Page 1 of Offside Play (Love The Game #1)

Jude

I clapped my hand over my mouth, stifling a yawn as the taxi rumbled over the road leading into downtown Calgary. Intercontinental travel was tiring, even with a first-class plane ticket, and my whole body was aching after being trapped in one place for so long.

Laying my head back against the seat, I closed my eyes. The fact that I was here at all, halfway around the world, when my Fulham FC teammates were back in England and fighting to stay out of the relegation zone in the Premier League, felt like a fever dream.

But it was real.

I flexed my leg experimentally. No pain.

I could’ve played .

One game, one miscalculated tackle, and that was it.

I was officially out for the rest of the season with a hamstring injury.

As if sitting on the sidelines for the past five weeks hadn’t been enough, on Tuesday, I’d received a call from my agent, Rory.

He’d informed me that I was one of the names listed as available for transfer when the transfer window opened up, and I needed to be prepared to be sold to another team.

Which team that would be, I had no idea.

All I knew was that Fulham were looking to replace several players, and my fear was that with my being out of action for so long, I would be forgotten.

It wasn’t even a given that I’d be transferred to another team in the same league.

Opening my eyes, I forced myself to take in the scenery outside the window.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at my lips as I took in the sun glinting on the glass and metal of the city buildings.

Despite my professional worries, one good thing had come out of my forced stint on the sidelines.

I was here in Canada, about to surprise my older brother with a visit.

Brayden was an NHL hockey player for the Calgary Bobcats, and I was finally going to get to see him in action in person for the first time since he’d started playing for the NHL.

I watched replays of his games online, but it wasn’t the same as being there in the stadium and seeing it happen in real time.

It was difficult with us both being professional athletes and living in separate countries, so I was going to make the most of it while I was here.

As it was a spur-of-the-moment decision and I wanted it to be a surprise, I’d asked my agent to book me into any central hotel with availability. Plus, my brother was busy with the playoffs, and I didn’t want to put any added pressure on him by giving him an uninvited house guest to entertain.

When the taxi had dropped me off and I’d checked into my room, I pulled out my phone to send a quick text to my brother.

Me:

What are you up to? I hope you’re celebrating your win. One step closer to the final!

Brayden finally replied when I was in the bathroom of my suite, clouds of steam billowing around me as I carefully dragged a razor across my jaw, a towel wrapped around my waist.

Brayden:

Jude! Yeah, I’m celebrating with some of the guys at a festival

Finishing up my shave, I patted my face dry and rinsed the razor under the tap. After drying my hands, I replied to Brayden.

Me:

What festival?

Brayden:

Calgary Feastival. It’s a food festival crossed with a music festival

Me:

Sounds fun. Enjoy the celebrations

Navigating to my internet browser, I pulled up the information for the festival, a smile spreading across my face.

Time to surprise my big brother.

Being anonymous at a place like the Calgary Feastival was a novel experience.

Hordes of people congregated in Prince’s Island Park, moving between the plethora of food stalls, fairground rides, and the two music stages.

If I were back at home, I’d be constantly checking for eyes on me, always on edge for the moment my peace was disrupted by a fan.

It didn’t always happen, and I wasn’t one of the most famous faces in the Premier League by any means, but I’d never quite been able to shake the feeling of paranoia I had whenever I attended a big event.

Even though I was unlikely to be recognised here, I’d taken precautions by dressing in a nondescript hoodie and jeans, with a baseball cap pulled down low on my head to shade my face.

So far, no one had paid me any attention, and as I bit into the hot dog I’d ordered from one of the stands, I relaxed even further.

It was dark here, too, although the stalls and walkways were lined with strings of lights.

It made it harder to find my brother, though, especially as he hadn’t replied to the text I’d sent on the way to the park. Sending him another text, I headed towards the closest music stage.

My phone buzzed. Finally .

Brayden:

Sorry, I didn’t see your text. We’re at a bar now. Davis was complaining he was bored so we decided to continue our celebrations elsewhere. Call me tomorrow?

Fucking brilliant. I either needed to come clean and let him know I was here, which would not only spoil my surprise but interrupt his bonding time with his teammates. Or I could stay here, enjoy the rest of the festival, then show up at his house tomorrow with breakfast.

Yeah. Breakfast. That was what I would do.

And maybe tonight, now I was alone in a place nobody knew me, with a whole evening stretching ahead of me, I could do the other thing I’d been wanting to do ever since I’d made the decision to visit Canada.

“Fucking country music .”

My head shot around at the low growl muttered way too close to my ear.

I turned fully to face the guy next to me, my brows lifting as I took him in.

Although he probably only had an inch on me in height, he was packing it in the muscle department, based on his sheer bulk and the way his hoodie and jeans lovingly hugged his biceps and thighs.

He had a cap pulled down low on his head like I did, shielding his eyes, but I could make out the hard line of his jaw, covered with thick stubble, and full lips that were curved into a sneer.

My heart rate kicked up. “Huh?”

“None of your fucking business,” he bit out, and I held up my hands, taking a step back. Getting caught up in a brawl was not on my to-do list on my first night in Canada.

“Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to bother you.

” I pointedly turned back to the stage, where the next band were launching into their first song.

Despite my efforts to ignore him, I could still feel him bristling next to me.

My brother had always told me how friendly Canadians were, and I was sure he’d even mentioned something about Calgary being voted as the world’s friendliest city, but I guessed this guy was one of the exceptions.

“You’re not local.”

Bloody hell, was this bloke’s default setting “growly asshole”?

