Chapter 21
It’s nearing five o’clock by the time I get to Indie’s flat to take her to Tower Park the next day. Last night with her is what I call dirty hot. It was exactly what I needed after the overwhelming feelings I had during our first time together.
I took a girl’s virginity once when I was seventeen.
She was sixteen and we did it when her parents weren’t home.
But I don’t remember it feeling so…emotional.
Maybe Indie is just as expressive as she is responsive, and that’s what I was reacting to?
I don’t know, but bloody hell, that felt different than what I’m used to.
When my traitorous sister gave her coffee, I knew I needed to get control of the situation. Having coffee in the Harris house with a girl who’s not blood-related is like picking out china patterns together. Way too far, Vi. Way too far.
But when Indie messaged me about sexting last night, I thought a down and dirty tryst that involved me leaving when we were done would get us right back on track. And it did. She didn’t seem bothered when I left after our shower. She seemed relieved.
Which is how it should be.
I don’t do relationships. I just like sex. I don’t see it as using women. I see it as appreciating them. At worst, I’ll be remembered as that footballer who shagged them once and taught them what great sex feels like. Some women accept that notion better than others.
This arrangement just feels different because it’s happening more than once. That’s all.
Indie opens the door and my eyes drink her in.
It’s been great fun seeing what she looks like outside of the hospital.
Tonight, she’s wearing a pair of tiny denim shorts and a thin white tank top with buttons down the chest. Her top is covered with a red plaid, long sleeve shirt that she’s left unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up.
The outfit is topped off with her red-framed glasses.
The glasses are the same ones she left in my hospital room after the second night she slept with me.
I returned them to her before she left my flat yesterday.
I chose not to mention the fact that I am pretty sure Dr. Prichard noticed them that day at the hospital.
Indie is already so paranoid about people finding out about us that I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.
Plus, I don’t think Dr. Fuckwad is the type to blow the whistle on Indie—mostly because he wants to fuck her. There’s not a doubt in my mind about that fact. But he knows that if he wants a shot, he has to stay on the right side of this. No one wants to fuck a snitch.
“You look good enough to eat…out.” I bend over to drop a kiss on her lips as my hands find their way to her backside, taking a cheeky squeeze.
She blushes and tucks her long red hair behind her ears. I’m pleased to see she left it down again. “Another pig moment…How novel.” She smiles at me in a way that tells me she likes my shocking comments. She gets me. “You look good, too.”
I’m wearing dark jeans and a navy T-shirt.
It’s pretty much my standard everyday clothing that’s not a football kit.
I’m not into fashion. Never have been. Gareth has a stylist now, who purchases everything he wears.
He brushes it off like they’re nothing more than an errand runner, but I know the prat prides himself on how he’s dressed when the tabloids get shots of him.
“Are you ready?” I ask, eyeing her creamy, muscular legs and wondering if it would be a better idea to push her inside right now and mess up our plans for the night.
“Yeah. I’m intrigued, actually. I’ve never been to a stadium.”
“Good,” I say and follow her up the stairs to the street where I hail down a cab.
Tower Park is only a mile away but her brown-heeled ankle boots don’t look up for the walk. Plus, the less time we spend doing this tour, the more time we get to tour each other.
When Vi proposed the idea, my first thought was sex.
It didn’t even occur to me that it would be considered a date.
I just pictured Indie spread out on the pitch and me slamming myself into her.
I’ve been sucked off at Tower Park by a couple different fans in the past, but shagging someone there will be a first for me as well.
I instruct the cab driver to drop us at the private entrance of the stadium where I have keys to get in through a small door.
I suggested grabbing dinner first, but Indie is paranoid about someone from the hospital seeing us.
She only agreed to Tower Park after I assured her that no one would be around and we’d have the place to ourselves.
Indie’s eyes are wide and eager as she takes in the expansive structure all around us. It is rather grand, but this entrance is less so. Unfortunately, there’s no other way for me to get her in when it’s not fully staffed.
Grabbing her hand, I pull her through the dimly lit concrete hallway. The ceiling is low and I have to duck from some of the light fixtures.
“Is this where I go to die?” Indie mock whispers.
