“Fuck,” Luke groans. “Do all you Americans think we sound like Hugh Grant?”
“I don’t know,” I say, laughing. “I was just expecting some cinematic charm, like in the movies.” My mind travels to the shirtless soccer player with the movie-star face and the charm of a cactus.
“First of all, Hugh Grant’s accent is posh. Just because you’re in North London now doesn’t mean everyone else is from here too,” Luke says, smirking at me. “Second of all, since we’re talking about cinematic charm. You do realize your whole ‘no emotions, no attachment, no romance’ mantra soundsexactlylike the beginning of a rom-com, right?”
I scoff. “It doesnot.”
He grins at me. “Sure, love. I can’t wait for the part where we’re in this office again, talking about how you inevitably broke all your own rules.”
I roll my eyes. “Not happening. I promise.”
5
counterattack
AFRAID OF EVERYONE BY THE NATIONAL
I don’t like her.
Ireallydon’t fucking like her.
I don’t like the way she walks in here, like she owns the place, all business and calculated smiles. I don’t like the way she talks like she’s already got each of us figured out.
And what winds me up even more? The fact that the club thinks we bloodyneedher.
Public relations is a fucking joke. Just a fancy way of selling lies.
We’re third in the league. We’re playing some of the best football we’ve played in decades. Our fans love us, and they’re the most passionate in the league. They’d follow us into fire if we asked them to. This is a great club in a working-class neighborhood. The media is already on our side. So, why do we need her?
We’ve got a real shot at promotion to the Premier League. That’s been my dream since I was a kid, and now it’s just within reach. I can feel it. I can taste it.
So in my mind, the last thing we need is someone coming in and changing the way we do things, changing the tactics and momentum.I don’t want some outsider here, who doesn’t even know the game, telling us how things look.
I don’t give a toss how things look. I care about how theyare. I care about the hard-working people in this neighborhood who give their last pound to support us. I want to win for them just as much as for myself.
I sit down on the bench of my stall in the locker room, trying to block out the conversation around me.
“She really handled that like a breeze,” Brennan says, shaking his head with something almost like admiration.
“She seems very clever,” Sebastian says, agreeing with Brennan.
Carlos leans back, smiling like a muppet. “And she’s hot.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course that’s all you noticed, mate.”
“She’s a stunner.” Carlos shrugs, feigning innocence. “Am I wrong?”
No, he’s not wrong.
She’s gorgeous.
She has long brown hair, pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Something tells me if she let it down, it would have some wildness to it. And her eyes—
Fuck. Hereyes.
They’re blue, but not like any blue I’ve ever seen before. They’re electric, like they see right through you. I noticed them immediately, even when she was glaring at me.
I shake the thought away. It doesn’t matter. She’s gorgeous, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s here to do a job we don’t need. She’s here to meddle, to twist things, to mold us like clay, making us marketable and palatable to the masses instead of just letting us play the damn game.
