CHAPTER 6
Friday’s game day was unlike anything Scarlett had ever experienced.
Back in the States, soccer games were eventful, sure, but with a tamped-down excitement that only emanated from the fans going into the stadium.
Here, the entire city was buzzing with excitement for the first official day of the new season.
Sure, Manchester United was also playing a home game, but it didn’t matter.
The sun was shining, and there was a pride that morning in the barista’s eyes as Scarlett got her usual coffee before heading to the stadium.
Everyone she saw heading into work that morning appeared to have a smile on their face and a pep in their step.
It was infectious, and she couldn’t help but find herself in a glorious mood, particularly when she ran into Chard, who was dressed sharply in a black suit, black shirt, and black shoes. His tie was also black, but with a gold thread embroidered with a honeycomb pattern.
“Miss Simmons,” he said joyfully, flanked by his brother, Jaffi, his assistant, and three reporters, two men and a woman, each of whom had their phones in hand and held out as if recording. “A glorious day for a game, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” Scarlett said, coming forward.
“Allow me to introduce the newest member to the Bees family. This is Scarlett Simmons, head of our public relations office. Scarlett, this is Periodical Mail, the London Sentinel, and the Manchester Daily.”
She grinned at them, though they didn’t appear all that interested in her. “Hello.”
“Miss Simmons, I insist that you watch your first game from my box today.” He winked. “It’s a slightly better vantage than the employee stands.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” she said, noting Jaffi’s displeased expression as the group moved around her to continue to wherever they were going.
Turning around to go to her office before the game, she saw Gary hurrying down the hallway. He bobbed his head briefly but didn’t stop, and Scarlett was sure game-day jitters were alive and well as she pulled out her phone to text as she walked.
She hadn’t heard much from Mr. Wrong Number in the last few days, not since she had asked to try again at their sexting game, and now certainly wasn’t a good time, but something about game days always excited Scarlett.
She debated whether she should inquire if he was busy, but then, feeling bold, she decided to jump right in.
I had a dream about you last night…
It wasn’t true, but she needed an opener. Nothing too graphic, not at first—she wanted something organic and had debated sending this for nearly half a week already. This was a simple, relaxed text, as opposed to the shocking references she’d found during a series of recent Google searches.
Did you?
Yes.
What about?
Scarlett grinned.
We were kissing. On my bed.
Is that so?
Mmhmm.
How did you picture me?
It was dark, so I couldn’t see your face, but I imagined you with dark hair. Is that right?
Not quite.
Scarlett let out a breath. She didn’t think this was going to be so exciting, and yet he could be lying.
For all she knew, he was brunette or a ginger with gnarly teeth and a crooked smile.
But even if all those characteristics weren’t deemed traditionally attractive, she couldn’t help herself from expanding her definition of appeal.
Of course, he could be telling the truth. Maybe he didn’t have dark hair. Maybe he was tall with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, not unlike—
Scarlett stopped in her tracks and blinked, then shook her head.
No. No, she wasn’t going to picture Theo as Mr. Wrong Number.
She didn’t care if it was all in her head and she didn’t have to admit out loud that she found him attractive.
It was the principle of the matter. Besides, the only thing Scarlett found attractive about Theo was his growly behavior.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but she was happy to lie to herself if it meant keeping a clear, dark line between fantasy and reality.
I’m jealous.
She smirked and continued walking, reaching her office in minutes.
You should try it. Lucid dreaming
is a hell of a thing.
Oh yeah? What should I imagine, then?
Scarlett gazed into the mirror hanging on the back of her office door.
What could she say? Her hair was mousy brown and usually kept high up in a ponytail.
Her nose was straight, maybe a little bigger than current beauty standards, and her lips weren’t as full as she liked.
Pouting in the mirror, she turned her head to the side.
She may not be the most beautiful woman in the world, but she wasn’t bad looking.
Her lashes were dark, and her skin was clear.
She was wearing a black blazer over a glittery gold tee with jeans and black, strappy heels.
Brown eyes,
she typed.
