By the 38th minute mark we were up 2-1, I having scored the first goal in the first five minutes. But they were gaining on us, and we’d be lucky to get through the half without them scoring again.
And then, as if my football genius brain had predicted and conjured it, Mathis whooshes past our defenders, who in turn back up into Claude, effectively knocking him over and rendering our goal completely defenseless. Which is why, when the asshat midfielder (that I've been trying to get through to but won't take my advice) decides to try and become a goalie, he accidentally sends the ball flying into the net the wrong way. A fucking own goal. Bloody hell.
I wipe my hand over my face, cursing and muttering under my breath before sending a death glare towards our bloody midfielder. Reese McAteer. Fucking Irish punk. I'd tried all season to give him tips in practice, calm him down. I usually didn't take to newbies, or pay them much attention.
But...he reminded me of myself at that age. 22. Cocky as all get out. Bloody brilliant on the pitch but a waste in the real world. Pissed half the nights of the week, with different women sneaking him into bathroom stalls or alleyways. He had a bright future ahead of him, if he didn't royally fuck it up.
So I was a softie for the kid. But his lack of thinking and strategy made him reckless. That was his third own goal of the year, and we were barely halfway through the season. He had all of the raw talent of an atom bomb, the particles and the science, but he neglected to focus on the wiring. He refused to train harder, perfect his craft.
We walked back to the visitor's locker room, always darker and less upgraded than the home team's space. We did it at Windingham too, made our competitors sit in barely livable quarters while they waited. But it still sucked when you were away.
Olivier was infuriated, throwing shit left and right. "You're a bloody git, you know that?! A BLOODY GIT." He screamed and waved his finger at Reese, who was hanging his head between his knees.
"Enough! Genug!" Coach Kristoff yelled. And Hans Kristoff was not a man who yelled.
Kristoff had been the coach for Windhingham since I'd turned 20. I'd known this man for almost 10 years. I could count the number of times he'd let his emotions slip on one hand. And today was one of those.
Kristoff was a stoic man, choosing to let his cold demeanor show his true feelings to his team and those around him rather than explosive outbursts. He barely smiled, even when we won the Barclay's Cup three years ago. But I knew he'd been proud. Kristoff was like that stern father figure you never wanted to get on the bad side of. And since I'd never known my dear old dad, he was the closest thing to a father I'd ever had.
"You sorry sons of beetches better get out onto zat pitch, run until your legs fall off, and score some godzamn goals! Muzzafucka!"
I loved when Kristoff cursed. Not only because it sounded so German, but because it fired me up. If he was pissed off, then I was a fully cocked shotgun.
"Now get out zere and win zis bloody game!"
* * *
I stayed in the shower until the last player, coach and assistant filtered out. The water was scalding and pruning my skin, unknotting my jellied muscles and attempting to wipe away the blanket of disappointment and overwhelming gloom I felt. I'd let my team down.
After McAteer had come back out to score a goal, putting us up one, I'd let Brennon Mathis get the best of me. He'd taunted me until I gave in, side tackling him in such an illegal way, I was surprised the real London police hadn't come in to give me a yellow card.
In turn, Mathis had gotten a penalty kick. And hadn't missed.
In the 92nd minute, I'd let them tie the game up, and subsequently let my team down. In the Premier League, teams got three points for a win, one for a tie, and zero for a loss. A tie scored us one point, but on a competition table that was stacked with way more talented teams than Mansfield, we should have secured a victory.
I heard the creak of the locker room door but didn't bother to look up, instead letting the water sluce between my tired muscles.
"Oh my god! I..."
I snapped my head up and my eyes fell on a perfect blonde in lavender.
Leah.
Her face was a deep crimson, the color of dark red roses or the kind of nail polish a man wanted raking down his flesh. She was trying so hard to keep her eyes averted from my naked body, specifically below the waist, but she was failing miserably. My cock began to swell with blood under those watchful green orbs, and her tiny gasp made my balls tingle with anticipation. I was completely exposed in the open air shower, and she could see every ridge and slope of my body. It took all of my control not to pull her under the hot spray with me.
