Page 1 of Off the Pitch

Chapter One

FIVE STARS

King Scores Twice to Ease Greenwich Past Southampton

The Guardian

Christian

“So Christian, fifth game of the season and already you’ve scored in every match. That’s definitely an achievement.” The reporter smiled as he shoved the microphone he was holding under my nose, waiting for the answer to the question he hadn’t really asked.

“Yes, it is,” I said, trying to remember everything I’d ever been told about talking to the press and trying not to shudder as another drop of rain trickled down the back of my neck. I wished someone would have passed me a towel before I’d been summoned for my requisite post-match interview. The reporter was still offering me a fake, encouraging smile, obviously hoping for more than a three-word answer. “But I couldn’t have done it without the rest of the team. We played well today, and I’m very proud to be a part of that.”

“You’ve scored six goals in five matches, though. You’ve got to be thinking about where that could lead you if you keep it up—especially with Greenwich being in the Champions League for the first time this season and, of course, with the World Cup coming up in just under two years,” the reporter added, clearly trying to dig. I sighed mentally, trying not to roll my eyes. It had all been the same recently, everyone pushing at the rumours that I was going to jump on the transfer bandwagon and leave Greenwich Athletic for a bigger club. It was either that or asking whether I would finally help lead England to the World Cup glory the country had been dreaming about since the sixties.

There had certainly been interest from other clubs—everyone knew that—and I wasn’t stupid. I’d scored a lot of goals last season and had helped us bag our first ever Champions League spot, but that didn’t mean I wanted to move to another club. I loved playing at Greenwich. It had been my dream to play for them ever since I was little, and my dad had taken me to my first match. Just because they weren’t the biggest club in the world didn’t mean I shouldn’t want to play there. I wanted to bring them the glory they so badly deserved.

Then I’d start thinking about the World Cup.

Still, I knew I had to answer the question or risk fueling the rumours further. I focused on fixing my face into what my mum always described as a ‘winning smile’, before parroting out the answer I’d given in every post-match interview since the season had begun in August.

“It’s still early days in the season, so I’m just focusing on the next game and how I can help the team. I love playing here at Greenwich, and it’s been my dream for a long time, so I’m just glad I can make the fans happy. The World Cup is a long way off, and we have a lot to focus on before then.”

The reporter’s face was pinched with annoyance at my sidestepping, but for once he didn’t push the issue. Instead he switched tactics to talk about the upcoming group stages of the Champions League and the teams we’d be up against. It was easy to see he was trying to find out if the team was feeling nervous at all, especially since it was the first time we’d played in Europe’s top footballing competition, but all I could think about was how cold I was as he droned on and on.

As soon as I could, I made a break for the safety of the dressing room.

My skin was still tacky with sweat, blond hair plastered to my face, my legs flecked with mud from the soggy pitch, and my kit clung to me, still soaked from the driving rain we’d played in. I would have given anything to dive into the hottest, deepest bath I could find, preferably filled with bubbles. Unfortunately, that would have to wait until later. Instead, I had the delights of a quick shower and then an ice bath to look forward to. I knew the ice bath would soothe my muscles, but after ninety minutes in the freezing, September rain, it was the last thing I wanted.

The dressing room was already half-empty as I found my spot and started trying to peel off my shirt. Virtually everyone was already in the shower trying to warm up. Liam and Jordan were still here, though, heads pressed together as they chatted away, clearly lost in their own little world. They were best friends permanently attached to each other at the hip and seemed to spend ninety percent of their time together. Their bromance was legendary, and they’d even had a Buzzfeed article written about it, which Liam’s long-term girlfriend had found utterly hilarious.

I was lucky enough to call them my best friends, and they’d always had my back. Right now, though, I didn’t want to be interrogated about my interview. I just wanted to get naked as fast as possible and get dry.

Apparently, I wasn’t going to be that lucky.

“Yo,” called Liam, spinning round to face me, his face still streaked with mud from an earlier tackle. “How’d it go?”

“The usual,” I said, shaking my head while fixing my face with my customary grin.

“Lemme guess,” Jordan added, rubbing a towel across his short, dark curls, grinning impishly. “You’re moving to Spain for fifteen billion pounds, where you’re gonna marry a Spanish supermodel, get a fucking awful fake tan, and win the Champions League ten times, while we spend your transfer money on shitty defenders, like my boy Liam here.”

“Fuck you,” Liam grumbled, shoving Jordan sideways with a grin. “You couldn’t defend if your life depended on it. Besides, you forgot the part where he leads us all to World Cup glory and people get his face tattooed on their asses!”

I laughed then. It was impossible not to. “Something like that.”

“Just ignore it, man,” Liam said. “If you told the boss you don’t want to leave, then it’s sorted. You’re their golden boy. They ain’t throwing you away.”

“Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t really something I wanted to talk about, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. I’d had the best start to a season I’d ever had, and I knew I should have been thrilled that people were talking about me so positively. But for some reason, the whole idea of being football’s next golden boy was starting to make me nauseous.

I wasn’t good enough for that. Not yet, anyway.

Liam must have sensed my hesitation because he quickly asked Jordan something about a new TV show they were both obsessed with. I stripped off the rest of my kit as fast as possible, grabbed a fresh towel, and headed for the shower, hoping the blast of warm water would wash away my doubts.

It was already dark by the time I pulled into the drive of my home in Blackheath, East London. Despite the downpour, the house looked warm and inviting, and I realised that Monika, my personal chef and generally amazing person, must have turned some of the lamps on before she’d left for the day. A six-bedroom house was probably too big for someone living alone, but I’d always wanted a home like this, so it was one of the first things I’d saved up to buy.

The house had needed a bit of work, and my mum and sister had been on hand to help with the renovations more than I had, since I’d still been living in Germany when I’d bought it. I’d spent three years there on loan from the age of seventeen, and as soon as I’d been offered the opportunity to move back to London to play for Greenwich’s senior squad, I’d jumped at the chance and used my new contract bonus to buy my dream home.

It wasn’t too far from where my mum lived, and it was an easy drive to the training ground. Plus, there was plenty of room for my sister Lily, who lived with me whenever she was in London.

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