"And that reminds me, are you inviting this nice American girl over here for a quickie?"
I whistled. "Awfully judgy of you, Mrs. Atkinson. Maybe that's why she wants to come." I pointed a finger at her. "Plus, you have no idea. She's nice."
"Oh, she's nice if you've invited her to your home." The dusting resumed. "I've seen some of the tarts you've wandered off with over the years."
"Yes, when I was nineteen and stupid and let my first year of playing go to my head. You know I haven't done that in years." My phone rang, and Lewis's number appeared. I sent it to VM but lifted the screen for her to see. "I'm too busy trying not to lose my bloody job to other big-headed nineteen-year-olds to sleep around anymore. Besides, those tarts don't care as much about you when you're old and your money's gone."
"I know how much you make, young man. It's nowhere near gone."
She was right. Even though I was in the last year of my current contract with Shepperton, my payslip had a lot of zeros on it, and I had every reason to believe that I'd get a renewal for at least a year or two, even if it meant they'd transfer me to another interested team. As long as we could stay in the top tier, at least. Our last two wins helped, moving us a bit higher up the table.
I fucking hated disappearing in the middle.
With a glance at my watch, I stood from the couch. "She'll be here shortly. I suppose I better go change my shirt."
"Smart boy." She paused. "You didn't make her take the train from Oxford, did you?"
"No. She said a neighbor let her borrow her car."
"I'll get out of your hair." She patted my face as she passed. "Use your manners, Jude Michael McAllister. Open doors, pull out chairs, and don't attack her as soon as she walks in, all right? You ask her questions and listen to the answers, treat her like a normal human being."
"As opposed to treating her like a non-human?"
"Don't get smart. You know exactly what I mean. Women aren't vessels created simply for your enjoyment because you get paid millions of pounds to kick a ball around."
I felt only slightly defensive when I answered. "I know that."
While Rebecca put away the last of the cleaning supplies and checked on the dinner she'd popped into the oven, I bounded up the stairs to my bedroom to change. Mine was the biggest room in the house, with large windows overlooking the stretch of green grass in the garden. Smack in the middle was a king-size bed decorated in shades of gray. As I tossed the offending T-shirt into the wash basket, I thought for the thousandth time about the best way to tell Lia about what I did.
It was the part I was least looking forward to. The fact she hadn't recognized me, that she thought I was normal, was a huge part of the appeal.
Football to her meant a choice, something you might like or you might not. And if you didn't like it, you simply chose something else.
Football here was embedded in our lives. It was a culture running in your bloodstream, not just a match that you flipped to if you were bored. And as a nod to that, given I'd have to admit what I did sooner rather than later, I reached into the wardrobe and grabbed one of my bright blue Shepperton shirts. The logo on the chest was small, so it wasn't like I'd be opening the door wearing a full kit with my name on it.
"Jude," Rebecca called. "You have a visitor."
"Oh shit," I whispered, tugging the shirt on. By the time I reached the bottom of the steps, my entire body felt charged with excitement. No, it wasn't ideal for my housekeeper to be the one greeting her at the door, but she was here, and that was what mattered.
Rebecca said something that made Lia laugh, and the sound of it had me smiling.
They stood by the front door, and in the full light of my home, she was even more beautiful than I remembered. Her hair—which had been long and curling down her back the last I'd seen her—was pulled back off her face.
She was wearing something yellow, but to be honest, I didn't really care what she was wearing.
"Don't let him take credit for the dinner, my dear," Rebecca whispered loudly with a hand