Page 40 of Blindsided
I stare back at Freya, who’s giggling to herself as she sips her wine. I don’t know why the hell her giggling about her cat causes my cock to stir in my trousers, but it bloody well does. My eyes instinctively lower to her breasts, and I do my best to envision what they’re going to look like naked.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, her voice quiet and charged with something…electric.
My gaze lifts. “I’m thinking about what your breasts are going to look like naked.”
She begins to choke on her wine. “And what conclusion did you come to?”
I lean across the table and trail my fingers along her forearm. “I’m quite certain they’re going to look fan-fucking-tastic.”
“God, you’re such a pig,” she replies with a scoff and pulls back to mindlessly tug at her ear. “Is this how you’re making tonight special? By talking about my taters at the dinner table?”
My brow quirks. “Did you just call your breasts taters?”
She shrugs and wrinkles her nose. “It’s what my mother called them growing up.” Her voice hitches as she mimics her mother’s deep south accent, “Don’t let your taters hang out of your blouse, Freya, or you’re look like a proper harlot.”
My shoulders shake with laughter. “Your mother sounds like a delight.”
“Oh, trust me, she is. She’s a Catholic, wholesome, southern woman whose best friends were nuns. It’s amazing she didn’t end up in the convent herself.”
I shake my head knowingly. “If she ever meets my grandad, she’ll probably die of a stroke.”
Freya tilts her head curiously. “Is he a proper Scottish rogue?”
“Something like that,” I reply and take a sip of my wine. “But he’s not much of a lover. Granted, he loved my gran enough to run a bed and breakfast with her in Dundonald for years, but I wasn’t even sixteen before he told me all women were the devil.”
“The devil?” A fond smile spreads across Freya’s face. “What a thing to say to a young, impressionable boy.”
“Aye, he said women distract men with their beauty, and we lose sight of what’s important in life.”
Freya’s head jerks back. “And what, pray tell, did he think was important in life?”
“Football, football, and football,” I reply with a laugh. “My grandad is such a football fan that he literally weeps like a babe when his precious Rangers lose a match.”
“Oh my God, how sweet!” Freya coos.
“Sweet and overly passionate. He was heartbroken when my father never showed any interest in playing football beyond his teenage years. My dad got my mum pregnant with me when they were only eighteen and that basically settled that.”
“Couldn’t your dad pursue football and a family?” Freya asks, propping her chin on her hand and eyeing me seriously. “The Harris Brothers make it look quite easy.”
“Aye, sure. But the fact of the matter is, my dad didn’t want to be a footballer. He was happy to find a steady job and be home for dinner every night.”
“What’s so wrong with that?” Freya asks innocently.
“Everything, according to my grandad,” I reply with a laugh. “Which means he directed all his hopes and dreams onto me. I don’t have a single memory of my grandad that doesn’t involve a football.”
Freya’s eyes twinkle with pride. “Well he must be quite chuffed now that your club is in the premier league.”
“He’d be a bit prouder if I was playing for Rangers instead.” I wink back at her so she knows that even though what I’m saying is true, I still love the shite out of my grandad. “My favourite memory with him was when I was only seven years old and he took me to a sold-out match at Ibrox Stadium. I thought we were just going to look at the people milling about, but I was wrong. He grabbed a piece of cardboard out of the back seat of his truck, and with a felt pen, he wrote: NEED ONE TICKET.
“We stood on Copland Road for ages, and I thought there would be no way we’d get in—the place was swarming! But sure enough, a guy came over, nudged us, and for a tenner, we were in the stadium with me seated squarely between my grandad’s legs. That was the moment I knew I’d do just about anything to make him look at me the way he looked at that pitch.”
“That’s rather sweet,” Freya says, her lips curling up into a smile.
“Aye, he’s always been my biggest football supporter. He would take me to trainings when both my parents had to work. He even sold one of his antique tractors to get me into a camp so I could train with his beloved Rangers.”
“He sounds incredible,” Freya says with a soft smile. “I hope to get to meet him someday.”
“If you ever do, don’t take his surly disposition personally,” I reply with a laugh. “He hates any girls I bring around him. He sees them all as potential saboteurs.”
