Chapter 23
I’ve spent the last week acting like a girlie fucking basket case because of Belle Ryan and her painfully icy shoulder. I know I got weird after Manchester, but I needed some time to think. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with this woman and it’s making me completely bloody mental.
After she refused my invite to Welly’s, I texted her to see if we were still finishing out our arrangement or if she wanted out full stop.
She responded that she would attend the events mapped out in the email and that she hoped I’d still honour my part by attending the hospital charity function coming up.
It felt like she nut-punched me.
How we went from fucking like animals, arguing like an old married couple, and laughing like mates to this clipped, formal, stranger-like texting is infuriating. It made me want to hole up in my flat and hide until this entire suspension was over.
But then I found a note from my mum in a keepsake box Vi gave me last year. When I read it, something clicked. The note made me realise that sitting still is getting me nowhere fast.
Belle goes to work and saves babies. She’s bigger than life. I play football, but I intend to be more than just football. I intend to find my own way to change lives, which starts with going to Welly’s tonight and rebuilding my team’s trust in me, owly mood or not.
“Hey, Tan, you ready?” Booker crows, letting himself into my flat and striding down the hallway toward where I’m sitting in my room. “We’re going to be late for Welly’s if we don’t leave now. I would have come here to fetch you earlier, but you told me you weren’t coming.”
I just finish pushing my foot into my boot when he comes to stand in my doorway. “I’m ready,” I reply and grab the finger of whiskey off my bedside table and polish it off like a shot.
He eyes the glass in my hand. “Couldn’t wait until the pub?”
I breathe against the burn in my throat. “Nope.”
His brows rise as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “What made you change your mind and decide to come?”
I glare at him. “It’s still my team, isn’t it?”
His eyes fly wide. “Christ, you’re a moody sod. Want to talk about it?”
“Nope,” I growl as I stand up, grabbing my jacket and putting it on. “It’s just…” I start but then stop. “Nope, I’m not doing it.”
I brush past Booker and make my way down the hallway toward the door, stopping in my tracks before walking out. The whiskey burning in my throat is doing nothing to damper the inferno boiling in my body. It’s just stoking it. Giving it life.
My grip on the doorknob turns lethal as I snap, “You know, I didn’t ask for her.
” I glance over my shoulder at Booker. He’s watching me all meek and nervous from the hallway, like I’m some sort of wild animal and he’s not sure what I’ll do next.
“I didn’t ask for Belle Ryan to pick me up that night.
I sure as fuck didn’t want to have to fake date her.
I did it to be a bloody gentleman. To try to help her find a way out of this mess so her family would get off her arse. ”
Booker moves to open his mouth but I cut him off.
“Her family is fucked, too,” I continue as I turn and prop myself against the door.
“They are nothing like us, which makes her a God damned anomaly to figure out. One minute she’s funny and light and making my dick hard with all her sexy football talk.
The next, she’s dark and broody and her temper…
Christ, Belle’s temper is a hair-trigger.
Set it off and she’s got a razor-sharp tongue that will send your testicles back inside your body. ”
I open the door and storm over to the lift, pushing the button over and over and over.
The damn thing never stays on the fourth level.
I turn back to see Booker closing the door behind him, so I continue, “You know what she’s like, Book?
She is like a drug. When I look at her from the outside, she seems crazy and out of control.
I’m best to stay away. But when I’m inside her, with her, breathing her in, it’s like there is no other reality in the world that matters.
” I slam my fist against the button and it feels good.
“Tanner, get a hold of yourself,” Booker deadpans. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m trying!” I roar, ramming my hands through my hair. “But if she’s not making me feel like shit, it’s Vi. And if it’s not Vi, now I’ve got bloody Indie up my arse. These women are ruining my life.”
Booker laughs openly and it makes me want to tackle him to the ground. How dare he mock my pain. “Do you have a death wish?”
“No,” he laughs again. “I just think it’s funny.
You’re blaming your problems on the women in your life, but the truth of the matter is you’ve been a prat for a long time and your conscience finally isn’t letting you get away with it anymore.
It’s revolted against you and turned you into”—he pauses, looking me up and down like I’m a bloody alien—“a human.”
“Sod off,” I growl and step into the lift. I immaturely try to close the doors before he gets in and he looks at me like I’m a moron.
I feel it.
