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He shrugs. “Yeah, I’m aware of that, and I can handle it. The best thing to do is just ignore it.”
“No, the best thing to do is what you just did then—make them uncomfortable.”
“What? How?”
I sigh, wishing he’d just get what I’m trying to say already. “Tell Thierry Solange he has a nice arse. Tell Mark Thompson not to show off his abs so much. That sort of thing.”
“You want me to sexually harass the opposition players?” he asks, eyes wide.
I hold my hands up. “It’s harmless flirting. If they can’t handle it, that’s their problem.”
He rolls his eyes. “Says every workplace predator ever.”
I sigh. “Look, I’m not saying do it to everyone. Just the ones who give you shit.”
“I don’t like the idea of stooping to their level,” he says with a frown.
I grunt in frustration. Fucking Generation Z and their bloody morals. “Fine. Whatever. Let them roll all over you. Just don’t get all in your head about it and fuck up your passes.” With that, I grab the ball we’d been using and stalk back to the locker room, calling back, “And stop bloody checking out my arse!”
After letting the tension from the frustrating training session drain away in a long, hot shower, I leave the stadium and am about to get in my car when I hear a familiar, far-too-chirpy voice call to me.
“Hey, mate.”
With a huff of annoyance, I spin around to find Archie Milligan standing there, freshly showered and wearing tight jeans, a black t-shirt at least two sizes too small, and a bright smile.?
“We’re not mates,” I grate out, managing not to let my eyes linger too long on the muscles clearly visible under the ridiculously tight shirt.?
Get a fucking grip, Whitford. He’s nineteen!
He holds up his hands, the smile never leaving his face. “Right, sorry. I just wanted to say I genuinely am sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier.”
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. But you are making me late.”
“Oh, my bad. Where are you off to?”
With great restraint I manage not to roll my eyes. Does this guy ever stop talking? But then, here I am, answering all his fucking questions so what the hell does that say about me? “I need to pick up my son.”
Archie’s eyes light in recognition. “Ahh, right. Keegan, yeah? He’s eight?”
I narrow my eyes. “It’s a little unnerving how much you know about me. Do you sneak around my house with binoculars?”
“Don’t give me ideas,” he says with a teasing smirk.
I give an exasperated shake of my head and get into my car. “Go pester someone else. I’m off the clock.”
Completely unnerved, he offers another wide grin. “See you tomorrow, mate!”
I ignore him and peel out of the car park.
“Well hello to you too,” Courtney says as I shove past her into the house.
“Sorry,” I manage to grunt out. “Long fucking day.”
She just shakes her head wryly and heads to the kitchen, switching the kettle on. “Sit. Spill.”
“Where’s Keegan?” I ask, glancing around.
“He went to James’s place after school. He’ll be back soon. Now stop pissing about and tell me what’s up.”
