Page 9

Colin

T he second he hears my voice, Marco Anderson rounds on me, eyes blazing with unchecked anger. His hands ball into tight fists, hatred seeping into his features as he sizes me up. We’re roughly the same build and the same height, though I’m a bit taller, and judging by the powerful force he puts into his tackles, taking a punch from him would probably hurt.

What he doesn’t realise, however, is that one punch from me wouldn’t just hurt him, it would knock him out stone-cold.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, Hunt?” He spits.

Calmly, I step closer, crowding into his space and making my intentions known. “Unless you’re fucking deaf as well as stupid Andersen, you already heard me loud and clear. Now I suggest you fuck off before I do something.”

He gets in my face, trying to intimidate me as well. “Is that a challenge?”

It’s my first and last warning, whether he chooses to listen to it or not is out of my hands.

“Call it a common courtesy. We can settle the score right now or on the field. It’s your choice.”

The ugly scowl on Marco’s face deepens, but he doesn’t say anything else. Neither do I and with every rigid second that passes, I watch his fragile restraint crumble. I can see it; his desire to lay into me. He wants to hurt me, because of our rivalry, because I’ve dared to intervene here or because of the thrashing we just gave h im and his team. Take your pick. It’s written all over his face as plain as day, slowly overruling whatever common sense he has left, if any. I’m desperate to look at Ellie and check if she’s all right, but my eyes don’t leave him, the unspoken challenge simmering between us. I stiffen and stand my ground, ready for whatever he does next.

Go ahead and fucking try it.

I don’t go looking for fights, but I do know how to finish one.

“Andersen!” A voice shouts nearby right before John Wilcot; Bancroft’s head coach, steps into view. He pauses as soon as he sees us, taking note of our tense postures.

“Gentlemen,” His eyes pass between Marco and I warily, “Everything all right here?”

Reluctantly, I tear my gaze away from Andersen. “Everything’s fine, Sir. We were just having a friendly…chat after the game.”

Coach Wilcot nods stiffly, his pursed lips telling me he’s more than aware that our conversation was anything, but friendly . He glances at Ellie briefly, seeming to piece together that she might be at the centre of whatever this is.

“Right. Well, have a good evening, Hunt. The bus is leaving, Anderson. Let's go!”

The grizzly coach huffs and turns, marching off without another word, but Marco doesn’t follow him, rage still festering as he glowers at me.

“Anderson!” Wilcot barks loudly, causing the asshole to flinch and finally break eye contact with me.

“You better watch yourself this season, Hunt,” Marco warns quietly, snatching his kit bag off the ground and storming off after his coach .

Right back at you, prick.

Once I’m sure he’s gone, I turn my attention to Ellie. She’s still pressed against the wall Marco had her pinned to, the expression on her face paralysed with shock and fear.

I take a tentative step towards her.

“Simpkins?”

When she doesn’t react , alarm bells sound inside me and anger sharpens my brow.

What did that fucking asshole do to her?

Once I finally managed to extract myself from my mum and Bryce’s endearing, but frankly overbearing praise for how well I played tonight, I jumped in the showers and left the changing rooms as quickly as possible, heading straight here.

That’s when I heard the raised voices.

I recognised Ellie’s immediately and ran the rest of the way, but when I turned the corner and saw her in a compromised position with Anderson, I reacted at once. I’ve known him for two years, but only ever paid attention to his existence whenever he was my opponent on the rugby field. He’s got talent, enough to take him all the way to the pros if that’s what he wants, but he’s prideful and arrogant because of it. I don’t know him that well despite the circles we both run in thanks to rugby, but what I haven’t told Ellie yet is that I never got the impression he had a girlfriend. Whenever I did see him either at The Arms, at a party or hanging around Craigavon he seemed to relish in the attention he received from girls. He never shied away from it. Mind you, I didn’t actually see him cheat or anything, but it still adds tremendous weight to what Ellie told me in the park last night . I couldn’t imagine straying or wanting anyone else. If I had someone even half as brilliant as her, I’d consider myself lucky .

I shake my head with disgust.

If he’d hurt her…If I hadn’t shown up…

I exhale under my breath, pushing that discomforting thought away because nothing happened. She’s okay.

I think.

When I stop in front of her, I lift my hand, gently grazing my fingers over her cool, pale skin. I brush away the remnants of a stray tear, tucking a few loose strands of hair that have fallen out of her ponytail back behind her ear.

“Look at me, Ellie.”

