Once Upon a Player

by Christina Phillips

  “For the last three years.” I hope that satisfies his curiosity. I’m not sure if he’s aware that Mum’s cousin is his agent, and I don’t want to accidentally say something I shouldn’t. On the other hand, I’m not going to lie, since it wouldn’t take him a minute to find out the truth.

  “Full time?” The distracting flash of dimples that accompanies his inquisition should be illegal. If not for the way my ratbag ex, Geoff, totally played me by cheating with my best friend Monica, I’d be in serious danger of falling for Lucas’s sweet talk.

  He’s only asking me about my work! Well, yep. And this just goes to show how much of a hermit I’ve been when it comes to chatting with guys during the last year.

  While the logical thing to do is to tell him I don’t have time to gossip, there’s no way that will sound anything but rude, and I can’t let Mum and Bec down like that.

  Yes, sure, that’s the only reason why I’m going to answer him.

  “No, I’m just casual. I help out when needed.”

  His forehead creases, which has the effect of making him sexier than ever. “Is this the first time you’ve been here?”

  “Yes.” I decide it’s time to get the conversation on a more professional footing. “And I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid the contracted hours won’t cover a full clean this week.”

  His lips twitch, as though he’s trying not to laugh which isn’t exactly the response I was angling for.

  Wasn’t it?

  “Sure,” he says, and to give him credit, he sounds sincere. “Just do whatever you can, no worries. I’m guessing the hours will have to be renegotiated once I’ve moved in?”

  Yes, but definitely not by me. “That’s something you’d need to discuss with the partners.”

  “Right then.” He straightens up. “Where’s the vacuum?”

  Is he serious? “We’ve already had this conversation. Why don’t you go and,” I wave my arm in the vague direction of the kitchen, “have your breakfast or something?”

  “Tell you what. Why don’t you leave the rest of this until tomorrow, and I’ll take you out for brunch now as an apology for the extra work?”

  I clench the cleaning cloth and try not to hyperventilate. Did Lucas Carter just ask me out?

  Yes, he did. Oh, my freaking God.

  “That’s really not necessary.”

  “I know. But I want to.”

  His friendly smile reaches deep inside and turns my stomach warm and liquid, a phenomenon that hasn’t blighted my existence in over a year. Do. Not. Fall. For. It.

  Great advice. I’m only annoyed that I have to remind myself of it.

  “Not going to happen.” I shuffle across the floor on my knees and examine the priceless rug with determined concentration. It doesn’t stop me being hyperaware of Lucas’s gaze burning into my back.

  “What about dinner tonight, then?”

  I swing around, and he’s grinning at me as though this is all a great game to him. It probably is. It definitely is, but somehow that knowledge doesn’t stop the hot glow inside my chest.

  Remember who he is, Vi. Like I’d ever forget.

  “I’m sorry. That goes against company policy.”

  “Your boss sounds fun.”

  “Watch it. She’s my mum.”

  “You help out your mum?” He sounds interested, but I’m suddenly not sure I should’ve told him that. Not that he couldn’t find out easily enough, and it’s not like it’s a big secret or anything. It’s just this contract is so important to Mum. I don’t want to stuff it up.

  “I fit it in between my other jobs and college work.”

  “What’re you studying?”

  Wait, this conversation is veering into the kinds of thing you share on a date. Trouble is, I think I started it with the whole working for my mum comment.

  Who knew Lucas Carter would be so easy to talk to? And asking stuff about me instead of it being all about him?

  Not every guy is like Geoff. And I really need to stop imagining there’s more to this than there is, which is Lucas passing the time flirting with his cleaning girl.

  That brings me back down to earth superfast.

  “Interior Design.” I give him a polite smile and back the hell off. Although I know it’s time I started to get back out there on the dating scene, practicing my rusty flirtation techniques with a football superstar is the worst idea ever.

  The door swings open, which is a bit of a shock as I didn’t think anyone else was here. I only just stop myself from gaping when the supermodel, Yolanda, strolls in, wearing an ankle length robe that looks like it’s made from gossamer.

