by Avery Wilde
He chuckled. “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”
I knew that reporters asked me questions like this to get the shockingly arrogant soundbite that they always wanted from me, but today I wasn’t about to play their game, as I actually had someone to thank.
“Yeah. My brother Dean. I wouldn’t be where I am without him, and he’s always there for me with my best interests in mind. And, even if he can sometimes be a bit of a pain in the arse, I really do appreciate everything that he does for me.”
With this little bit of climbing down and fence-mending accomplished, I gave a cheery wave to the TV camera crew as I headed for the locker room. I could thank my teammates face to face—they knew I appreciated their contribution as well, but according to Brian, saying that on camera could hurt my brash public image, and that hurt the team in turn, albeit indirectly.
A shower and a change of clothes later, I was finally heading out of the locker room, knowing that the grim task of the post-match press conference lay ahead of me. I was grabbed once again, this time by my manager.
“Great match, kid,” Brian said, slapping me on the back.
“You were watching?”
Brian frowned. “Of course not. You were playing football—why in the world would I want to see that? Get it together, man.”
“Then why did you say…” I began, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.
“Everyone says you won,” Brian explained. “That’s good enough for me.”
“Well, nice to know you care.”
Brian frowned again. “What on earth would make you think I care? That’s crazy talk. You winning and keeping up your public image works for both of us—that’s what it’s all about. So keep doing it and we’re golden. You kick the ball, or whatever the hell it is you people do out there for ninety minutes, and I’ll take care of everything else. Speaking of which: I’ve got two women waiting for you in the lounge.”
I held up my hands. “Money I’m happy to leave to you, but I don’t need you, or anyone else for that matter, to bring me women. I can get my own damn girls. And if I ever reach the point of not being able to get my own…” I paused as this horrifying future flashed through my unwilling brain. “…then we’ll figure something out. But until that day—that distant, distant day—I don’t need you providing girls for me.”
Brian’s lips twitched, but he didn’t respond just yet.
“What do they look like?” I added. While I didn’t like the idea of my manager bringing me women, if they were already here then I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I may as well enjoy a bout of post-match coital bliss with the ladies.
“Are you quite finished ranting, you horny idiot?” Brian asked, shaking his head.
“What?”
“If I’d said that there were two men waiting for you in the media lounge, what would you have thought?”
I shrugged. “I guess I’d have thought that they were reporters.”
“So…” Brian waited for my one-track mind to work its way around to the truth.
“They’re reporters?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “They actually let women have jobs these days, you know,” he added sarcastically.
I scoffed. “Oh, shut it! I just wasn’t thinking. I’m tired.”
I wasn’t an idiot, nor was I unfamiliar with the concept of women in the workplace, but my first reaction to them always came from just below waist level. It wasn’t exactly something I was proud of—well, there were some aspects of it I was proud of—but my overall attitude to the opposite sex was one which I was willing to admit was a bit sleazy. Maybe it was a consequence of my upbringing, maybe I was just a jerk. Either way, I wasn’t proud of it. There were always hundreds of female reporters sent to interview me after matches, and yet my mind had immediately jumped to sex when Brian mentioned two women in the lounge.
Brian quickly returned to business; something he was always comfortable doing, “They’re both American. One is visiting from there, and the other is permanently based in London now. They’re here for your exclusive interview.”
“Why are there two of them? They can’t both do it, if it’s exclusive.”
I might not have always paid much attention to the business side of things, but even I could spot the problem there.
“You’re going to pick which one gets the exclusive.”
“Me?” I said. “I thought that was your job. I pay you to deal with the media and all that crap, so I don’t have to. If you don’t do it, then what am I paying you for?”
Brian shrugged. “For making you one of the wealthiest, best known and most successful sportsman on the planet?”
I acknowledged this with a curt nod. “Well, yes. But I also pay you to handle the media. Why can’t you just pick one?”
Brian sighed. He obviously didn’t like the part of his job that required him to explain himself to sports people. “Because it will look like I picked the girl just because she works for the BBC. It’ll look like I just chose the bigger organization with the deepest pockets; as if it’s all about the money. And we can’t make it so incredibly bloody obvious. But they’ve sent along a nice-looking blonde girl, as I asked them to, so when you pick her, no one will be the least bit surprised.”
“Wait…so I’m not really choosing between them?” I asked.
Brian’s eyebrows shot up. “Good grief no! You can’t seriously think I’d leave a decision like that to you!”
I nodded. On the one hand, I ought to have been happy. I hadn’t wanted to choose between the girls and now it seemed that I didn’t really have to. On the other, it did feel a little bit as if I was being manipulated, which wasn’t a feeling I enjoyed.
“All you’re doing,” Brian continued with his explanation, “is making it look as if we’re giving equal consideration to a smaller media outlet. Take time to speak to the other one—I forgot her name; some dark-haired girl—and listen to what she says. Or at least act like it. Then just do what comes naturally…hit on the blonde with the nine foot legs.”
“What’s her name?”
“Lauren Bilson.”
I nodded. That would be fine; girls called Lauren were usually pretty hot.
