Page 10

Ellie

I t’s absurdly early when an intrusive noise wakes me.

I stir reluctantly and groan, curling my body inwards and snuggling deeper into my pillow. I try to ignore my phone, but not long after it graciously stops ringing, it starts right back up again.

Oh, for God's sake!

What kind of asshole calls someone at such an ungodly hour?

Blowing out a frustrated huff, I blindly fumble around in the dark for my phone, eventually snagging it off my bedside table, yanking it off its charger and answering the call.

“What?” I grumble.

An amused chuckle crackles through the speaker.

“Good morning to you as well, Simpkins.”

My eyes snap open and my heart lurches into my throat.

“Colin?” I frown, sitting up and pulling the phone away from my ear so I can check the time, “W-why are you calling me at six thirty on a Monday morning?”

Is he hurt? Or in some kind of trouble maybe? The thought infiltrates my brain for a split second until I rationalise that he wouldn’t sound so calm if something was wrong.

“Just wanted to let you know I’m heading to the training field now.”

The training field ?

My brow furrows even further and because my mind is still thick and groggy with sleep it takes me a moment to figure out what he’s talking about.

“You still want to come to my practice this morning, right?” He adds a beat later.

The denial sits in the back of my throat because I’m pretty sure I never would’ve agreed to that if it meant being woken up this early, but then our last conversation suddenly pops into my head.

After we finished our dinner at Prosperi’s (which was incredible by the way) we spent hour s discussing the best way to handle our new situation going forward. We both agreed that attending each other’s lectures wouldn’t be necessary, seeing as Colin hardly goes to his due to his full-time commitment to rugby and I didn’t want to be distracted by him during mine. We also agreed that most of our spare time should be spent together. The more I see of Colin, the greater the chances are that I’ll write an article that’ll capture who he truly is which is the whole point. He also mentioned that I should attend as many practices and games as possible which is why on Saturday evening when he told me he had a team practice on Monday morning, I said I would go, but I assumed it would be a mid-morning practice and not a before-the-crack-of-bloody-dawn practice. Now I realise, he never specified the time and I stupidly didn’t think to ask.

Crap.

Flopping onto my back dejectedly, I smother back a sigh. The temptation to pretend to be sick is suddenly very strong, but I resist the urge.

“Yes, I still want to come. I’m on my way now. ”

With my phone clamped between my shoulder and my ear, I scramble off my bed and immediately start to undress, almost toppling over when my toe catches on the elasticised waist of my pyjama pants.

“Okay,” Colin says and I can almost picture the amused smile he’s probably wearing as he listens to me rush around, “You know you don’t have to, right?”

“I know, but I’m awake now and I have this stupid dream of being a successful writer someday so I’m coming.” I grouch. “But maybe next time you could deign to tell me what time your practices start in the future.”

And I need to remember to ask if he doesn’t.

His smooth laugh trickles through the phone and, despite my grumpy, frantic mood, my stomach flutters uncontrollably.

Traitor.

“Your complaint is noted. See you in a bit, Simpkins.”

After the call ends, I throw on some jeans, my Chucks, a white long-sleeved blouse and my thick black peacoat before diving into my bathroom to brush my teeth and hurriedly tie my hair up into a ponytail. Once I look presentable, I grab my cap, slip it on and sneak downstairs, grabbing my messenger bag and my camera as I go, hoping to God I don’t wake up Liv or Natalie. I love them, but the last thing I need is another round of scrutiny. I do send them both a text, letting them know where I am and that I’ve taken the car.

Twenty minutes later I pull into an empty bay outside the Armitage Admirals training grounds. Colin is already waiting for me, casually leaning against the seat of his bike and scrolling through his phone with his long legs crossed at the ankles. My stomach tightens, fizzing with something indiscernible as I drink in the sight of him. It’s entirely unfair how attractive he looks in plain jeans, a light grey Admiral's hoodie and white running shoes. He lifts his head when he hears my car, flashing a disarming smile my way. My insides flip and I return the smile weakly, working my throat in a failed effort to swallow back the giddiness that’s trying to spill over.

