Page 184 of Off the Pitch

“Fuck off,” he said, grinning as I shot the ball back. “You’re like two.”

“Still faster than you though.”

“In your fucking dreams.” Liam rolled his eyes, darting away with the ball to dribble it through the line of cones in front of us. He passed the ball off to me when he returned, and I did the same, carefully weaving in and out of the cones, keeping the ball close to my feet.

I loved drills like this—the ones that mixed speed and skill. I’d always liked showing off, and proving I could do these drills better than anyone else always made my day. I was never going to be as serious as some of my teammates, but that didn’t mean I didn’t take training seriously. Football had always been fun for me, and I’d lucked out in finding something that I was good at and enjoyed.

I’d been kicking a ball around for as long as I could remember—in the playground, at the park, down the road outside my house. If there was a place to play football, I played. But it was only when I got to high school that I’d thought about taking it seriously after my PE teacher had given me some complex drills to do.

I’d always found school difficult. It wasn’t like I hated it, but I got bored really easily, and when that happened, I acted like a complete dickhead. I felt really bad for my teachers because I’d been a little shit. Not bad enough to get into serious trouble but enough to be a pain in the ass on a regular basis. Then one day, my PE teacher, Mrs. Hayes, got pissed at me for doing tricks with a ball instead of concentrating, so she gave me a professional-level weaving drill to try to shut me up.

I’d sucked.

Like really sucked.

But I’d also hated that I couldn’t get it right.

Football had always come easily to me, and it had pissed me off that this didn’t. So I tried it again. And by the time the bell had rung at the end of the lesson, I’d almost gotten it, but not nearly as well as I wanted. Mrs. Hayes had said I was welcome to come back and try again any time, so I’d gone back every single lunchtime and set the drill out, trying to get it right.

Sometimes she’d come out and watch me, giving me little tips or bits of coaching, or she’d lean against the wall and eat her lunch while she watched me. When I got better at that drill, she’d given me others to do. And when I started being a twat because I couldn’t get them right, she’d sent me away to calm down.

Mrs. Hayes was the one who’d found me a local youth team to play for. That was the team I’d been scouted from when I was eighteen. I pretty much owed her everything, and when I’d gotten my first professional contract, I’d gone back to school and given her the biggest hug I could manage. She’d given me something I’d never dreamed of.

“Who’s that?” Liam asked, breaking my concentration as I rounded the last cone and passed the ball to him. I looked to the edge of the training pitch where he was pointing. Trossero stood chatting with a man wrapped in a long, dark coat, his hands stuffed into his pockets, a scarf wrapped around his neck.

His face looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t see it well enough to place him. I squinted, trying to get a better look. I knew him from somewhere.

“Oi, Christian,” Liam said, as the striker jogged past. “Who’s that with Trossero?”

“I don’t know,” Christian said, tilting his head and staring, strands of blond hair poking out from under his beanie. “Someone from the FA maybe?”

“Why would the FA be here?” Liam asked. “Bit early for World Cup selection, isn’t it? And the England job isn’t up for grabs. Not unless Grant quit.”

“Maybe he’s a friend then?” Christian suggested again, bouncing on the spot to keep warm. “They look like they’re close.” That was true. The two men were leaning in close and talking. Trossero almost looked pleased to see him, and as we stared, he threw his head back and laughed at something the other guy had said. The man in the coat turned and looked out across the pitch at us, and I recognised him instantly.

It was the man who’d given me the most amazing fuck at Liam’s wedding. And the guy who’d been the star of most of my sexual fantasies ever since. Félix.

And now he was here… talking to my boss like they were old friends.

Holy fucking hell.

I was fucking screwed.

“Come on,” I said. “I’m cold. Let’s get back to work.” I tore my gaze away from the two men on the other side of the pitch, clapping my hands at Liam to get his attention. “Come on, man. Let’s go.”

Liam said nothing as we went back to our drills, but my mind was spinning. How the fuck had this happened? How the fuck had I managed to hook up with someone who knew my boss? Shit. I really hoped Félix hadn’t told him we’d fucked. That was the last thing I needed. Not that I thought Trossero wouldn’t understand—I knew he was cool with people being gay, or bi, or pan in Hugo’s case. I just really didn’t need him to know about my private life.

I still hadn’t told anyone that I was bi—not even Liam—because I hadn’t quite figured out how to bring it up. I’d just planned on keeping it a secret until it became relevant, like if I got a boyfriend or something. But since I didn’t want a relationship with anyone right now, I figured it wouldn’t become relevant for a long time.

Hopefully this was just a random visit, and I could avoid Félix, then pretend this had never happened. Except of course life didn’t fucking work that way. As we all grabbed the equipment at the end of the training session, Trossero was still talking to Félix.

“Oh, everyone, I’d like to introduce you to someone,” Trossero said, as we walked past. “This is my brother, Félix.”

Félix turned to look at us. As he locked eyes with me, his lips curled into a devastatingly sexy smile that sent a shiver running down my spine.

Oh fuck. Fuckity, fuckity fuck.

I hadn’t just shagged my boss’s friend. I’d shagged his brother.

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