“Yes, Indie,” I reply. “I get murdery with all my best girls.”
She giggles and it makes me smile. The comfort between us in such a short amount of time is nice. It’s easy. This whole arrangement is so easy. No drama. Most girls are crazy with the drama. Indie is unlike any of them.
I stop right before turning the corner and look at her.
“Okay. So around the corner is the home-team entrance tunnel.” Her eyes fly wide.
“You can’t miss it when we walk by so I’m going to show it to you before everything else.
I’m kind of fucking you with no foreplay here, so just promise me you’ll appreciate it. ”
“Okay.” She smiles brightly, but then her face crumples with worry. “But not like…actual fucking, right?”
Her innocence is hot. I cup her face in my hands and kiss her, softly flicking my tongue in her mouth just because I like to shock her.
Also, I actually ache to taste her again.
I’m pleased when I discover that she still tastes like lemons, even outside the hospital.
I pull away and murmur, “Is that a request?”
She chews on her lip.
Laughing, I say, “We’ll save the exhibitionist stuff for day five, Specs.” I throw my arm around her. “But I won’t judge if you come a little.”
Pulling her around the corner toward the solid concrete tunnel that’s painted in bright white, I can’t help but squint at the light pouring in from the end. I hear her inhale and hold her breath as I walk her down the long stretch. I don’t say anything. I never say anything inside this tunnel.
Whenever I get angry at the sport of football, I remind myself of this feeling—this simple walk through a tunnel. Every time I feel defeated, frustrated, overwhelmed, or over-worked, none of it seems as bad when I remember how this feels.
We break through the opening and the London sun is low, casting a warm glow on the entire stadium.
Across the pitch, one whole side of the stadium spells out TOWER PARK on white painted chairs.
The grass is a lush green, and the seats are old and wooden.
This entire stadium is over one hundred years old. It reeks of history.
We walk to the corner of the pitch and Indie stops suddenly, bends over, and takes off her heels.
I stare at her for a minute, the image of her bare toes wriggling in the grass overwhelming me.
It’s completely unnecessary to take off her shoes.
It’s just grass. We wear studs on the pitch every day.
But something tells me she’s not doing it for fear of hurting the grass. She’s simply showing respect.
How? How does someone like her think to do something like that? She’s not even a proper football fan. She’s just a doctor. She’s just a girl I want to fuck, but she keeps doing things that make her so…different.
I’m still gobsmacked when she reaches for my hand, silently asking me to take her out to the centre of the pitch.
I finally snap out of my trance when we reach the middle circle. Pride radiates from me as I spin Indie around to take in the magnificence of it all.
“Nothing in life has ever made me feel so small…and yet, so big,” I say and her brown eyes look up at mine.
“This place is pretty impressive.”
The corner of my mouth perks up. “I grew up here.” I drop down on the grass and stretch my legs out in front of myself. “I don’t have a clue who I’d be without this place.”
Indie sits criss-cross beside me. “How did you and your brothers all come to play for the same team?”
“That’s a bit of a loaded answer,” I reply, tilting my head thoughtfully. “Essentially, it was our dad. He was a star striker for Man U when they won The Cup in the 80s.”
“Oh wow, I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, so we lived half the year in Manchester during his season, and the other half at our house in Chigwell. But when Mum died, he quit the team without a second thought. He was making loads of money but just up and left. I was only three when all that happened so I only know about it from retellings.”
“He must have been devastated.” Indie watches me carefully, sympathy knitting her brows together.
I shrug. “I suppose so, but he doesn’t ever talk about her. Most of my memories of him from when I was younger aren’t good. He refused to hire a nanny, even though he could more than afford one. I think he didn’t want anyone to see his grief.”
“That’s heart breaking,” Indie says, looking down at my hand in the grass.
“I remember one night he threw all of our mum’s clothes into the fireplace. Vi was sobbing and trying to grab a sweater of hers, but Dad refused to let her get it. I was comforting Vi but didn’t understand why she cared about some silly sweater that was too big for her.”
Indie’s hand reaches out and covers her mouth, but I’m too busy haemorrhaging feelings like a broken blood vessel to stop.