I didn't move, just kept rubbing my hands over my skin and giving her the show she couldn't peel her eyes away from. "Did you come down here to cheer me up?"
My leering voice must have awoken the morals in her, because she abruptly turned around, stomping her heeled foot like a petulant child. "So not only have you stolen me away from the job I was excited to do, but you're going to make me wait around and chase you now too?"
So she was mad about my request to 73Bulbs. I grinned to myself.
Turning off the shower and lazily grabbing a towel, I walked right up to her, almost brushing her coat with my hot, wet skin before slyly ducking around her and moving toward my locker.
I started in a teacher-like tone. "Do you honestly think you would have been able to do anything but fill coffees and answer phones there? Because that's what you would have been doing. You were only allowed on the Brutal Force carpet because Cressida wanted to beat you down and show you your place. She wanted to haze you."
Leah pursed her lips, a deeper shade of pink from whatever she'd coated them with, trying not to look at my naked abs and instead focusing on a non-existent ball of lint on her clothes.
I continued, now pulling a black long sleeve shirt over my head. "What she didn't count on was you actually succeeding. And in succeeding, making an impression on me. You're bloody lucky I plucked you out of that hell hole, because now you'll get to learn more than you ever would have hanging Cressida's coat in her oversized office closet.”
I dropped my towel, fully aware of the massive boner I was sporting but not caring if she looked her fill. I'd be using it with her if I got my way, and it turned me on even more when I saw the flash in her eyes as she tried to keep them pinned to the floor.
I could feel my hips cant towards her, wanting so badly to unwrap the layers of clothes and frigidity she shielded her body with now. But I held my desires at bay as I pulled on boxers and a pair of dark jeans.
“You’ll learn how to command a press conference, how to give thought-out, canned answers in interviews. And speaking of interviews; you’ll set them up, coordinate times and outfits and questions. You’ll put my weekly schedule together, make sure everything that concerns me is running tip top. The Killian Ramsey Machine is in your hands. So, you can kiss my cheek and thank me for giving you the opportunity of a lifetime.”
I gave her the cheekiest smile when she scowled at me, but I could see the glint of thanks in her eye. She knew I was right.
“Fine. As my first act as conductor of the Killian Ramsey Machine, you need to march up to the press room and give your answers to the media. Since you’ve been hiding down here like a chicken.”
“Oh no, I won’t be doing that. Those pigs can write their stories about me without some sob story, loser answers.” I pulled on my black winter coat and slammed the locker door shut.
“Only sore losers and bad athletes skip postgame interviews.” She recited this as if it had been ingrained in her brain, making me think she had some experience in this.
“What, were you some sort of sports PR guru back in the States?”
She smiled glumly, her eyes unfocused as if she was calling up a memory. “Something like that.”
7
Killian
After dragging me to the presser, and making me answer loads of ridiculous questions, I took Leah and Jimmy t
o my favorite Thai place in Earl's Corner to discuss my upcoming schedule.
The waiter set down my Thai iced tea and I took a drink of the milky, delicious concoction while looking over my glass at Leah. She'd removed her coat, revealing a beige blouse with buttons that came all the way up to her neck and ended in a tied bow. It wasn't anything I'd ever expect her to wear, not after the first time I'd seen her in her American jeans and long sleeve shirt. Neither was that coat now that I'd come to think of it. She transformed into a womanly, feminine creature...much like when she'd slipped into the dress from wardrobe.
Strands of blonde framed her face from where the wind had whipped them out of the sleek knot at her neck, and my fingers were itching to brush them behind her ear and feel the delicate, creamy skin of her jaw and cheeks.
"So, I'll send over Kill's entire schedule, which I've uploaded to my email calendar and I'd suggest you do the same. He's a busy man this one, so you'll have to keep up. If you don't actually kill him first."