God, pull yourself together, Ellie.

You’re doing this for the experience, to build connections and to get your name out there.

You are absolutely not here for him .

After our impromptu dinner, I lay awake in bed, determined to make sure I understood that before I fell asleep. It doesn’t matter that I appreciate him intervening on my behalf with Marco, that I’ve thought about our kiss more times than I can count or that I enjoy his company more than most. It also doesn’t matter that I loved how he blushed when I teased him about our ‘not date’ or how nice it felt when he held my hand during the bike ride, I cannot get involved with Colin Hunt. If my fight with Marco proved anything, it proved how fresh our break-up still is. I’m not ready for another relationship or for anything else just yet, so my only course of action now to avoid complete and utter disaster, is to bury my feelings for Colin and approach this like a professional.

With that fresh in my mind, I square my shoulders, grab my stuff and climb out of the car.

“Where is everyone?” I ask, making the short trip over to him, “I thought you said this was a team practice.”

He smirks and I’m immensely proud of myself when I don’t allow a simple tilt of his lips to affect me.

Ellie: 1. Feelings: 0.

“They’ll be here in about an hour. ”

I scan the deserted car park hesitantly. “So, we’re alone right now?”

“Completely.”

Maybe it’s the way he says it or how his eyes seem to darken just a bit as he stares at me, but something pulses between my thighs, catching me off guard.

Dammit.

Ellie: 1. Feelings: 1.

I clear my throat quickly. “So why are we here so ridiculously early then?”

“I prefer to practice without my teammates around sometimes.”

Okay. “Why?”

Colin slants his head to one side, his smirk stretching into a full-blown grin. “Is this your first official line of questioning for me, Simpkins?”

It wasn’t meant to be.

I actually planned on asking him a few of the suggested questions Professor Garrick sent me, but technically, I am doing what I’m supposed to be doing; getting him to divulge as much information about himself as possible. I can’t be a fly on the wall. I need to be a little intrusive to get what I want from my subject.

So, I guess if it works, then it works.

“No, but let’s pretend it is anyway,” I say.

He nods, his eyes gleaming curiously. “I like the quiet and practising alone helps me.”

My brow crinkles slightly.

Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

“You seem surprised.” He notes .

“Well, it’s just…I would’ve thought that wouldn’t be a good idea for someone involved in a team-based sport like rugby.”

“It’s not something that’s encouraged, but I only do it when I’m not happy about a certain aspect of my game. I use the time to focus on my weaknesses. Give them some extra refinement, you know? For instance, I’ll be working on my kicking today.”

My jaw just about hits the floor.

Is he mad?

‘Kicking’, ‘weakness’ and ‘extra refinement’ shouldn’t even be in the same sentence when it comes to him.

“Hold on, you don’t seriously think your kicking needs more refinement, do you? You didn’t miss a single kick on Friday!”

He casts a wry look my way.

“Careful Simpkins, that sounded a lot like a compliment.”

“I’m not incapable of complimenting people, Hunt.”

“And yet you didn’t after we won the game.” He drops his head sullenly, “Why do you think I’m practising this morning? Obviously, I need to step up my game if I want to impress you.”

My eyes just about bug out of their sockets.

He wants to up his game to impress…me?

What?

He wouldn’t really organise a whole practice just because I forgot to tell him he played brilliantly, would he? I know I should’ve said something. I was going to, but then everything with Marco happened and then we went to the restaurant and …

Guilt simmers inside me, but my internal spiral comes to a screeching halt when he lifts his head, a crooked grin stretching over his lips and humour dancing in his eyes.

He’s joking.

Of course.

I step forward and slam my fist right into his rock-solid bicep.

“Oh my god, you’re such an asshole!” I yell, laughter bubbling its way out of me. “That wasn’t funny, Colin!” God, for a minute there I truly believed he was upset with me.

“Really?” He teases, “I thought it was pretty hysterical.”

I whack another punch into him, just for good measure, both of us laughing.

This is my favourite look on him. When his eyes are bright and he’s carefree. Happy.

