Page 31 of Playing for Possession
What the fuck?It mattered to me. Most footballers were so used to thinking with their feet, they forgot to use their brains. Calverdale was even worse. Most of my teammates thought with what was hanging between their legs, but that wasn’t me. She’d lumped us together as though we were all the same. I shoved my plate away and stormed to the villa.
Joanie dodged in front of me, peering at me uncertainly from behind her sensible glasses. “Why are you running off?”
“Because this conversation has made me lose my appetite.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got me all wrong. I’m nothing like Sean Wallace. I respect women. I keep my dating life private, but if it makes you happy to put me in the same boat with a bunch of pricks, then do it.”
“What do you care what boat I put you in?”
“Because we’re friends, remember? Friends put each other in the correct boats.”
A strange, awkward excitement thrummed between us, so thick it was palpable. That was a lie. We weren’t friends. That’s what I’d put my mind to, but something strange was happeningbetween us. I didn’t know what the fuck this feeling was, but it wasn’t friendship. My heart pounded at her nearness. I had that weird nervous fluttering in my chest that seemed only to happen in her presence.
My gaze dropped involuntarily to her lips. They looked so soft and inviting. What would it be like to kiss her? To touch her? Friends didn’t kiss. Friends shouldn’t have even been thinking about kissing. Something had shifted when we shared that bed together. One brush of her foot had made me hard.
There was chemistry between us, whether or not we wanted it. I’d felt it on the plane when she gripped my hand so tightly. It had only got worse since I’d had to share a bed with her, and now I’d seen that vibrator in her case. It had made my head fill with dirty images. All I could think about was her pleasuring herself right across the landing from me. Mortimer wanted me to be a good boy. None of my thoughts about his daughter were good-boy thoughts. What the fuck was wrong with me? Mortimer’s words rang in my head.I know what men like you are like.
Anger lashed inside. Mortimer had warned me off his daughter because he knew I wouldn’t be able to help myself. In Mortimer’s mind, I’d crawled out of the gutter, the son of a hooligan, and now people threw endless amounts of cash in my direction because I knew how to kick a ball. To him,men like mewere a problem.
Mortimer thought his daughter was too good for me, and he was right. I hadn’t lasted a couple of days in her presence without wanting to get her between the sheets. She was sweet, and sincere, and I just wanted her so badly. Mortimer had known this would happen because he’d seen me for what I was. If I had any decency, I’d leave this woman alone.
I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, but I couldn’t. My words came out sharp and lashing. “I’m going inside. Believe what you want.”
“Why are you like this?” She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. “You can be so nice. I saw you at that wedding and in that hospital waiting room. But most the time, you’re like this...”
“Like what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Prickly.”
I took a deep breath. Yes, I was prickly, but I had my reasons. I could build a ladder to the sky with reasons. The dad that had walked out. The pressure of trying to step into his shoes. The shithole estate I grew up on with the threat of a fight lurking around every corner. Plants grew prickles and thorns because they needed them to survive. That’s all I’d ever been trying to do.
Joanie peered up at me. Her eyes were soft and kind behind her glasses. The one person I wasn’t angry with was her. She had done nothing wrong. She was quiet and reserved on the surface, but gold glimmered when you dug deeper. I’d been wrong about her. She wasn’t the spoiled nepo-baby I’d thought at first glance. I’d watched her in that gym working so hard. I’d felt her vulnerability and goodness. Joanie was a good person. Everyone thought I was an abrasive arsehole, and maybe I was, but I didn’t want Joanie to think that.
I looked skyward and counted to ten in my head. When I met Joanie’s gaze again, I was calmer. “I had a lot of shit going on in my childhood that made me prickly. It wasn’t nice where I grew up. You had to fight for everything you got.”
“But look at you now. You’re in the Premier League. Who are you fighting now?”
“Everyone who can’t stand to see me succeed: the press, idiots on social media; even the fans come for me sometimes. My own supporters can turn after one bad game. I get called a thug, overrated, aggressive. I get blamed for breaking someone’s leg when it was an accident.
“People call me a dirty player. I’m not. I just don’t hold back, because I’m paid to win. I fucking like to win, and I won’t apologize for it. It doesn’t make me a bad person. No one cares about the charity stuff or the money I put into community projects where I grew up. Everyone is just waiting for me to slip up. I go out for the night and if I’m photographed anywhere near a woman, people make all kinds of assumptions.”
She sighed. “I get it. The press is awful. I got nominated for an award a couple of years ago, and the first question I get on the red carpet is ‘Who designed your dress?’ Did anybody ask who designed your suit when you picked up your La Liga Player of the Year award? Imagine if you spent your life hearingHe plays football so well... for a boy.”
I tried to keep my surprise from my face. She knew about that award? It had been years ago.
“Please. I don’t want to fight with you.” She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I’m stressed enough as it is about tomorrow.”
“What are you stressed about?”
“I hate stuff like this. Being on camera. Being the center of attention.” She slipped her glasses back on and peered out at the expanse of fields with a faraway expression. “I don’t know what to expect. What if they want us to play football?”
“Is that a problem?”
She shook her head. “The physio has signed off on me playing again. I just haven’t really...”
“You haven’t played since the injury?”