Jimmy's joke made Leah giggle, that real, genuine smile coming out again. I found myself wanting to make her do that more.
"Yes, I am a pain in the ass. But damn is that ass good looking." I winked and she cast her eyes down at the menu in embarrassment. She really had to quit it with the shy act, it wasn't deterring me from pursuing her. If anything, it only made me more horny and determined.
The restaurant was bustling, and multiple patrons turned around when they noticed just who was sitting at this table. Even after all of these years, I hadn't gotten used to it. I wanted to live my life the way I wanted, without someone posting my location on Twitter or Instagram. I guaranteed the paps would be outside by the time we'd finished our meal. Bloody hell.
"What would you like?"
I glanced up to see the Taiwanese waitress holding a pad, ready for our order.
"Yes, I'll take the Masaman Curry, please." Jimmy didn't wait for the lady, or even his client, to order. That man's appetite knew no manners.
Looking to me next, she waited. "Suki Hang, please. With a side of Thai egg rolls."
Leah bit her lip as the waitress came to stand next to her. "Um..yes, hi. Do you have just like a side salad? Maybe with ranch dressing?"
What? I'd taken her to one of my favorite, and one of the hippest, Thai restaurants in London. And she wanted a side salad? The waitress also blinked down at her as if she'd heard her incorrectly.
"Are you not hungry?" I directed the question across the table at her, trying to hide my annoyance under a thin veil of control.
She bit her lip again. "Well...I. I've never eaten Thai before..."
Oh. Well, shit. "She'll have the Pad See-Ew. And bring her the side salad as well, but the ginger house dressing."
We folded up our menus as Leah looked at me, her expression unreadable.
"You'll like it. But how have you never had Thai food before? Let me guess, your favorite restaurant is McDonald’s?”
At that remark she finally cracked a smile. "I'm from the land of Oklahoma, where fried chicken, steak and pecan pie are king.”
Her voices twangs just a notch further when she mentions Oklahoma, and I feel that thing in my old, gnarled, hollowed out chest. A twinge of something. It feels like my heart, trying to flick the breaker or resuscitate the until-now useless organ.
"Well, I suppose we'll have to give you the grand eatery tour of London then, won't we Killian?" Jimmy eyes me and Leah happily, and I know he would love to show her all of his favorite pig out spots.
"So, what is on the schedule for the coming weeks?" Leah changed the subject, putting on a no-nonsense expression.
That, right there. That's what I liked about the woman. She was shy and reserved one minute, like a bumbling girl. But then the next minute she was as refined and professional as a princess who'd had her title since birth.
Jimmy's voice broke my thoughts as the waitress brought out our food. I could smell the exotic, savory aromas wafting around the table, and until then I hadn't realized how hungry I was.
"Every week Killian has practice Tuesday, Wednesday, half practice on Thursday and half practice on Friday. Unless there is a match any of those days for Champions league, or a special session of practice with the England National Team. He has matches every Saturday or Sunday. Film sessions are usually Wednesday nights, and those can take anywhere from three to six hours. Stuffed in between those are gym workouts with his trainer, signings, managing the cleat line, appearances at premieres or openings and then whatever social life he can manage to have. Which has to be handled as well because the ladies love this one, and they'll do bloody anything to get him."
I tucked into my plate of spicy noodles as Jimmy drolled on, listing out the hundreds of things I needed to do in a week. And then I'd wake up the week after that and do it all over again. Why? I wasn't sure anymore. I suspected it all kept me so busy that I didn't have to think about things until I woke up screaming from nightmares about pools full of blood.
The conversation went on, me focusing on my noodles, until a sound came from across the table.
"Mmmmm ohh..."
I didn't even have to look across the table at her face. I was stiff as a steel pipe just from that breathy little moan that had expelled from her lips.
But I did look up. I had to see the face she was making that accompanied that sound.
