CHAPTER 12
At exactly four fifty-eight p.m. the following Tuesday, the Manchester Bees did something that they hadn’t done in nearly twelve months: they won a match, their first of the season against Sheffield United, in a nail-biting away game.
Miles kicked the winning goal in extra time, ending the yearlong streak.
Scarlett had been posting a play-by-play across social media in an effort to drum up excitement and update those who weren’t watching the game.
When she posted the winning goal with the caption BEES WIN, she had gotten over thirty thousand likes and gained about fifteen thousand new followers collectively across all their socials.
This, with the players heading into their first week of charity work within the community, was going to really boost the team’s image.
Grateful for the hour-and-a-half ride back to Manchester, so she could have some time to reply to comments, Scarlett was happily tapping away on her phone while leaning against the team bus in the parking lot of the Sheffield stadium.
The air was cool and crisp, and since the game had started at four, there wasn’t much light left in the day, as the nights were getting longer.
Several players were horsing around as they climbed onto the bus. Scarlett was waiting for the town car that she had shared with Chard on the way here to appear when suddenly Chard himself appeared.
“A stellar game today, wasn’t it, Simmons?” he asked, positively beaming at her.
“It certainly was.” She held up her phone. “The socials are going wild, and there’s already an article up on the Sky Sports website.”
“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant. I would love nothing more than to hear all the comments about the team.” He sighed. “But unfortunately, duty calls, and I have to take a helicopter to London.”
“Oh, okay.”
“You can travel back to Manchester with the team, I’m sure.”
Scarlett blanched. She had been lucky enough to ride with Chard on the way to the game and had assumed that she would be going back in a private car.
The idea of being squeezed into the bus with a team that wasn’t too pleased with her at the moment—well, it was almost enough for her to consider calling an Uber.
Chard was staring at her expectantly.
“Ah, yeah of course, sir.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, patting her on the shoulder before turning. “Ross! You’ve got room for one more?”
Theo stared past the owner directly at Scarlett, who felt a small thrill go through her when he gave a single nod. Chard chuckled.
“There you are. I’d like a report drawn up based on this win and bump in our social media stocks, if you will, by Thursday.”
“Absolutely, but I’d like to add that the women’s team has won their last two matches, and there has been a significant boost in followers and hashtags since their last win over Cardiff.
Also, the sales team has informed me about an increase in kits being sold.
Mostly Dawson’s, but Wilkens is up there too.
If the women win again this Friday, the numbers might go even higher. ”
Chard bobbed his head. “Yes, yes, I’m sure the women are doing well enough. But write up the numbers from today, yes?” Without waiting for her to answer, he walked away toward the town car that was waiting for him.
Scarlett scrunched her mouth up, not entirely pleased with that interaction.
“Right,” she said, as the car drove off.
“Simmons,” Gary called from the bus door, “are you coming?”
Holding up her hand, she hurried to the bus and followed Gary up the steps before facing down the entire team. Scarlett felt a little apprehensive, since the majority of the team had blamed her for the practice schedule—but to her surprise, most of them were smiling.
Of course they were. They had just broken their dry spell.
“Hey, I got a thousand new followers in the past half-hour,” Templeton said, showing his screen to Weeks. “How about that?”
“Please, I’m trending on Google,” Weeks offered as Scarlett made her way to the back. Her heel caught in the band of one of the player’s bags, but she was able to shake it off and keep going. “Called my goalkeeping skills ‘unmatched.’”
“That’s nothing,” Aban said. “Charlene McBride started following me.”
A slew of oohs and curses rang out. Charlene McBride was one of the most famous pop singers of the last decade. To Scarlett’s delight, Miles started to sing one of McBride’s songs.
“Now that we’re no longer ‘we,’ who’s gonna come and rescue me? I am, I am, I am…”
As the rest of the team joined in, Gary took a seat to the left of the bus, leaving the only available spot open in the middle of the back bench, right next to Theo, who was engrossed in his phone.
Scarlett noticed a curious expression on his face.
His eyebrows were drawn together, as if he were annoyed or confused, while the corner of his mouth was curved upward, as though he were entertained by something.
Scarlett sat next to him, and he glanced at her.
“Reading something interesting?”
Instead of answering, he held the phone up to her face. Reading the headline on the screen, Scarlett’s eyes widened.