My heart swells, trying to break free, but I quickly squash it back into place.

Oh no.

You’re staying right there you infernal organ!

Ellie: 2. Feelings: 1.

An easy silence settles over us as I follow Colin inside the fancy, state-of-the-art training facility. He wasn’t kidding when he said we were alone earlier. At this hour, there’s literally no one else here which makes the wide passageways, empty offices and the rooms we pass feel eerie. We head through a set of double doors, stepping inside what I guess must be some kind of recreational room. It’s large and well-lit, filled with comfortable grey sofas and dark wooden coffee tables. There’s a huge TV mounted on one of the walls with a PlayStation 5 and a collection of video games stacked next to it. On the opposite end of the room, there’s a free-flowing, fully stocked kitchen an d when I look to my left, there’s a billiard table, a pinball machine and a table-tennis table as well.

This must be the manliest ‘man cave’ I’ve ever seen in my life.

All it’s missing is a bed and it would be a perfect bachelor pad.

“Nice place.” I comment, looking around, “Did the university pay for all of this?”

“Some of it, but most of the stuff in here was ‘donated’ by the lads.” Colin grins coyly, “We take team bonding very seriously. Most of us like to hang out here. Unwind after practice or before a big game so don’t get used to seeing it this empty, because it never is.”

I nod, not finding that hard to believe.

If I had access to a place like this, I’d be in here all the time as well and I highly doubt Armitage would fork out money for something non-essential like a PS5 or a pinball machine, no matter how well the Admirals are playing.

Colin steps forward and I trail after him into the kitchen.

“I’m just going to change into my practice gear quickly, but I’m pretty sure Ollie keeps a boatload of coffee in here somewhere.” He starts throwing open cupboards, searching for it.

“Do you have any tea?”

He pauses, glancing back at me. “You don’t like coffee?”

“I despise coffee.” My nose scrunches with disgust just to emphasise the point.

Colin chuckles softly.

“Okay, there should be some tea in here as well. Hang on.” He starts rummaging around again eventually pulling out a squashed box of lemon te a that looks like it hasn’t seen the light of day in months. He frowns sheepishly. “Uh…Sorry, I think this is all we have. Will it do?”

I smother back a laugh and nod, accepting the misshapen box from him with a grateful smile.

“It’s fine, thank you.”

Lemon tea isn’t my favourite, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?

I expect him to nod and move on, but he continues to eye the box like it’s the most embarrassing and offensive thing he’s ever seen. I can’t help but giggle.

“Really, Colin it’s okay. Tea is tea. I’m not fussy.”

“I’ll make sure there’s some more variety next time.” He promises.

I shake my head, still smiling as I reach forward and touch his arm. “Please don’t. I don’t want to impose or anything.”

His eyes hold mine for a moment before they slowly lower to where my hand is resting on his forearm. I move to retract it, but he’s too quick as his long fingers shoot out and wrap around my outstretched wrist. Sparks crackle beneath my skin where he touches me and I suck in a shaky breath. My insides squirm and when I meet his gaze again, his eyes are intense. Burning.

“Making you feel welcome isn’t an imposition, Ellie.”

Suddenly I find it nearly impossible to breathe because Colin Hunt is looking at me like no one else ever has and I’m utterly powerless to stop how that makes me feel.

Ellie: 2. Feelings: 2.

I ’m in a daze while I wait for my tea to finish brewing and that stern conversation, I had with myself not even twenty minutes ago about restraining my feelings seems like a distant memory now.

Making you feel welcome isn’t an imposition, Ellie.

Why did he have to say that?

And why did he have to look and sound so damn enticing when he did?

It’s been almost five minutes since Colin left to change into his practice gear and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how badly I wanted to close that small distance between us and kiss him again. It would’ve been so easy. Natural even, and a shiver runs down the length of my spine as thoughts of him picking me up like I weigh nothing, setting me down on one of the cool granite countertops and stepping between my thighs invade my mind.

A strangled sound leaves my throat and I bury my overheated face into my hands.

I need to stop.