She does, recognition slowly seeping into her hazel-green eyes. Her throat bobs as she swallows and then, in a move I’m not anticipating, she steps forward, slipping her arms around my waist and burying her face right into the centre of my chest. My arms wrap around her in return, holding her to me, and we stand there for what feels like ages, her hypnotic jasmine scent flooding my senses. I close my eyes and lower my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in.

“You okay, love?” I whisper.

Ellie nods but still chooses not to say anything which I find a bit concerning.

“Did he hurt you?”

She answers with a shake of her head this time, but her grip on me tightens as if she’s saying she thinks he might’ve if I hadn’t shown up when I did. I work my throat, tempering the fires of my growing anger again. That’s my fear as well. We stay like that for a while, her face in my chest and my lips in her hair, before Ellie finally breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles, her voice muffled by the thick fabric of my coat, “I-I didn’t…What he said it… ”

I pull back from the hug when she trails off, taking in her downcast expression and her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She wipes at them self-consciously, trying to hide that she’s been crying, but I stop her, stroking the apple of her cheek with my thumb.

“If he can’t see your worth then he doesn’t deserve it.” I remind her.

Her gaze snaps up to me and I watch as those words sink in for a second time in the last twenty-four hours. I’m not sure how intact her memory is of our conversation in the park last night or if she even remembers me telling her that and how it almost led to our second kiss, but hearing them again seems to resonate with her just as strongly as they did before.

“Okay.” She whispers.

“Okay.”

I smile and drop my hand, lowering my gaze as well and taking in what she has on properly for the first time.

My eyes burn, hot blood rushing south.

Fucking hell!

During my time at Armitage, I’ve seen literally hundreds of girls wearing an Admirals jersey with my number on the back. Almost all of them oozed with desperation, hoping to get my attention, though they hardly ever did, but fuck me! Seeing Ellie in one gets an immediate reaction out of me.

I smirk, fingering the loose material.

“I don’t remember this being part of our deal, Simpkins.” Not that I’m disappointed to see it.

A hint of a smile curls on her lips.

“It wasn’t. My friend bought it for me because she thought I needed to show more school spirit.” She aims a sceptical frown at the oversized g arment. “It looks kind of ridiculous on me though.”

If by ridiculous, she means ‘fucking perfect’ then yeah, we’re in agreement.

“It doesn’t.”

Ellie scoffs under her breath, smiling, but shaking her head in denial. When she tries to take a step back, I fist the jersey, holding her in place.

“Believe me Ellie, ‘ridiculous’ is the furthest thing from how you look right now.”

I watch as her mouth parts adorably and her eyes widen and it takes everything I have inside me not to press her against the nearest surface and kiss the living shit out of her.

Most guys will attest that seeing a girl they like wearing their clothes is the ultimate fantasy. It makes us a little possessive and turns us on. For example, Kai always seems to rapidly disappear with his girlfriend whenever she wears one of his shirts around him. Even Mace “the serial seducer” gets that desirous twinkle in his eyes if he sees his fling of the week prancing around in one of his hoodies.

I’ve never understood it myself.

Until now.

I’ve never let a girl sleep in my bed and I’ve never wanted to see one in a piece of my clothing either. Looking at Ellie though, suddenly all I can imagine is seeing her tangled up in my sheets again, wearing one of my shirts and nothing else.

Fuck!

She’s literally my walking fantasy.

My cock starts to harden, but I force my desire back down.

Fucking restrain yourself, mate .

Now isn’t the time to be thinking like that, especially after what just happened with Andersen. Thankfully, a loud, timely growl rumbles from Ellie’s stomach, acting as the perfect distraction, for about three seconds anyway, until her face turns a soft and endearing shade of pink.

Fuck me, she’s precious.

I chuckle softly, releasing her shirt. “You hungry?”

“I’m starving.”

So am I and for a lot more than just food, but that will have to suffice for now. Not missing a beat, I take her hand and interlink our fingers this time, leading her across the car park towards my bike.

“Where are we going?” She asks.

“To dinner. ”

Obviously.

“But what about your team and your family ? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating with them?”

She stumbles behind me, her grip on my hand tightening as she tries to steady herself. I brace my arm to help, making a mental note to slow my pace when we carry on walking.

I shrug a shoulder.

“My mum and Bryce have already gone home for the evening. I’m meeting them for breakfast tomorrow morning and the team will be just fine without me.”

I already know Mace, Kai and the rest of the lads will give me shit for ditching them, especially for a girl, but I can’t bring myself to care about that right now . Don’t get me wrong, I love them all like brothers, but I’m tired, sore and fucking hungry. Besides, I’d rather not spend the night being their designated babysitter when I’d rather be somewhere else. They’ll have plenty of fun without me .