When I arrived in the media lounge—led by Brian, his face wreathed in a disingenuous smile—it wasn’t hard for me to guess which of the girls I was supposed to pick, nor for me to see why Lauren had been selected for this particular assignment.
I would’ve been the first to admit if I actually had a ‘type’, but I didn’t. It had been Brian’s suggestion for me to always be seen with a particular type of woman—those who the gossip columns and magazines always lauded as perfect—so now I’d appeared on the front of every magazine and newspaper in the country with every tall blonde model, singer and actress in the country. Now everyone else in the country thought they knew that I liked my ladies tall, blonde and slim. It had become part of the Croft brand, like arrogance and drunkenness, but unlike all the other aspects of my brand, there wasn’t even the slightest degree of truth to it.
In fact, I liked women of all shapes and sizes, so the tall, skinny blonde ‘obsession’ I allegedly had was manufactured by Brian and exaggerated to extremes for the sake of the public. I guess it worked, though. The gossip columns loved that I apparently had a type, because it meant they could easily speculate which up-and-coming model or actress I’d go for next.
When I laid eyes on Lauren Bilson, I immediately knew she was the one I was meant to pick for the interview. She was pretty, with a slim figure, long blonde hair and flashing green eyes. Not bad. I could see why they’d sent her.
Then I noticed the other girl, and I felt like I’d just been hit by a bolt of lightning.
Christ, she was gorgeous, and she couldn’t have been more different to Lauren if she tried. She was on the shorter side, while Lauren was tall. Her hair was a shiny dark brown compared to Lauren’s blonde, and while Lauren’s blonde hair was straight and controlled, the other
girl’s hair was curly and wild. Lauren had a fine figure, gently undulating like a willow, whereas her counterpart featured impressive curves that could hardly fail to catch a man’s attention.
Especially a man like me. I loved a woman with curves more than anything.
Above all, while there was no doubt that Lauren Bilson was a nice-looking woman in her own right, she’d obviously enhanced that genetic predisposition with haircare products, makeup and a skirt so eye-catchingly short that sitting down was guaranteed to reveal her knickers to someone. These were all things that I heartily approved of in the women I usually chose to be seen with, and yet I found myself drawn to the sheer natural beauty of the other girl. She didn’t seem to have made any effort whatsoever; her hair was wild, a suggestion of eyeliner was the only concession to makeup, and her clothes were clearly chosen for practicality.
Somehow, that made her ten times more stunning than any other woman I’d seen lately.
Or maybe ever.
Try as I might, I couldn’t stop staring at her, and for a second, I actually caught her eye. I expected her to glance away shyly or flash me an inviting smile like every other female reporter did when they were vying for my attention, but instead, she boldly looked back at me with an impassive look on her face, then gave me a mere ghost of a smile before turning her attention to Brian.
Okay, then. I guess she wasn’t my biggest fan.
“Ladies,” Brian said, inviting them closer with an expansive movement of his hands. “This is Liam Croft. Liam, this is Lauren Bilson…”
“It’s a great honor to meet you, Mr. Croft,” the blonde said, beaming a megawatt smile in my direction.
“…and…I’m sorry, Miss, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Allison Flores,” the gorgeous brunette replied. Her voice was like honey, as clichéd as that sounded. “Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Croft.”
She was polite, but considerably less effusive than Lauren, and I wondered why.
“Miss Bilson. Miss Flores.” I shook hands with the two women politely, smiling my best media smile. I was still finding it almost impossible to take my eyes off Allison. I absolutely had to give her the interview….but then Brian would be furious, and Brian did tend to know best when it came to business. If he’d put this deal together, then it’d been for a reason, and me coming along and screwing it up did neither of us any good. On the other hand, if I gave the interview to Lauren, then I might never see Allison again as she’d probably be immediately heading back to her home country. That idea troubled me more than I would’ve thought, considering how I’d only met her five seconds ago.
Shit.
Fortunately, at that moment, a distraction peeped into the media lounge in the form of my brother.
“Hi, has anyone seen…oh, there he is,” he said, striding over to us.
“This is my brother, Dean.” I coughed and almost choked as I got the words out, but I was relieved to have something else to focus on. “Dean, this is Lauren Bilson and Allison Flores.”
“Hi.” Dean smiled, but there was something in his face that suggested he was concerned that Brian was now bringing me girls, much like I’d been earlier.
“Give us a second, Dean,” said Brian. “Your brother just needs to have a very quick chat with these two lovely ladies, and then…”
“No.” I held up my hand. “Dean’s going to help me decide who gets the interview.”
“What?” Brian sounded shocked and slightly concerned, and he narrowed his eyes at me.
“Yeah, what?” Dean just sounded bewildered.
“I’m familiar with both their work,” I lied, motioning to the two women. “They’re both exceptional writers and I can’t possibly make the choice on the basis of a seconds-long chat.”
Brian’s eye twitched involuntarily as I spoke. Shit, he was pretty pissed off. That didn’t stop me, though.
“I think,” I continued, “if you girls are game, we might go out for a drink together, get to know each other and I can see who’s most compatible for the interview.”
I watched the women look at each other. Obviously, neither wanted to back down, each knowing that if they did, the other would likely take the prize.