This isn’t healthy and I’m just torturing myself by fantasising about someone I’ve already decided would be a terrible idea to have, let alone want. I need to show restraint. No matter how hard or tempting it might be not to.

You can do this, Ellie.

Heaving out a breath, I remove the seeped teabag from the mug, toss it in the bin and add a decent swirl of honey to the tea, giving it a rigorous stir. The first sip is hot. Too hot , but it’s still remarkably soothing. The warm citrus flavours meld with the natural sweetness of the honey perfectly. After taking a second, more tentative sip, my stomach growls and I eye the large French door fridge to my right. Before he left, Colin mentioned that I could m ake myself something to eat if I was hungry. Given that I had to rush to get here this morning, I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast.

Cradling my mug in one hand, I move over to the fridge and open the doors, taking a curious peek inside. Each shelf is neatly and perfectly stacked with things like pre-prepared meals, lean meats, eggs, milk, cheese, yoghurt, various grains, fruits and vegetables, bottles of water, protein shakes and zero-sugar sports drinks. Literally, everything a team of young, highly active rugby players would need to fuel themselves while they train.

Honestly, I’m in awe.

Even Natalie’s immaculately organised fridge at home doesn’t stack up to this. I scan over the contents carefully, debating what to have when I notice one of the plastic drawers has a note taped on it.

Touch my shit and I’ll snip off your dick.

Hugs and cuddles,

Mace.

That’s one of Colin’s friends and teammates. Laughter spills out of me and because I can’t help myself, I open the drawer. Inside there are more pre-cooked meals and drinks only these are covered with a different, fancy-looking label. What makes me almost double over with laughter though is the note I find taped on top of them.

Seriously?

Don’t touch my shit !

Still chuckling, I close the drawer again and continue my perusal until I finally spot an open box of cinnamon and golden syrup granola bars. I grab one, but before I close the fridge again, I pause, a thought suddenly occurring to me. I have no idea if Colin has already had breakfast yet, but it seems rude to go out there and eat in front of him without at least grabbing one for him as well.

It would be the polite thing to do, right?

But what if he doesn’t like them or if he’s allergic to oats or cinnamon?

I blow out an exasperated sigh.

Am I really getting worked up over this? It’s just a stupid granola bar.

If he eats it…Result.

If he doesn’t…I’ll live.

I grab another one along with a bottle of water for myself and close the fridge doors. I finish the rest of my tea, set the mug in the sink and stuff the water and both bars into my messenger bag, heading in the general direction Colin said I’d find the practice field.

When I exit the facility's main building the air is still frigid, but it’s brighter than it was before, the soft morning light muted with shades of grey thanks to the thin clouds blocking out the sun. Ahead of me, the training field stretches out before my eyes. It’s a bit smaller than the main one in Craigavon Stadium but no less impressive to look at.

It sort of reminds me of the one Luke plays on back home.

I make my way over to white metal stands that line one side of the field, spotting Colin immediately .

He’s wearing white athletic shorts now, long maroon and grey socks pulled up to his knees, black rugby boots and a maroon, long-sleeved training jersey. He’s turned to one side, his face contorted with a strange mix of pain and satisfaction as he grips his left foot with one hand and folds his leg backwards like a closed pocket knife. I swallow hard, watching the toned muscles in his arms and thighs strain as he pulls tightly and holds the position. Despite the cold, I suddenly feel rather hot beneath my coat.

Stretching out a quad shouldn’t look that sexy.

Nothing should.

When he switches over to the other leg, I drop my eyes, setting my bag down on the stands and rummaging around for my camera, producing it a second later. When I asked Professor Garrick if I could take the pictures for the article as well, I was beyond relieved when she agreed without a fuss. The last thing I needed was some ball-and-chain photographer interfering and clashing with my creative vision every step of the way. Being around Colin will be testing enough.

After fiddling with the settings, I lift the camera, adjust the zoom and snap a few test pictures of him, checking to make sure the lighting is perfect. When I look through the lens again, Colin has his right arm tucked behind his head while his other hand grips where his elbow is bent, carefully stretching out his shoulder and arm. His muscles flex deliciously and his shirt rides up slightly, revealing the defined dip of his waist and the chiselled expanse of abs hidden underneath.