“Sorry. Are only locals allowed? No one told me that when I bought my ticket.” Giving up on the disinterested act, I tilted my head towards him, giving him a bright smile.

“No. That wasn’t—” He scrubbed his hand across his jaw, and I was close enough to him that I could hear the rasp of stubble against his palm. Shaking his head, he exhaled harshly. “Tourist?”

“Yep. You?”

“No!”

I smirked at the outrage in his voice. “How was I supposed to know that you were local? Sorry to say it, but brushing up on accents hasn’t really been a priority of mine.”

“Fucking British ,” he snarled, and this time, I couldn’t help the laughter that escaped.

“You’re a joy to be around, aren’t you? Is there anything specific you have against British people? Or is it just me that brings out the best of your sparkling personality?”

He gritted his teeth. “No, I don’t have anything against British people.”

“Just me, then.” I clapped my hands together. “Great. If you don’t mind, I’ll go and find anywhere else to stand. Bye.”

Before I could move, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist in a powerful grip.

I stilled, my eyes widening. “What are you doing?” I said slowly.

“Look. I don’t like people . Period. It’s nothing personal.”

That may be the case, but it wasn’t an acceptable excuse for his sheer fucking rudeness. “Yeah, I can tell. I’ll give you some free advice. Instead of being rude, just don’t speak.”

“I was talking. To. Myself,” he ground out. “Not you. You butted in where you weren’t welcome. You’re the rude one.”

Okay…he was rude and deluded. Fucking fabulous.

The lead singer of the band shouted a question into the mic—something about a good time tonight—and the crowds around us erupted. The guy next to me clenched his teeth so hard I could actually hear them grinding together.

“What’s your problem with country music?” Because really, why come to a music festival if you were going to hate the acts that were playing?

“Hate it.”

“Really? Never would have guessed.” I paused for a minute, cocking my head.

Now I thought about it… “Wanna know something?” I ignored his predictable “no.” “I don’t like it, either.

Or, I guess, I’ve never really listened to it enough to form an opinion.

Except for that song ‘Country Roads,’ which they seem to have adopted as an anthem for every fucking sport.

Is that even country? It has the word ‘country’ in the title, so I guess?—”

“Do you ever fucking shut up?”

“I was talking to myself. Not you. You butted in where you weren’t welcome.”

His lips twitched. On anyone else, I might’ve thought it was amusement, but honestly, I doubted this guy even knew what a smile was.

“I guess I deserved that,” he said eventually.

“You did. Why are you still here listening if you don’t even like it?”

“None of your business.”

I took in his closed-off expression and mentally shrugged.

Fuck it. No one knew me here. This could either go completely wrong or unexpectedly right, and I had nothing to lose either way with this stranger, who intrigued me in what was probably a very unhealthy way.

You know, since he was clearly an antisocial wanker.

“Okay. Forget I asked. Uh, weird question. Are you homophobic, and if not, do you know where the best place to find gay bars is?”

His jaw literally dropped. “ What ?”

Okay. Maybe I could have phrased that a bit differently. I should probably break it down. One question at a time. “Are you homophobic? Yes or no?”

“ No .”

I ignored his muttered “what the fuck?” “Good. Next question. Do you happen to know of any discreet gay bars around here?”

“I’m not gay.”

Oh, there was the growl again. I sighed.

“Didn’t say you were. I was just asking a question. By the way, did you realise you’re still holding on to me?”

He dropped my arm as if I’d burned him. “I’m not local—I, okay, I live here, but I don’t know about any gay bars.”

Despite the fact that I couldn’t even see his face, I thought I could detect an undercurrent of panic in his tone.

My question had been worth a try, and there was something weirdly enjoyable about getting under his skin, but I wasn’t enough of an asshole to continue a conversation that was clearly making him uncomfortable.

“Okay. No problem. I’ll leave you to it.”

When I moved back, he moved forwards, grabbing my wrist again . “I guess anything’s better than standing here and letting my ears bleed. Let’s go.”

Go? Both of us ? What the actual fuck? His unexpected capitulation left me in a state of shock, and by the time I recovered, we were in a cab, heading to—wherever we were going.

“Can we exchange names?” I said.

He hesitated for a second, glancing at the cabbie, who was switching between focusing on the road and what sounded like a heated conversation through his Bluetooth headset. “Names only. I don’t want to know anything about you. I’m…Conan.”

Fine by me. “I’m John.” There was no way I was gonna give this guy my real name.

That was basic stranger etiquette, and while he didn’t appear to have recognised me, the cab driver might, and I wasn’t going to risk a publicity scandal when I didn’t even know if I was— I bit down on my lip, discreetly rubbing my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans.

This was why I was doing this tonight, here, far away from home and everyone who thought they knew me.

He didn’t even acknowledge me, turning to stare out of the window as we rolled down the city streets, eventually coming to a stop next to a nondescript brown brick building. The street itself was completely silent, and I swallowed hard as my delayed self-preservation instincts kicked in.

“Get out,” he hissed, shoving the door open and unfolding his large body from the cab. When he slammed the door behind him, I sighed, leaning forwards to speak to the driver.

“Cheers, mate.” The driver barely acknowledged me either, too engrossed in his call, and so I exited the cab, joining Conan on the pavement.

“This doesn’t look like a club.”

“It’s the back entrance. You wanted discreet.” Turning on his heel, he stalked over to a brown door that I hadn’t even noticed, rapping his knuckles on the surface. A few seconds later, it cracked open, and he ducked inside.

I guessed that was my cue.

Steeling myself, I stepped through the door.