  They really are dating, then? I’d thought it was all a smokescreen for when they were between partners. Not that I follow what Lucas Carter gets up to, but it’s hard to avoid, since he’s in every magazine and gossip column you can think of.

  And he just asked me out. Twice.

  Scumbag.

  “Hey.” She strolls across the room, looking like she’s on the catwalk, before she catches sight of me. Her famous smile doesn’t falter for a heartbeat. “Hello.”

  I stand, not that it helps with the whole confidence thing, since both of them top six feet and I’m barely five-foot-three, but it’s better than gawking up at them from my knees.

  “Hello.” I even manage a smile, despite having the murderous urge to punch Lucas on the nose. I guess she knows exactly what he’s like. Maybe they have one of those friends-with-benefits arrangements where they’re both perfectly fine with an open relationship when they’re together, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

  Get over yourself, Violet. Lucas was just casually flirting because, next to kicking a ball around a pitch, that’s what he does best. It’s my own fault for thinking—even for a nanosecond—that he might’ve actually wanted to spend quality time with me. Guys like him don’t believe in fidelity. It’s a good job I wasn’t even remotely tempted to take him up on his offer to go to brunch.

  Or dinner.

  “This is my mate, Yolanda,” Lucas says, as though she isn’t the face of Izabelle, and on billboards in every major city across Europe. “Yolanda, this is Violet Henderson, who’s clearing up the shit those arseholes left last night.”

  “God, they’re feral,” she says. “I was going to call my agent to get someone to come round and clean up this morning. You beat me to it.” She turns to me. “Lovely to meet you, Violet. Don’t be put off by the mess. Lucas is pretty much house trained on the whole.”

  “Of course, he is.” The comment slips out before I can stop it, and although the words themselves aren’t derogatory, I have the terrible certainty my tone conveys exactly what I think of him.

  Before I can backtrack and try and salvage this contract, she laughs. “Yeah, okay, well, I had to try. Sorry, Lucas, your reputation wins out yet again.” She gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder before making her way to the kitchen, and I avoid all eye contact and go to retrieve the vacuum. The sooner I’ve got this room sorted out, the better.

  “That’s harsh.” Not that he sounds offended, and I can’t help glancing at him. He shoots me a heart-stopping smile that I manage to ignore. “My rep isn’t me.”

  “Jesus, Lucas.” Yolanda leans over the workbench, and I grip the vacuum. Here it comes. “You don’t have anything. No coffee, not even a teabag. I’m dying here.”

  Right. Not what I was expecting. I dart a glance between them. He introduced her as his mate, and not in the David Attenborough sense, either. Are they really just friends?

  As Lucas sighs and joins her in the kitchen, I feel kind of bad about my uncharitable thoughts toward him just now. Not that it really makes any difference. There was never a chance in hell that I was going to accept his offer to go out with him.

  …

  Lucas

  An hour later, Yolanda and I are sitting outside a coffee house in one of the back streets of Hampstead Village. The road is narrow and pedestrianized, with cracked paving slabs, and bas
kets of flowers hang above the shop windows.

  Not my usual scene at all, but it’s kind of peaceful.

  Yolanda sits opposite me, wearing her trademark enormous black sunglasses and massive sunhat, which manage to completely hide her face. She takes a sip of her espresso before letting out a long sigh. “Better.”

  A couple of girls stroll along the road and do a double take when they see me. From pure reflex I give them a smile, which makes them clutch each other’s arms and giggle. It’s a relief when they don’t stop by our table and ask to take a few selfies, and I shift position so I’m angled toward the coffee house instead of the ambling pedestrians and adjust my cap for some anonymity.

  “I can’t believe Violet Henderson is the only girl who’s ever said no to you.”

  “First one in seven years.” I throw Yolanda a mocking grin because it is kind of funny. I’m under no delusion as to why girls want to go out with me. It’s all about being seen and going to the right places, but hey, I’m down for that. It’s all part of the deal, and it’s not like I don’t get plenty of action in return.