50 Hottest Players of Football:
RANKED
Every year we compile our list of who we think are the most attractive players and managers of the football season, and this year is no different.
Starting off the list at number #50 is a manager who once ranked on our players list, and therefore we’re going to allow him on it again—manager of the Manchester Bees, Theo Ross.
Scarlett covered her mouth as she let out a laugh, her eyes snapping to his.
Theo appeared equal parts amused, embarrassed, and pissed off.
She could empathize. It was sort of humiliating to be mentioned on a “who’s hot list,” but at the same time, it was flattering, if one didn’t take it too seriously.
“I thought as a manager, I’d be off these sorts of lists for good,” he said, pocketing the phone. “I guess your social media campaign reminded everyone I was still here.”
Scarlett cringed, stifling the giggles that were trying to escape.
“I’m sorry, but it’s not an awful thing, is it, to be considered one of the most attractive players in the U.K.?”
He gave her a look. “It’s not that difficult.”
Her mouth opened, and she laughed again. “Oh my God, the arrogance is truly amazing.”
“It’s not arrogance. It’s fact.”
“So why are you so concerned about the article?”
“Oi!” Miles Wilkens shouted, holding his phone up. “Guess who’s the hottest player on the team?”
“Who?” someone called.
Miles pointed his phone directly to the back of the bus. “Ross, apparently.”
A series of hoots and hisses sounded from the seats. Some players were laughing while others looked baffled.
“What?”
“There’s no way.”
“Good on ya, boss!”
“How’s that?”
“He’s not even a player!”
“I’m more handsome than him,” Weeks chimed in. “No offense, boss.”
Theo craned his neck back to Scarlett as the bus began to move. So, this was the issue. He was dealing with twenty or so large egos. Still, it was amusing.
“See? Now I’m going to have to deal with this nonsense.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re handsome,” she said offhandedly before the joy fell from her face and humiliation consumed her. “I mean, according to some arbitrary news story.” She cleared her throat and lifted her chin toward his phone. “Who exactly wrote that article?”
“It was on ,” Theo said.
“Yikes. That’s an awful name for a website. They sound like a bunch of stalkers.”
“Well, it’s a paparazzi gossip page, so it sort of is.”
“Oh.”
Hoping to end the conversation there, Scarlett pulled out her own phone to see if Mr. Wrong Number had texted her back since that morning. He had asked her to wish him good luck before heading into work that morning, and just as she was going to put her phone away, a text came in.
My work thing went great today. I may be out of service for a few days, so I wanted to say thanks for the luck, and I’ll message you when I get back. XOXO
Scarlett frowned. She wanted to ask where he was going and why he was going to be MIA, but it felt too personal.
Which was weird, considering how personal they had gotten.
But knowing each other’s favorite foods and movies and songs was all rather ambiguous.
To ask about something relating to his real life seemed very much like a line that shouldn’t be crossed.
So instead, she texted ok and switched her phone’s screen off.
Theo leaned toward her. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You look a little low.”
She dropped her phone on her lap. “I’m not low. I was just thinking about the game today,” she lied, glancing at him. “It went great, don’t you think?”
“I do,” he said, his eyes flickering to her phone. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t bring up Mr. Wrong Number or her date the other night. Instead, he leaned back and asked, “So, you think I’m handsome?”
Scarlett felt her heart skip a beat as her cheeks warmed. “No.”
“But you did say that.”
“I was referring to the article.”
“No. What you said was it’s not my fault that I’m handsome. You were stating it, like it was a fact.”
She squinted at him. “It’s a shame you’re wasting your time as football manager when you could be writing for . Investigative journalism might be right up your alley.”
An arrogant smirk flashed across his face, and Scarlett had to focus very hard on not being excited that she had managed to make him smile. Thankfully, the next thing he said distracted her.
“So, did you ever meet up with your friend from the movie the other night?”
“Yes.”
“And did they like it as much as you did?”
“I’m pretty sure that we weren’t going to talk about this?”
“I never said that.”
He hadn’t. But still, she had hoped that he might do the decent thing and forget having seen her outside of work. “She liked it.” Once the words left her lips, she stared straight ahead, hoping for the conversation to die out. But she could sense his eyes on her. She glanced at him. “What?”