Page 18

“Gotta get to work—” He starts backing up, then gestures between me and Ys. “But I fucking love this.” He zeroes in on me. “I want front-row tickets, lad… VIP, backstage—the works.”

Nod coolly. “Yeah, man, for sure—” Want my girlfriend all oiled up on a fucking silver platter too, you pricking bastard, piss off.

Ys smiles at him though, nodding at me. “I’d say he wants season passes but I suspect he already has them…”

Give her a reluctant nod.

Fletcher gives me a wink. “Good man.”

Fuck him like.

He jogs back to the team.

Take a long, measured breath, staring at the team I love in front of me, don’t wanna react.

I don’t fuckin’ shut up about this fucking team, I know they know it, so I can’t react—just stare straight ahead.

So, I keep my face straight, rub my hand over my mouth like I’m keeping somethin’ in, and glance at her out the corner of my eye.

“You gonna unpack that for me?” I ask, low and rough, like it’s no big deal. But it is.

She keeps staring straight ahead, keeps that fucking Mona Lisa smile playing about on her lips. “No, thank you,” she says.

Give her a sharp look, make her sit up straighter.

“Okay.” She turns to me. “So, funny story—”

Lift my brow. “Feel like it won’t be, but go on…”

“Listen—we were really young—”

My eyes pinch. “You are really young.”

She rolls her eyes. “Younger than I am now, then.”

Keep my eyes fucking pinched. “Right…”

“We used to date, that’s all.” She shrugs like it’s nowt, proper casual about it. Then she tacks on, like it’s an afterthought: “A lot.”

Shake my head at her now. “What does ‘you used to date a lot’ mean?”

“Well—” she starts but I cut her off.

“And how the fuck isn’t this common knowledge, like—”

“I mean, it’s not a secret—!” she tells me. “If you looked into it or asked around, someone would have told you, probably—”

And I’m fucking mad now—don’t wanna be, but. Not here. “How the fuck could you not tell me?” I say through gritted teeth. Try to calm meself down. Take a breath, breathe it out through me nose. “—When I bang on about United all the fucking time—”

“Well.” Her hands are on her cheeks now. “I didn’t think it’d please you—”

“Oh—” I scoff. “And you live to fucking please me now, do you—? Since when?”

Pouts a little, crosses her arms.

“Well, I was right—look how displeased you are.”

Give her a little glare for that. Bit of a brat, isn’t she?

“How long were you together?”

“Uh—” She starts thinkin’ to herself but I jump in again.

“And how naked has he seen you?” I ask.

Presses her lips together for four long seconds.

“Four or so years,” she tells me. “And very.”

Take a measured breath. “How ‘very’ is very?”

“Completely.”

Me head falls back towards the sky. “Oh, fuck—”

Ys shakes her head quickly. “That doesn’t mean anything though—lots of people have seen me without clothes on. It’s part of my job!”

Give her an exasperated look—“Ys, that’s not helping—fuck—!”

She offers me a helpless shrug. “We were kids, really…”

Shove my hands through me hair—and you know what—? Fucking fuck her for this—I’m not even watching the game. I’ve wanted to see this game all fucking week.

“Why’d you break up?” I ask her.

“It just got”—she shakes her head—“too hard. He travelled a lot. I travelled a lot. It stopped working, is all.”

I jut my jaw as I nod, muddlin’ it through.

“Did you love him?” I ask her after a minute.

There’s a pause for a few seconds where she says nowt and it’s all I need to know without her saying a word. Does say one eventually, though… Reluctantly.

“Yes.”

And fuck me, maybe I’m just a paranoid, miserable bastard, but a bit of me worries she might still do now…

She puts her hand on my arm. “That’s not a big deal, though—” she tells me. Feels like a fucking big deal to me but. “You’ve loved other people—” she tells me. “You loved Pippa, surely—”

Give her an exasperated look. “Well, that’s fucking different—”

“How?”

“Because Pippa isn’t fucking Madonna!” I say louder than I mean to.

Might hear some fucking chuckles from ’round us…

Can’t rule out it not being her fucking bodyguard, can’t look at him and check because I’ll have to hit that fucker if he’s laughing at me, won’t I—?

And that sounds like a fucking headache.

Ys is trying with me, I’ll give her that… She gives me a small smile. “Do you mean that Pippa isn’t fornicating with Madonna or—”

I cut her off. “You know what I mean.”

She sighs, sorry. “No, I know, I know, I know—I’m sorry! I should have told you but I panicked, is all! Once I realised how much you love them—”

Shake my head at her, proper pissed.

“Can’t believe you’ve shagged my favourite player.”

She eyes me, a bit condemning. “Well, you’re impossibly promiscuous—”

“Promiscuous, am I—?” Give her a look for that. The fuckin’ nerve. “You wanna pull on that thread today, Trouble?”

Does, apparently. She keeps going. “You might have shagged my favourite player too, for all we know—”

I give her a look. “You don’t have a favourite player.”

“Yes, I do.”

I nod. “Yeah?” I lift a brow. “Who? Who the fuck is your favourite player?”

She tucks her chin, bats her eyes, and gives me a cheeky poke.

“The biggest, sexiest player I’ve ever known.”

Fuck, I love her. Gets a smile out of me, that.

Try to play it cool like. “Alright, well done.”

She settles back into her seat, lookin’ chuffed with herself. “Thank you.”

Sling my arm back ’round her. “Haven’t fucked meself but, have I?”

Gives me a look as she tucks in.

“Well, now I know you’re lying.”