  “Oh my God.” Even though I can’t see her eyes, I know she’s rolling them dramatically. “So now she’s become a challenge, is that it?”

  “No.” Even though she declined my third offer to take her out, this time for a coffee with Yolanda and me, in favor of vacuuming the room like her life depended on it, I still get the vibe her refusals are more of a front than anything else.

  She deflected, and I want to find out why.

  “Maybe she just isn’t interested. Did that cross your mind?”

  “I need a new angle.”

  “You need a new hobby.”

  “No.” A brainwave hits. Violet told me it went against company policy to accept a date with me, and I thought she was joking. Maybe she wasn’t? Especially with the family connection. “What I need is an interior designer to work on my apartment.”

  “I’m not seeing the connection.”

  “She’s studying interior design. I could hire her services.”

  “Desperado.” Yolanda smirks before draining her espresso. “Bet you ten quid she turns down the commission.”

  “You’re supposed to be my mate.”

  “I’m saving you from being a prat.” She glances at her watch. “Anyway, I have to dash. Got that shoot for the new Izabelle perfume this afternoon.”

  “Catch you later.” We kiss each other’s cheek, and she strolls along the road, not that I can sit here for much longer.

  Four years ago, my teammate Jax and I set up the Rainbow Star Foundation to help grant wishes to sick kids and raise money for children’s charities. Our high profiles ensure many celebrities are happy to pitch in, and while it’s no secret we’re heavily involved in the foundation, not many people are aware we’re the ones behind it. I can’t work in a lab to fight deadly disease the way my mum did, but at least I can help fund the research.

  In an hour, Jax and I are visiting Toby, one of the first kids our foundation helped. He was only eight and battling leukemia, and his biggest wish was to meet Jax and me. He’s a great kid, and we kept in contact over the years and always drop in to wish him happy birthday.

  And this afternoon I have another physio appointment.

  I straighten my leg and my knee twinges, but I was lucky. The reconstruction surgery five months ago went without any complications, and in another six weeks, barring no unforeseen glitch, I’ll be back on the bench.

  Not United’s bench, though. A month ago, one of the biggest clubs in Spain made an offer for me. Negotiations are still being thrashed out between my agent and the clubs, and until I sign on the dotted line, I’ve been sworn to secrecy.

  I’ve been with United since I was seventeen, and I love the club, but it’s time to stretch myself and move on. As long as my knee doesn’t let me down.

  The prognosis is good, everything’s textbook, but until I’m officially given the all clear, there are no certainties. I suck in a deep breath and ignore the slither of panic coiling in my gut.

  Focus on the positives.

  Coming from an academically brilliant family like mine, discovering something that I excelled at was a lifesaver. This career won’t last forever, and I’m fine with that, but I don’t want it cut prematurely short due to injury.

  Because what the hell would I have left?

  Chapter Three

  Violet

  Stop thinking about him.

  Such good advice. But I can’t get Lucas’s sexy smile or gorgeous blue eyes out of my head, even after he leaves with Yolanda.

  It’s gone two before I leave, and I still have the rest of his penthouse to clean. Looks like I will be going back there tomorrow morning. I just hope he’s right and the rest of the place only needs a quick dust. I could’ve done it today and got it out of the way, except I need to pick up my little brother, Sam, from school.

  The school doors open, and I catch sight of my eight-year-old brother yakking his head off with his mates, his cap askew and backpack hanging off one shoulder. When we get to the car, he pulls off his blazer, tosses it onto the back seat, and then proceeds to talk nonstop all the way home. He’s seriously exhausting, and by the time I park on the drive, my head’s killing me.

  To be fair, the headache doesn’t have as much to do with Sam as it does with the whole Lucas thing, and at least my brother’s adorable while he’s being annoying.

  Lucas is pretty adorable, actually.

  I groan and grip the steering wheel, while Sam tears up to the front door without bothering to take his backpack or blazer with him. The problem is, Lucas is adorable, and even though it’s a well-documented fact that if flirting was a sport he’d win gold at the Olympics, I’m still basking from those smoky smiles he directed my way.

