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“Luke is my temporary neighbour,” I answer, quickly averting my gaze. “Is that all, Coach? Can we go now?”
Jesus Christ, I just want to get out of here.
“Does anyone have any more questions?” Coach asks and every single hand in the room flies up. “About the game,” she adds, and their arms slowly lower. “Good, as you’re already familiar with each other, Natasha, you’ll be Luke’s point of contact.”
“I don’t think that’s a—”
“It’s a wonderful idea,” Luke says, locking eyes with me again and the spark we share shoots straight through my body. What the fuck is going on right now?
“Glad that’s settled, you can all go now,” she says, and just like that, we’re dismissed.
Chapter Seven
Luke
Since the announcement at the academy, I haven’t seen much of Natasha. When she’s not in a group training session with the team, she’s meeting with the physio, in the gym, swimming, mentoring the youth team or any of the other hundred excuses she comes up with to avoid being alone with me.
I’m not sure why. It could be that she’s still mad at me for the volume issue or that she’s embarrassed I openly flirted with her at the team meeting. What was I thinking?
“Am I your Luke?”
I’m not her Luke, but I would definitely volunteer as tribute given half the chance.
Upon reflection, I didn’t exactly make the right impression with her my first day at the academy either. When she asked me what experience I had when it came to women’s football, I told her the sport doesn’t interest me. It’s not true at all. When Mam played I was always in the crowd cheering her on but I didn’t want to get into the specifics of why I have issues with women’s football these days.
“So why are you designing a game about women’s football then if you have no interest?” she’d asked me over coffee with Brooke and Debbie.
I stupidly replied, “Because after the Lionesses’ historic win at the Euros, it’s what the market is crying out for.”
“So, you’re doing it for the money,” she summarised with judgement in her pretty hazel eyes.
She must think I’m a fucking prick which is why it’s a surprise when, on Saturday morning, she knocks on my door.
Her long chocolate brown hair is styled in a French plait that hangs over her shoulder with little wispy strands framing her pretty face. As much as my first impression of Natasha was that she was a little stuck-up, I could barely tear my eyes away from her even as she yelled at me. Call me a masochistor whatever, but I immediately knew I wanted her on a deeply molecular level. Similarly, now, I know I shouldn’t, but I’m unable to stop as my gaze travels the length of her body, clad in tight black running leggings and matching sports bra masquerading as a crop top that shows the tanned skin of her toned stomach.
When it comes to this woman, the rational part of my brain doesn’t seem to be working any more. I wanted out of this world of women’s football. I was happy to leave the pain and heartache behind me ten years ago, and yet, here I am, charging headfirst into the same thing I was running from. I’m fantasising about a woman who is the exact embodiment of everything I tell myself I can’t be with.
Did I mention, she thinks I’m a fucking prick?
Silently, Natasha checks me out. Her breath hitches as she works her way slowly and deliberately up my body, starting at my toes, until she reaches my eyes. And she needn’t think I don’t notice how she lingers at the most important places.
So, maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as she’d like to? Interesting.
“Hi.” I break the loaded silence between us, smiling knowingly at the blush that creeps up her neck when she realises I caught her checking me out.
“Get your shoes on, we’re going for a run,” she orders, recovering quickly and planting one hand on her hip.
“Weas in me and you?” I ask, confused at her sudden change of heart. This is the woman who every day for two weeks left a room when there was a slight chance of her being alone with me.
“Who else would I be talking about?” She looks at me as if I’ve completely lost the plot. Fuck it, I must have lost the plot because this is so far from what I’ve come to expect from her. “You run, right? I’ve seen you go out.”
I smirk. So, she’s been keeping tabs on me then.
“Yeah, I run. But why do you want to go with me?”
She takes a deep breath. “Bridget said I should offer you an olive bush or something. Apparently, I’ve been less than welcoming to you and I need to do better.”
“Do you mean an olive branch?” I ask, my smile spreading wider. She rolls her eyes at me.