“Sounds good,” Lauren with another wide smile.
“Sure,” Allison said, a little cagier.
I grinned. “Then that’s settled. Up for a night out, bruv?”
Dean was clearly a little taken aback, but he nodded.
“If I might have a quick word before you leave,” said Brian, his every word edged in steel.
But I waved him away. “I’m sure it’ll keep till tomorrow, Bri. I’ll let you know my decision later. This way, girls.”
I ushered the bewildered Lauren and Allison out as Dean held the door open, and I shot a last glance back at my manager, who was quietly fuming.
I grinned. “Don’t wait up.”
***
This plan, I fancied, was a good one. Even for someone with my legendary way with women, it was hard to make any sort of meaningful connection with a girl whilst turning her down for an interview that she desperately wanted. But, if I got to spend a bit of time with Allison socially, then I could work my magic on her and secure a date before turning her down for the interview—or even after, if I was charming enough. That way, I’d be happy, and Brian would be too.
Tonight could also prove an opportunity to get to know her, not something that I usually would’ve cared about—in fact it was something that I usually went out of my way to avoid—but for this particular girl it seemed suddenly important. I wanted to get to know her. Of course there was a chance that she would turn out to be nothing like how I’d instantly imagined her being when I first saw her, but it was well worth the risk.
Was I actually taking my brother’s advice and considering something serious with this girl?
That sounded crazy, but I wouldn’t have been interested in getting to know any of my usual partners any better. Maybe this was what being mature felt like? Although, since I was thinking all of these things whilst dancing with Lauren and peering over her shoulder every few seconds to see if Allison looked jealous, it might be a bit early to use words like ‘mature’.
“You’re a great dancer,” said Lauren, her body pressed up close to mine.
“Thanks, you too,” I replied, pulling away from her slightly.
Jealousy was a very hard emotion to judge from a distance, but if I’d had to put a word to Allison’s expression, I’d have gone with ‘bored’. And now amused. She was laughing, because Dean had returned with drinks for both of them and was doing a good job of keeping her entertained while I danced with her rival.
Suddenly the whole ‘making Allison jealous’ part of the plan was seeming less like a good idea and more like a ridiculous one that a teenager might’ve dreamed up.
So much for maturity.
“Are you all right?” asked Lauren.
“Yeah, yeah.” I nodded. “But I think I should dance with Allison for a bit. Only fair.”
“Of course,” Lauren replied. She seemed like a genuinely nice person, which I hadn’t found to be the case for an awful lot of the skinny blonde girls I’d met in the past. That made this slightly harder, since I felt like I was leading her on, but I was comforted by the fact that she was going to get the interview even if she wasn’t going to get me. In truth, however, she didn’t seem as obsessed with me as most of the women I met, much like Allison.
What an odd day this was proving to be.
I led Lauren back to the little table we’d secured earlier, where Dean and Allison were sitting. Allison was still laughing.
“Your brother’s hilarious,” she said as I sat down.
“Oh. Is he?” I replied. She nodded.
“You’re a great dancer,” said Dean, now addressing Lauren.
To my surprise, Lauren smiled shyly from behind a curtain of hair that had suddenly slipped coyly in front of one eye.
Had the world gone mad? I was Liam
flippin’ Croft! Yet I was out with two girls and they both seemed to prefer spending time with my brother. If I were twelve years old, I might have said something like, ‘is this Opposite Day or something?’
“Would you like to dance, Allison?” I asked. I never wallowed in self-pity—I acted.
A flicker of indecision passed across Allison’s face and I wondered for a second if the world really had gone mad. But it was only momentary, as she met my question with a confident face and determined eyes.
“Sure.”
Moments later we were out on the dancefloor with Allison giving Lauren a good run for her money in the dancing stakes.
“They look to be having fun,” Allison commented, looking over at Dean and Lauren. Lauren was laughing, and I reflected that I’d never really thought of my brother as being a particularly funny person until tonight.
“Jealous?” I asked automatically, realizing too late what a dumb thing it was to say. Maybe I really was twelve years old tonight…at least mentally.
She wrinkled her forehead. “What?”
I shrugged. “You and he seemed to be having a good laugh earlier.”
“Like I said, your brother’s funny, that’s all. If anything, it sounds like you’re jealous.”
I scoffed. “Course not. Is he really funny?”
“Yes. Women like that, you know.”
“I think I know what girls like,” I said, slipping all too easily into my standard media character. “In fact I’m pretty sure…and let’s just say it isn’t usually comedic stylings.”
Allison met my gaze with her dark eyes. “Maybe women look for something different,” she said, a trace of annoyance in her voice.
I grinned and dismissed the idea, seeing how far I could go with pissing her off. “Nah, they all want the same. Fortunately what they want is me.”
It might’ve just been my imagination, but I thought I saw Allison roll her eyes for a second. Odd; total confidence usually worked for me with any girl.
As Allison and Liam watched, Dean took Lauren’s hand and led her towards the dancefloor.
“Okay, you are the better dancer,” Allison admitted with a sly smile. “And presumably the better footballer.”