Page 54 of Once Upon A Player
I was only nineteen, and already United’s star player. The gutter press went crazy with their reporting, hassling me for some deep and meaningful insight into how this tragedy affected my life. When I didn’t bring the goods, they made up their own, all wrapped up in pseudo-empathy.
The only way I got through it was funneling everything into the game. When I was physically knackered, there was less time to think.
That was the theory, anyway. It didn’t work out so well in practice.
That’s why I got the tat. Screw the armchair psychoanalysts, even if they were too fucking close to the truth.
My phone rings, and I grab it from the side table without releasing Violet. It’s Bec, and any other time I’d let her go to voicemail because why would I want to speak to my agent while Violet’s in my bed? But right now, it’s a great excuse to get out of this excruciating conversation.
“Sorry, I need to take this.”
“Sure.” She rolls off me and pulls the sheet up to cover her chest.
Has Bec found out I’m dating her cousin’s daughter? Before signing the cleaning contract, she disclosed her personal connection, but it didn’t bother me. She wouldn’t let nepotism get in the way of business.
And I sure don’t mind who knows I’m seeing Violet.
“Hey.” I link my fingers through Violet’s as I answer the call. “What’s up?”
“Just a heads-up,” Bec says. “It’s obviously a slow week. You’re front page on the rags, but they’ve dragged up ancient history. Ignore it. They’ll have something meatier to dig their claws into once we announce the deal.”
“Okay.” I keep my voice neutral, even though Bec won’t be fooled. She’s known me too long and is one of the few people who witnessed what a mess I was after Mum died. It’s not the first time my private life’s been dissected under the spotlight for no better reason than they need to fill column inches.
We end the call. I’m guessing the article is linked to whoever took the photo of Violet and me when we left Overton’s. Which also means Violet’s face was hidden, otherwise Bec would have said something.
“Is everything okay?” Violet slides her other hand along my arm and it’s strangely comforting.
“Yeah, everything’s good.” I grin down at her.Putting on my mask. What the hell am I doing? Violet deserves more than my standard issue deflection when things get too personal. I sigh heavily. “It was my agent. Looks like that paparazzo sold a photo.”
Shit.
Chapter Seventeen
Violet
“Sold a photo?” I lick my lips and hope I don’t sound as nervous to Lucas as I do myself. And oh my God, does he even know I’m related to his agent? It’s never come up in conversation. Why would it? Who explains their family tree to a new boyfriend?
Lucas isn’t really my boyfriend.I ignore the little stab through my heart, because pretending something is real, doesn’t make it so.
My mind flies back to the other night when we left the restaurant, and I was the worse for drink. Heat sears my cheeks. Did Bec call because of me? Has she said anything to Mum yet?
How humiliating to be splashed across the Sunday newspapers when I could hardly stand up straight.
“Don’t worry.” He kisses my knuckles, which sends warm tremors through my chest. “I don’t think your name’s mentioned. Bec would’ve said something, otherwise.”
I stop myself from sagging with relief, and not because they didn’t get a good shot of me. “You know Bec and my mum are cousins, then?”
“Yep. Do you want a cup of tea?”
He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, so I nod. “Love one, thanks.”
He gives me a leisurely kiss, and I wind my arms around him. If there’s an option between tea and sex, then there’s no choice. I can drink tea any time.
His thirst must be greater than mine as he pulls back. “Hold that thought.” His voice is a sexy rumble as he pushes my hair back from my face. “I’ll be right back.”
He stands and stretches, his muscles bunching and flexing like a work of art. And his tight butt is a miracle of human perfection. I’m still smiling to myself when he pulls on a pair of boxer briefs and saunters out of the room.
I spy the saucy camisole I wore—briefly—to bed last night, and quickly tug it on before fishing my phone out of my bag to check for any messages.