  “Ugh.” I shudder before opening my door and yelling at my brother. “Sam! Mum’s in bed. Don’t bang on the door.”

  I grab his stuff from the back seat and let him into the house. Mum, of course, isn’t in bed, but wrapped in a fluffy blanket on the sofa. While Sam tells her about his day, complete with amateur dramatics and loud enough so the whole street can hear, I put the kettle on and devour a banana, since I haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast. I really need to knuckle down and finish my assignment, but I’m not sure I could concentrate. Which is pathetic.

  Lucas won’t even remember my name by the morning.

  When Sam runs out of steam and charges upstairs, I take Mum a cup of tea and curl up on the other end of the sofa. I messaged her a few times during the day to see how she was, but she always said fine, which I didn’t exactly believe.

  “Are you feeling any better?” She doesn’t look it. She’s suffered with Crohn’s for years, and although I should be used to her flare-ups, when on the worse days she can hardly move because of the severe abdominal pain, I’m not. I’ll never get used to them. Not when it always gives me flashbacks to the first attack she had, when I was nine and there was just me and her in the house and I thought she was dying.

  Don’t think about it.

  “It’s eased off a lot.” She takes a sip of tea. “I’ll be back on my feet by Monday, no problem.”

  “Hmm.” I need to tell her about the extra work at Lucas’s, so she can bill him for the additional hours, but the stupid thing is I’m not sure where to start. I saw Lucas Carter in nearly all his naked glory today?

  “Everything go okay at the penthouse?” She smiles at me over the rim of her mug. “I told you it was money for old rope, didn’t I? Though I expect that’ll change once he moves in.”

  “Half his team turned up last night and left a lovely mess in the sitting room. I need to go back in the morning to finish off.”

  “What? Oh no, I’m so sorry, sweetie. Were you there all this time? I thought you must’ve gone off and met Katie or something.”

  Katie is my one and only friend, as all the other girls Monica and I used to hang around with decided to ditch me and stick with her after th
e Great Betrayal. Funny thing is, Katie and I used to be best friends, from the first day we met at primary school right up until we went to different high schools. We only reconnected a couple of years ago, and she and Monica never clicked.

  Probably had something to do with the fact she can’t stand anything to do with football, whereas it’s always been an integral part of Monica’s life.

  I shrug to let Mum know it’s no big deal. “It’s fine.”

  “Let me know how many extra hours it all comes to, and I’ll sort it out with Bec.” She sighs. “I suppose this is a sign of things to come when he moves in.”

  It probably is, but I have the insane urge to defend him. It wasn’t all down to him, and he did offer to help clear up. Several times.

  Luckily, I manage to keep my mouth shut. Mum didn’t ask if Lucas was there, and I’m not going to volunteer the information because it’ll only make her stress and she can do without that.

  I really need to break my hermit habit.

  Not once has Mum or my stepdad told me I need to get over myself and get on with my life. They’ve always supported me, and I don’t know what I would’ve done without them. But today I not only met one of the biggest names in English football, I managed it without my world caving in.

  Geoffrey Hawthorne-Douglas was my first boyfriend, and a rising star in his League Two football club. We dated for fourteen months, and truth is, I thought the sun shone out of his backside. When he humiliated me in front of all of our friends, I just wanted to hide in a hole and never crawl out again. But I haven’t seen any of them in a year, and in spite of Geoff’s delusions of grandeur, when it comes to the great scheme of things, he’s still the equivalent of a minor moon orbiting Jupiter.

  Jupiter, naturally, being Lucas Carter’s elevated sphere.

  And today I proved to myself I can talk to a hot guy—in the same profession as Geoff—without sounding like a total muppet.

  Time to take the next step, Vi.

  I pull out my phone and text Katie.

  Meet you after work?

  Katie works less than a ten minutes’ drive away, at Sycamore Lodge, a 1930s art deco building just off Wood Green High Street, that’s now a budget priced hotel for artists and creatives. She started off as a receptionist straight from school two years ago, and even though she’s only a couple of months older than me, she’s now the assistant manager and responsible for hiring and firing the staff under her.