Probably more if I’m being honest.

“You don’t want to be with them though?” She asks.

I meet her questioning eyes, smiling warmly. “Not right now.”

I don’t have to wonder whether she picks up on the true meaning behind my words or not. The bashful smile she spectacularly fails to hide is the only answer I need.

O n my eighteenth birthday, my parents wanted to buy me a car.

I decided to get a motorcycle instead.

My mum wasn’t ecstatic about the idea, but she accepted it, trusting that I’d be safe. Bryce thought it was awesome and Graeme gave me an exhausted look before launching into an hour-long lecture on always being alert and responsible on the road. At the time, I remembered thinking that their concern wasn’t necessary. I’ve always been responsible, more so than Bryce anyway. In my eyes, I’ve never needed them to worry about me, but I know they always will.

I’m the baby brother.

The youngest son.

The one who needs to be looked out for.

The one who needs to be protected.

My mother and Bryce aren’t quite as guilty of it as Graeme can be and while I know it comes from a place of love; it can feel overbearing at times as well.

With my father though, it was different.

He immediately saw my decision as an act of rebellion which is the furthest thing from the truth. I wanted a bike, not because I’m some speed junky chasing one dangerous thrill after the other or because I wanted to rile him up. I just wanted a quick and efficient way to get from one point to the next. He didn’t and still doesn’t see it that way. The fact that I’ve never had an accident doesn’t mean a thing to him either. He hates the bike and I don’t. In the end, it’s a stalemate neither of us is willing to budge on. Now though, I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t have taken Graeme’s advice back then and gotten a Jaguar instead.

Presently, Ellie’s arms are clamped around me like a vice and she’s plastered against my back so tightly it almost feels like she’s trying to merge herself with me. Normally, I’d be happy to have a beautiful woman pressed up against me like this, but the knowledge that she’s only doing it because she’s terrified out of her skull kind of kills the mood. I’ve heard that some people can be a bit nervous the first time they climb on a motorbike, but that feeling usually goes away after their first ride.

With Ellie, it hasn’t. She seems to be just as terrified as she was this morning. Maybe even more so.

I wish she knew that even though we haven’t known each other very long, I wouldn’t let anything happen to her if I could help it.

I want her to trust me.

We stop at a red light and I lower my hand to where hers are tightly grasped and resting on my stomach. I feel her go rigid, surprised by the contact, but as I stroke my thumb over her delicate fingers, I feel her hold on me gradually relax.

You’re safe, Simpkins.

It’s a silent promise, but I know she heard it when I pull off and her arms tighten around me again, but only marginally this time. As we enter C raigavon’s limits she shifts behind me, gingerly pulling away from my back and looking around as the city whirls passed us.

I smile to myself.

It’s a start.

A moment later I pull up in front of Prosperi’s , a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant, that’s beloved by locals and discovered by tourists who take the time to explore the city properly. It also happens to be my favourite place to eat. I found it by mistake during my first year and I’ve religiously come here at least twice a week ever since . I kick out my bike’s stand and climb off first, offering my hand to Ellie, who takes it and follows my lead, albeit on more wobbly legs than mine.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It was…better.” She admits, a tad grudgingly, “I’d still prefer a car though.”

“Your complaint is noted.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and I smile when she reaches up to undo the helmet strap, struggling again like she did this morning.

“Here.” I step forward, taking over for her. Our fingers brush as she drops her hands and something crackles and spreads over my skin. Our eyes meet and the ground shifts beneath my feet. A couple of seconds later the strap comes free, much to her chagrin.

“I loosened it for you.”

“That you did,” I smirk and set the helmet aside, guiding her towards the entrance of the restaurant with my hand hovering just above the small of her back.

Inside, it’s warm yet also graciously empty apart from an old man eating alone in the corner and a young, teenage couple who appear to be in the middle of navigating a clumsy first date.

“Colin!” Christina; the owner, immediately strides over and greets me warmly, kissing both of my cheeks. “ Buonasera mio amico! I had a feeling I’d be seeing you tonight!”

Christina Prosperi may be on the tail end of her forties, but she’s no less beautiful for it. With golden brown skin, thick black hair that reaches the middle of her waist and rich, dark brown eyes, she still looks just as incredible as she did in the pictures, I’ve seen of her and her husband back when they were much younger.

“You know me too well Christina; I always crave your food after I’ve played a match.”

“Very true and I see you’ve brought some company this time.”

Oh right.