It’s an innocent action on his part, one that has unintended and even sinful consequences.

My throat dries and I tighten my hold on my camera so I don’t accidentally drop it, squeezing my eyes shut .

Focus, Ellie!

I manage to snap a few more shots of him, all the while successfully ignoring the way my stomach flutters uncontrollably when he finally spots me and waves, flashing a gorgeous, toothy smile.

Deep down, the new score blares smugly in my face though.

Ellie: 2. Feelings: 5.

The next half hour is torturous.

Not because I’m bored or anything.

On the contrary, watching Colin kick a rugby ball through the posts repeatedly is not only impressive but satisfying and unnervingly arousing as well. Every time he prepares to kick the ball, he gets this potent, unwavering look in his eyes and I can’t help but hold my breath, watching the way his tall, powerful body moves with so much fluidity and grace as he steps forward and sends the ball flying through the air. Somehow, I managed to snap out of my stupor long enough to take a few pictures of him in action, but nothing, and I do mean nothing, beats seeing the real thing unobstructed.

Currently, he’s crouched down on one knee, balancing the ball on the kicking tee again when I walk over to him, holding the granola bar I brought for him.

“So, I’m curious about something.”

Colin glances up at me, lips skewed with a smirk. “Yes?”

He stands and I’m acutely aware of how much taller he is than me when he steps over and takes the granola bar from my hands. He’s all sweaty with excursion and I have to physically stop myself from clenching my thighs together when he deftly opens the wrapper with his long fingers.

“You’re an amazing kicker.” I blurt out .

Jesus.

Smooth Ellie.

Colin smiles around a bite of granola. “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure that isn’t a question, Simpkins.”

Right.

“Why are you practising so hard when you clearly don’t have to?”

“Wow, three compliments in one day. Now I feel really special.”

His eyes twinkle playfully and I roll mine.

“Answer the question, Hunt or I’ll rescind them.”

Chuckling, Colin polishes off the rest of his granola bar and folds his arms across his chest. Part of me expects him to hurl some witty comment my way, but he falls silent instead and his features tighten almost pensively as he looks off to one side. For a second, I think he isn’t going to say anything, but he simply draws in a collective breath before he does.

“I always wanted to be that player who kicks for posts. For as long as I’ve been playing rugby, that’s been my number one goal, but turning that into a reality was a lot harder than expected. All those people watching you, waiting for you to either fuck up or not. Knowing that those two or three points can mean the difference between winning or losing a game. The pressure was…” He blows out a pained breath. “It was a lot and my father was on my case twenty-four-seven, coming up with new kicking techniques and training methods I could try. Even my brother’s tried to help.” His jaw tenses and his eyes drift off somewhere far away as he continues. “No matter what they did though, I still struggled with my consistency. I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to get passed it until I arrived early for practice once, grabbed a bag of balls and decided to kill some time. I didn’t miss a single kick that day, so I kept arriving early and practising alone, over and over again until I became this unstoppable force. I guess, seeing the empty stands and having one else on the field gave me this place that I could escape to in my head. It’s like slipping on a pair of blinders. Now whenever I step up to take a kick, there’s no pressure. I don’t see the crowd or hear any of the noise. I only see what I need to do.”

“But you saw me.”

I whisper the words. They slip out of my mouth before I can even think about what I’m saying and I wince, certain that I’ve messed up, but when Colin focuses on me again that far-off look dissipates. His eyes are weighted and guarded, but there’s also a softness in them. Quietly conveying more than either of us are willing to say right now.

“Yeah, love. I saw you.”

My heart squeezes.

He’s called me that before, that night after our kiss at The Arms and again after our confrontation with Marco. I should probably find it alarming and not irresistible, but I can’t stop myself from smiling like a fool. That is, until someone clears their throat behind me and I turn around, coming face to face with a man I immediately recognise as the head coach of the Armitage Admirals…

…And Colin’s father.