitude that Ryan was suddenly pretty desperate to get closer to. Even if it meant enduring a few more kicks in the teeth. Maybe that’s what she got off on.

  ‘What’re you smirking at?’ Max asked, sliding his mobile phone back into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Max followed Ryan’s gaze. ‘Right,’ he sighed. ‘Best leave well alone there, kiddo. She’ll eat you for breakfast.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ryan grinned. ‘That’s what I’m hoping for.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake…’ Max sighed again, rolling his eyes. ‘Come on. Focus, for at least five minutes then you’re out of here. Although, Christ knows I’d feel more comfortable if you were being chaperoned twenty-four hours a day.’

  ‘If they looked like that…’ Ryan smirked, indicating Amber as she laughed at something Ronnie White said to her, ‘… they can chaperone me all they like.’

  ‘I thought it was hate at first sight with you two,’ Max said, guiding Ryan towards another local sports reporter who wanted a quick word.

  ‘Hey, I never said I hated her. I hated being ignored by her. That’s different.’

  ‘You hate being ignored, full-stop. Now, turn on the charm and do what you’re here to do. The sooner we get this out of the way, the sooner we can all go home.’

  *

  Amber smiled and waved at a fellow sports reporter she knew from a local radio station as he made his way out of the training ground. He’d had his five minutes with Ryan Fisher, whereas Amber had yet to approach him. It just wasn’t something she was particularly keen to do, even though it was the reason she was there. She’d spoken to a couple of the other players to see how they felt about their new team-mate, but so far she hadn’t set foot near the man himself.

  ‘I think I know why you don’t want to go near him,’ Ronnie said, leaning nonchalantly against a wall, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his more-than-likely stupidly expensive designer jeans. He was a footballer, after all.

  ‘Do enlighten me with your theory, then,’ Amber sighed, watching from across the other side of the pitch as Ryan Fisher charmed the pants off another female reporter. It was quite a sight to see. He almost had it down to an art form.

  ‘You fancy the arse off him.’

  Amber swung round and fixed Ronnie with a stare that would kill, given half a chance. ‘Sorry? Did you just accuse me of fancy
ing the arse off Ryan Fisher?’

  Ronnie shrugged. ‘It’s obvious.’

  ‘Oh, is it? Care to fill me in on how you came to that conclusion?’

  ‘How many footballers have you been around, Amber?’

  She said nothing for a second, aware that she still had to talk to Ryan at some point before he disappeared off to do whatever it was footballers did for the rest of their days once training was finished, otherwise Kevin would doubtless have something to say.

  ‘Loads,’ Amber replied, checking her watch before looking over at Alec, her cameraman.

  ‘Okay. So, how many of them have you deliberately avoided talking to? For any reason.’

  She looked at Ronnie again, narrowing her eyes. ‘None. And what the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘You fancy him. Come on, Amber. You said yourself you avoid relationships with footballers, but you’ve never actually avoided talking to any of them, especially not in a professional capacity. But look at you! Even you know you’re actually looking for an excuse not to go over to him. Am I right? Or am I right?’

  Amber gave Ronnie one last glare through still-narrowed eyes, turned on her heels, and strode purposefully over to where Ryan Fisher was busy talking to his agent.

  ‘Have you got a couple of minutes to say a few words to News North East about your first training session with Red Star?’ Amber asked, her stomach – for some completely unexplainable reason – turning somersaults. Mind you, that was probably due to the fact she hadn’t had any breakfast that morning. Yeah, that had to be it. She couldn’t think of any other reason.

  Ryan turned to look at her, a smile – or was it more of a leer? – spreading slowly across his undoubtedly handsome face. ‘For you, sweetheart, I’ve got all the time in the world.’

  Amber groaned inwardly. What the hell was Ronnie thinking? Her? Fancy Ryan Fisher? He needed to give her a little more credit as to the kind of men she went for because this man here, with a wage packet that was probably as over-inflated as his ego, was so far away from the kind of men she wanted to spend time with.

  ‘Two minutes, Ryan,’ Max said before leaving them to it.

  Yeah, Ryan thought. Two very long minutes, if he had anything to do with it. ‘Loving the new hair colour,’ he smirked, taking another swig from his water bottle, his eyes not leaving Amber’s. ‘Makes you look a hell of a lot sexier than you did yesterday.’

  Was this guy for real? ‘Anyway,’ Amber began, shaking all other thoughts out of her head, ‘…the training session…’ She looked around for Alec, whom she’d assumed was right behind her. He had been a second ago. Where the hell had he gone now? She wanted this interview done and dusted as soon as possible but she couldn’t do a thing without her cameraman. ‘I’m sorry. My camera guy seems to have disappeared…’

  ‘I’m in no rush,’ Ryan said, leaning back against the wall, draining the last of the water from his bottle. ‘So, Amber… can I call you Amber?’

  She just looked at him before turning round to see if she could spot Alec anywhere.

  ‘How do you know Ronnie White?’ Ryan asked, running a hand through his dark hair, fixing her with another look as she turned back round to face him. ‘I’m assuming you do know him, because the two of you look pretty friendly to me.’

  Amber toyed with the idea of telling him to piss off, but then thought better of it. ‘We’re friends. I met him when he was still a player, about ten years ago, not that that’s any of your business. My dad introduced us at a charity dinner we were all attending at the Civic Centre.’

  ‘What’s the relationship there, then? You seeing each other? I’ve heard he’s recently divorced…’

  ‘What the hell has any of that got to do with you?’ Amber interrupted, quite unable to believe that someone could ask such personal questions of somebody they didn’t even know. ‘I’ve told you, we’re friends.’