Brownish hair in a ponytail.
Something to grab on to, then.
Scarlett swallowed.
Yes, please.
Would you like that?
Very much. I like being pinned down sometimes.
You have terrible timing.
She bit her lip.
The worst. Now, tell me what you would do to me if I was with you right now.
Those three little dots kept blinking across the bottom of the screen, causing her heartbeat to increase the longer she waited. She went to sit in her chair.
I think if I could, I’d hold your wrists up above your head with one hand tangled in the mess of your hair, as I held you down on the bed.
I’d kiss down your neck, slowly, while touching down your body with my free hand.
I’d greedily suck your nipples while teasing you with my fingers until I lowered my head and devoured you completely.
Scarlett’s mouth fell open as she slipped off her chair and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Damn. She was warm all over, her nerve endings tingling in response to his words. Why was he so good at this? And what was she supposed to say to that?
I love that. Would you let me touch you?
I’d insist on it.
Fumbling with her chair, she sat down, focusing on her phone, debating what to text back.
She was turned on, to say the least. Attached to her little kink about liking growly guys, she also enjoyed being held down.
It was hard to explain, but there was something freeing to her about it.
She didn’t have to worry about her next move or how to act.
She was there to be pleased, and selfishly, she wanted it.
I can only imagine how you’d feel.
Maybe you should think about it when you take a shower tonight.
Do you want me to?
Absolutely… Listen, I have to go. Work calls, but I’m not done with you, understand?
Yes.
Touch yourself tonight and think of me. XX
Scarlett exhaled a shaky breath as she placed her phone, screen side down, on her desk.
That was certainly different from anything she had done before.
Of course, now she was all the way revved up with no release.
And the anticipation of what she was going to do late tonight… Well, it was enough to drive her mad.
Standing, she grabbed her phone and switched to the Bees’ official social media applications. She needed to start taking pictures and posting for the game. It was part of a new initiative to be as interactive with the fans as possible, and she was going to have to reply to every comment.
It was a good distraction. For the next four hours, Scarlett was all over the stadium, taking candid pictures of the players as they arrived at the locker room, the field beneath the morning sky, freshly mowed and painted.
She posted images from the owner’s box, which was a spacious room fitted with comfortable chairs, framed posters of the team’s logo, and tables lined with fancy foods and expensive drinks.
She also took a picture of the parking lot as game time approached, and by the time the stadium was partially full, she was up in Chard’s box, frantically responding to comments and messages as quickly as possible.
“Don’t lose yourself in that,” he said, handing her a glass of champagne. “You’ll miss the start.”
“Thank you,” she said, then took a bracing sip before placing the delicate glass on a table. “But I have to respond to these fans as quickly as possible. It builds a relationship with them that will hopefully prove exciting so they’ll want to come back.”
“A rapport with fans is important,” Chard said before downing his champagne. “Good thinking.”
Scarlett pursed her lips as she read the one hundredth comment under the picture she’d taken of the owner’s box, condemning Chard for wasting money on fine foods and beverages instead of investing in better players.
This was going to be a long game.
Within minutes, though, the whistle blew and the match was underway—and to her surprise, Marrero sat next to her. Scarlett grinned.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“One of the perks of being a manager. Well, not really, but since our season debut is still a couple of weeks out…” Marrero held up her hands as if to explain her presence. She leaned forward. “Let’s see what Theo has lined up.”
Scarlett gazed down, seeing Theo’s back facing their side of the stadium as he shouted and pointed, so far away. “I hope they win.”
“We all do.”
As much as Scarlett wanted to watch, her phone kept dinging and buzzing. But this was her job, and she needed to be on top of it. Only a handful of times was she able to look up and follow an entire play, but each time she did, she winced.
The midfielder, an older player named Chassagne, kept missing blocks. Twice it appeared as if he had given up on a run as the visiting team, Plymouth Argyle, charged their territory. Their striker made a goal only a minute later.
“That’s not good,” Marrero hissed between her teeth as Scarlett tried to keep a chipper disposition online.