He props himself on the railing as we begin our decent. “You only have what, two more times you have to see her? The match on Wednesday and then that fundraiser we’re all going to, right?”
“And the stupid magazine interview,” I mumble through clenched teeth.
“All right then. Three times and then you’re home free.
Just focus on the prize. Tonight is important.
You need to reconnect with the team. We miss you.
You’re our captain and we’ve not had you around for three weeks now.
You need to sober up, man up, and be a leader.
Let them know you’re ready to come back, boots swinging. ”
I sniff and nod. “You’re right. Thanks, Book.”
“Don’t mention it.” He looks at me one more time as the lift doors open.
He turns and begins walking backwards away from me.
“And hey, whatever happens, I think if football doesn’t work out, you could find work in a theatre.
That little rant up there was an epic fucking performance. I’m thinking…Vagina Monologues.”
He makes a peace sign around his lips and his tongue darts out between his fingers. His laugh turns to a girlie squeal as I lunge toward him, tearing through the lobby after him.
Fuck me. For a keeper, he’s bloody fast.
“You don’t have a choice!” Indie exclaims as she darts back and forth between my closet and my bed, laying out options of clothing.
“I’m never here on the weekends anymore.
We haven’t had a proper make up session since you screamed at me for telling Tanner he was an arse, even though he was. You’re coming with me to Welly’s.”
“No, I’m not,” I groan.
“Yes, you are!” She stamps her foot. “Belle, we haven’t even had a chance to celebrate your small victory with Dr. Miller. This isn’t like us. We celebrate our successes in this family.”
I shake my head at her. “Well, sis, I don’t feel like going to a pub with a bunch of bloody footballers. I’m tapped out on footballers at the moment. Tanner will probably think I’ve come for him, and I’ll have to play the part of the dutiful girlfriend.”
“No, you won’t. Booker said Tanner’s not coming.”
My head snaps to attention. “He’s not?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. I don’t know why, but he won’t be there.”
“Interesting,” I mumble, chewing on my lip.
“We won’t stay for long.” She tosses some shoes on the bed and adjusts her glasses to look back at me. “I just want to introduce you to a couple of my favourite guys and then we can go have a laugh somewhere else.”
I moan.
“Pretty please?” she whines.
“Fine. Damn you and your cherubic face. If you and Camden ever have children, you’re fucked.”
She laughs and gets a daydreamy twinkle in her eyes that makes me sick.
Indie selects my hottest pair of black leather skinnies that have double zippers on each side. She grabs a light knitted sweater that hangs dramatically off one shoulder and yells at me when I try to wear a bra with it.
“You have gorgeous, big, perky breasts. Enjoy them while you can.”
I roll my eyes and finish it off with a pair of nude heels and super dark purple lipstick, feeling about as good as I possibly can considering I’ll be walking into the lion’s den.
We head out, but I make Indie stop at a wine bar for a couple glasses before we make our way to Welly’s in Brick Lane. I couldn’t stomach the thought of going in there completely sober and being around loads of men who act like Tanner Harris.
Thankfully, Indie brightens my mood immensely with stories about athlete’s foot on dicks. Apparently, it’s a thing. Why she thinks she wants a career in sports medicine is beyond me.
By the time the cab drops us in front of Welly’s Pub, I’m in marginally better spirits than I was before.
Welly’s is a standard English pub. I’ve been here before because they do a good fish and chips.
It has the standard dim lighting, worn carpet, and red, distressed leather booths.
It also usually has good music playing and the staff is decent.
It’s a well-known Harris hangout but, considering Booker will be the only one in attendance, I think I can handle it.
We waltz in, completely unnoticed and I think it’s God’s way of easing me into this whole charade.
I know the Harrises have kept Tanner and my fake dating scheme quiet, but I can’t help but wonder if everyone here knows who I am and what the bloody hell a guy like Tanner is doing with a girl like me.
All of my old insecurities are back, and they are fucking ugly and in need of a stiff drink.
My eyes do a cursory scan for Tanner and come up empty, so I can finally exhale. All I see are footballers, wannabe WAGs, and maybe a few actual WAGs.
“Let’s sit at the bar and grab a drink first,” Indie croons, waving to one of the players who’s in the middle of a conversation with another player.
“Hiya, Doc,” another guy says from down the bar.