I flush slightly. “This is Ellie Simpkins. Ellie, this is Christina Prosperi.”

“It's nice to meet you,” Ellie says smiling and holding her hand out, but Christina bypasses it, pulling her in for a hug instead.

“ Felice di conoscerti, mio caro .”

She pulls back, but keeps her hands planted on Ellie’s shoulders, her gaze sparking with intrigue as she takes her in properly, focusing particularly on what she has on.

The jersey.

“My word you are very beautiful!” Christina exclaims, beaming ecstatically from ear to ear, “I always knew my Colin would bring una bellissima giovane donna to my restaurant for a date one of these days!”

I freeze .

Wait…What?

It didn’t occur to me until now, but with the white tablecloths, candlelight and Italian music playing softly in the background, this setting does feel intimate and undeniably… romantic.

I work my throat, a band of nerves suddenly knotting in my stomach.

Shit.

Does this feel like a date?

I get my answer when Christina meets my eyes over her shoulder, sending me a knowing wink as she leads Ellie and me to a private table in the corner.

It’s not subtle either.

I know I’m not exactly hiding my attraction towards Ellie, but I don’t want to scare her off or make her uncomfortable by thinking that I’m pursuing her so soon after a break-up. When I sneak a glance at her though, she doesn’t look uncomfortable. Did she miss the wink? Maybe I’ll luck out and she won’t see this as a date after all! We sit down and Christina hands us both menus, jotting down our drinks order before she leaves, giving us some time to decide what we want to eat.

“So…This is nice,” Ellie says, admiring the restaurant's charming Tuscan décor and the stunning landscapes of the Italian countryside painted on the walls, “Quite romantic.”

Christ.

Never mind.

How long was that?

Fucking five minutes?

“Yeah, it is, but I swear I only brought you here because the lasagna is incredible. I’m not…I mean, I didn’t…” I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to stop rambling and spit it out plainly. “This is m y favourite restaurant in Craigavon which is why we came here for dinner. I didn’t think…I know this isn’t a date or anything.”

God, why do my neck and face suddenly feel so hot?

Ellie’s soft giggle reaches my ears and my eyes open, surprised to find her grinning broadly at me.

“What?”

“You’re blushing.” She points out, laughing again.

I’m…what?

I touch my fiery skin, realising she’s right.

When was the last time I fucking blushed? I can’t even remember.

“Don’t worry,” She adds a beat later, “It’s cute.”

I latch onto that immediately, a teasing smirk playing over my lips. “You think I’m ‘cute’, Simpkins?”

She blanches a bit when she realises what she just said and my smile grows.

Normally, I wouldn’t like being called ‘cute’. What guy wants to be called ‘cute’? Especially by a girl they happen to fancy, but I’ll make an exception in this case if it means I can hear her hypnotic laugh and see that gorgeous smile again. Sadly, Christina returns with our drinks and Ellie uses the opportunity to pick up the menu and scan it, expertly dodging my eyes. We order our food and I’m not surprised in the slightest when Christina correctly assumes that I’ll have the lasagna seeing as it’s what I usually order. I am surprised though when Ellie orders the same thing.

I raise a curious eyebrow at her.

“What? You said it was good,” She explains with a shrug, “We’ll see if you’re right or not. ”

I smile broadly. I do enjoy a challenge, even a playful one, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a bit tempted to ask her what I’ll get in return when I win.

“Okay.”

Ellie fidgets nervously under my weighty stare before she reaches for her glass of Sprite, gulping down a big sip. “Um…Should we talk about the article now?”

“Sure.” I nearly forgot about that.

Ellie sets her glass down again and folds her arms on the table. When she looks at me, her eyes are a little guarded.

“Be honest, did you know that Professor Garrick was going to ask me to write it when we met?” She asks, “Before that day in her office?”

Interesting. That’s not what I expected her to ask at all.

“I found out about the article months ago . Both of my brothers had similar ones written about them just before they graduated,” I explain, lifting my shoulder with a casual shrug, “So I knew my turn was coming, but I had no idea who they were going to assign to write it.”

I’ve known about the article for the last four lacklustre months of my life given that it was my father who pulled all the strings to make it happen. It’s all part of the plan, you see. This article will be my official introduction to the world and the first of many steps I’ll take towards building a healthy and stable public image for my professional career as a rugby player, something which my father keeps reminding me is just as important as playing well if I have any hope of getting signed by a team or being offered sponsorship deals.

I had no clue Ellie would be chosen to write it. The students who wrote my brother’s articles were both male .

“And you’re okay with it?” Ellie asks cautiously, “With doing the article, I mean?”