Leah's eyes were closed, her long lashes fanning down onto her cheeks. Her cheeks emitted a glow, her pink lips the color of spun cotton candy, tipped up in a content, blissful smile. Her jaw rotated in small, satisfied chews as she tasted the flavor of the noodles on her tongue. Her expression made my cock harden even more, to the point of pain as the zipper of my jeans made a permanent tattoo of itself on my swollen head.
"Good?" I can barely choke out the words staring at her in a total state of rapture.
"This is amazing!" Leah tilts her head in a gesture of thanks, her face still lit up like she's just heard about Santa Claus for this first time.
We eat the rest of our meal, Leah making breathy little noises every once and a while and Jimmy going over my basic day to day. It’s only when the check is finally laid on the table that the first flashbulb goes off through the restaurant's glass storefront.
"Fuck!" I grumble, pulling out my Black Card and urging the waitress to hurry.
"Yes, we've been spotted." Jimmy sighs and begins tapping away on his phone, probably trying to have any media he knows call off their dogs if they have photographers outside. "Actually, Leah, you should do this."
As we sit waiting for the bill to come back, Jimmy gives Leah pointers on dealing with paparazzi and tabloids. She listens intently, soaking everything up and emailing certain people when he tells her to.
Except when we get to the door, it looks like the media swarm has doubled in size, not diminished.
"Is there a back way out of here?" Leah looks frightened as the camera zombies advance on the restaurant.
"No. Bloody hell. We have to get to the curb. I had the valet bring the car around, we just have to get there." Jimmy looks determined, moving in front of Leah as I move in back of her. I guess we are going to try to shield our way through this.
Jimmy throws the door open, and suddenly it’s blinding. Flashes come from every direction, shouting, my name being called over and over and over again. We try to move quickly, but are getting jostled every which way, sandwiched in between these star-crazy sardines. One of them shoves Leah trying to get a good shot of my face and she stumbles, her foot twisting in an unnatural way.
"Ow!" I hear the surprised pain in her voice and look down to where she's tumbled onto all fours.
Without thinking, I brush the hair out of her eyes, connecting our gazes as I palm her cheek. "Are you okay?"
My expression must hold something that mesmerizes her, because dazedly she responds in a small voice. "I think so. Yes."
I slide my arm around her waist, palming it but also holding it firmly. The other hand comes up to rest on
her neck as I pull her from the ground. The paps get even crazier at this gesture, practically salivating over my hands on her.
All I can think about is her scent drifting through my senses, warm vanilla sugar and a canopy of giant trees after a thunderstorm. Her pulse beating rapidly against my hand on her neck. Wondering if she felt the same hot and cold sensations running over her body, causing goose bumps and lustful stirrings below the waist.
When we finally made it my Rolls Royce, Jimmy was holding the passenger door open, waiting for Leah to jump in. I threw my body into the driver's seat, leaning over to make sure she got in safely.
"Get her home, Kill. I'll call you later." And then Jimmy left us, strolling down the street like we weren't in the middle of a media circus.
"Buckle up." I didn't look over at her, trying to calm my breathing and my needy cock before putting the car in drive and navigating us through the sea of people.
We didn't speak until I'd wound us out of Earl's Court and onto West Cromwell Road, away from the blinding lights and rabid photographers.
"Are you okay?" I looked over at Leah, who was visibly shaken, but not as frightened as I thought she would be.
She only nodded, her gaze focused on something out the window.
"Leah." My statement was a command. It wasn't optional that she look at me.
Her head turned slowly towards mine, her cheeks ashen and pale, devoid of the glowing color our meal had put there just 10 minutes before.
"Are you okay?"
She flinched, moving her ankle around and touching her heel. "It’s a little swollen. Probably just a bruise. But I broke my roommate’s heel. Damn it, these are probably so expensive..."
The last part was said to herself, and I glanced down to take in the look and texture of the material on her borrowed shoes.
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