  ‘I’m just interested,’ Ryan shrugged, still refusing to divert his eyes away from hers.

  Amber shuffled from foot-to-foot, becoming slightly agitated at Alec’s absence now. She just wanted to get this over and done with and get back to the safety of her desk back in the News North East offices.

  ‘Good friends, are you?’ Ryan asked, arching an eyebrow, which did nothing to lessen the agitation Amber was feeling. She was beginning to dislike him more and more with each passing second. Ronnie couldn’t have been more way off the mark – how on earth did he even think that she could possibly go for someone like Ryan Fisher? If he was the only man left on earth she’d rather stay single for the rest of her life. ‘Best friends with benefits, huh?’ Ryan winked.

  Amber swore she could actually feel her blood begin to boil and she was about to furnish him with some sort of reply to let him know just how inappropriate that comment had been when Alec finally showed up.

  ‘Sorry, Amber. Got talking to Jason from North News Tonight. Lost track of time. Are we ready to go here?’

  Amber kept her eyes very much on Ryan as she spoke, suddenly feeling the need for that night out with Ronnie more than ever now. ‘Oh, we’re ready to go, Alec. We couldn’t be more ready.’

  And, as far as Ryan was concerned, she couldn’t have spoken a truer word.

  Chapter Three

  The bar was unusually crowded for a Wednesday night, but for Ryan that just meant more choice. He’d had a more than pleasant afternoon sampling the delights of the lovely Ellen; so pleasant, in fact, that he’d been almost sorry to leave the sanctuary of his bedroom behind. She certainly knew how to keep his attention, but Ryan didn’t care too much for playing with the same friend for too long. He liked variety, and plenty of it.

  ‘Hey, you okay, mate?’ Gary Blandford, the club’s Sunderland-born star defender asked, sliding onto the stool next to Ryan. Gary had a bit of a reputation himself, never one to shirk the lifestyle or benefits that came with his job, despite being engaged to a very pretty local model called Debbie who, with her glamorous image and local-celebrity lifestyle, had earned herself the nickname of Queen of the Red Star WAGs. They had a lot in common, did Gary and Ryan. Which is why they’d become friendly with each other very quickly.

  Ryan looked at Gary as he handed him another pint. ‘Have you had many dealings with Amber Sullivan?’

  Gary grinned, taking a mouthful of ice-cold lager. ‘Yeah. ‘Course I have. I mean, I’ve come across her a few times. She’s interviewed a lot of us local players over the years. She certainly makes a welcome change from all those run-of-the-mill blokes-in-suits I used to get at me old clubs. Why do you ask?’

  Ryan shrugged. ‘No reason.’

  ‘You do know she’s Freddie Sullivan’s daughter, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’m assuming she takes after her mother in the looks department.’

  Gary laughed. ‘Yeah. She’s pretty easy on the eye, isn’t she?’

  ‘I’ve certainly never been interviewed by anyone with legs like hers before, that’s for sure.’ Ryan smirked, also downing a mouthful of lager.

  ‘She’s got a reputation for being a bit of a cold bitch, though,’ Gary went on, grinning at a couple of girls in short skirts and extremely high heels as they sauntered past. ‘Won’t touch footballers with a bargepole, apparently. Although, she did have a fling with Ronnie White. Just before he met his ex-wife.’

  Ryan looked at his team-mate. ‘Really? They used to be a couple?’

  Gary nodded. ‘It was never something the whole world knew about. You know Ronnie, he’s a pretty private person. It didn’t last all that long, apparently. But they’ve stayed friends ever since.’

  Ryan took another drink. ‘Do you think there’s anything going on between them now? I mean, Ronnie – he’s recently divorced, isn’t he? Was that because of her, do you think? Because of Amber?’

  ‘Nah, mate. His wife left him for Frankie Greenham, Kennway Town’s goalie. Had nothing to do with the lovely Amber Sullivan. Like I said before, Ronnie White was the one and only exception to her “n
o footballers” rule. I should know. I’ve tried.’

  ‘What? You’ve asked her out?’ There was more than a hint of surprise in Ryan’s voice.

  ‘Half the squad’s asked her out, mate. She’s said no to all of us. Doesn’t want to know.’

  Ryan said nothing, just took another slow swig of lager.

  ‘Anyway, do you want another one? We’re gonna hang round here for a bit longer before we hit the club.’

  ‘Nah, I’m alright for the minute,’ Ryan smiled.

  ‘Fancy a game of pool?’ Gary asked, sliding off the stool and grabbing his pint.

  ‘I’ll be over in a bit. Just got to nip to the loo.’

  ‘Okay. Well, we’re just over there. See you later.’

  Ryan watched Gary walk over to the rest of the lads before turning round on his stool and taking a look around the crowded bar. Sometimes, being a professional footballer at the highest level was akin to being like the proverbial kid in a candy shop. All around him was temptation, and all he had to do was give the nod and whatever he wanted would just appear. Would he ever get bored of that feeling? Would that day ever come when he just didn’t want to do this anymore? When all he wanted to do was settle down and get on with his life? Maybe. But it wasn’t happening any time soon, that was for sure.

  Turning back to face the bar he held up his empty glass and indicated to the barman that he was ready for another. One more then he’d join the rest of the lads. This night was only just beginning, and he had a gut feeling it was going to be a good one.

  *

  ‘You do know that practically every male head in this bar has turned to look in your direction at least once, don’t you?’ Ronnie smiled, returning to the table with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. ‘Because you have scrubbed up pretty nicely, Ms. Sullivan.’

  ‘Champagne?’ Amber asked, ignoring Ronnie’s comment. ‘Are we celebrating something?’