Again, not a question I expected her to ask, but I suspect I know why she is.

I need to play the game. I need to cooperate. I can’t hide things or withhold information from her if she has any hope of doing her job properly.

I need to be open with her. Honest.

Frankly, I hated the idea of doing this article.

Talking about myself has never been my strong suit and knowing that information will be shared with thousands, maybe even millions of people, isn’t a situation I’d willingly want to be in. The idea irked me from the moment I first heard about it, but I also know my personal feelings on the subject aren’t going to change anything which is why I haven’t bothered fighting it. Besides, this sort of thing comes with the territory and I’ll need to start getting used to that. When you’re a famous, professional athlete, people will always want to know more about you than they should.

What’s his favourite colour?

What brand of underwear does he wear?

What deodorant does he use?

What did he have for breakfast this morning?

Who’s he sleeping with now?

If everything works out, that’s what my life will be like. Nothing will be sacred anymore. It’s a small price to pay for being able to do what I love.

“I wouldn’t put too much thought into what Kai told you this morning. Yes, I am a private person, but I wouldn’t have agreed to do this if I didn’t feel comfortable.” I lean my elbows on the table and Ellie shifts in her seat slightly when our eyes meet again, my intensity unnerving her. “Trust me, Simpkins I’m not in the habit of doing anything I don’t want to do.”

Having an invested fanbase, being featured in sport-related articles, doing post-match interviews and having my performance analysed by a panel of experts after every game will be standard procedure for the next ten to fifteen years of my career. Maybe even for the rest of my life if I leave behind a legacy after I retire. Having as much ‘good’ press as possible can only be beneficial. I’ve seen first-hand how it’s helped my brothers. Bryce’s article made it seem like he’s a lost soul searching for his paramour rather than a guy casually sleeping with a parade of girls while Graeme’s one made it sound like he has healthy interests and a life beyond the rugby field when, in reality, the game is all he ever thinks about. I surrendered to the idea because I was smart enough to realise how much it could help me.

I can think of a few more upsides to it now, namely ones involving the woman sitting opposite me.

“And it doesn’t bother you that I’m not a third-year, Dean’s List, journalism student?”

I scoff out a laugh.

This girl.

Is that what she’s worried about or has she already forgotten that I’m the one who’s spent the past week trying to convince her to do this?

“Are you a good writer?”

Ellie’s mouth twists thoughtfully, debating the answer with herself.

Her hesitancy causes something bothersome to stir inside me .

I already know she’s a good writer. A great one even. After she sprinted out of Garrick’s office the other day, I asked if I could read something she had written recently, claiming that I wanted to get a sense of her abilities. After reading just one of her creative writing pieces and a newspaper article she’d written back in high school, it wasn’t hard to see her natural talent. She’s observant. Knowledgeable. Meticulous. Her turn of phrase is excellent and every word she types has a purpose, adding weight and meaning to a story no matter what it’s about.

She shouldn’t have any lingering doubts, not about this.

“I think so.” She eventually answers.

“It’s a yes or no question, Ellie.”

Again, she hesitates, worrying her lower lip between her teeth this time.

“Yes, I am.”

“Then no, it doesn’t bother me.”

She searches my eyes for any hint of a lie and when she doesn’t find any, she smiles warmly.

“Okay.”

Our food arrives then and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to witness the look of pure satisfaction that blooms on Ellie’s face when she takes her first bite of Christina’s famous lasagna. I almost laugh when her eyes widen comically and her eyebrows just about disappear into her hairline. She immediately slices off another piece and I watch as those soft, kissable lips close around another mouthful of food. She hums appreciatively in the back of her throat and my eyes darken with fascination, heat slowly trickling into my stomach. Fucking hell, watching her do that shouldn’t turn-on me on as much as it does. I can’t help but imagine her making that sound again; only in my mind m y hand is gripping her silky hair and her mouth is wrapped around my cock instead.

I ease out a quiet sigh, pulling a long sip from my Peroni.

Calm the fuck down, Colin.

“Verdict?” I ask after she swallows her fifth bite.

She tears her eyes away from her plate to look at me, her cheeks flushed with pink.

Like I said; Fucking adorable .

“It’s incredible, Colin.”

I smile crookedly, biting back the ‘I told you so’ that’s sitting on the tip of my tongue. She digs into her food again and I pick up my knife and fork, doing the same.

I kind of regret not making a bet with her when I had the chance, but something tells me it’ll be the first of many opportunities to come with Ellie Simpkins.

Of that much, I’m certain.