5. Robbie
ROBBIE
As soon as I found myself standing next to the girl I haven’t stopped thinking about and her father, I created a plan.
A very clear, very good plan. As soon as I next saw Cassie at an event or a game or a party, I would calmly take her to one side and let her know that it’s for the best that we pretend we’ve only just met.
But instead, I pulled her into a closet and nearly lost my goddamn mind.
She looked up at me with fiery green eyes and a flare of that delicious temper, and I almost dropped to my knees at her feet. I was about to, until she pushed me back with blood red fingertips and left me in the closet alone.
I had to hide in there for a good few minutes before my erection managed to fade, and I spent most of that time reminding myself why doing anything like that again would be catastrophic.
Cassie is definitely, a thousand percent, off limits.
If anyone found out, I’d be off the team, surely, and then where would I be?
My old team certainly didn’t want me, and I doubt any other teams would be enthusiastic about signing me after a scandal like the one that would inevitably unfold if I was caught sleeping with the team owner’s daughter.
The thought of my poor mother having to learn about a veritable sex scandal on the evening sports news was more than enough to kill any remaining arousal in my body.
As soon as I stumbled out of the closet, Dennis spotted me, and I had to pretend I’d gotten lost on the way to the locker rooms. By the next practice, he’d handed me a laminated map of the arena and the surrounding area.
Dennis reminded me so much of my nephew, Sammy, in that moment that I’ve flashed the card every time I’ve seen him at practice in the last two weeks, despite the ribbing I’ve received from my teammates.
Apart from Dennis, the only other guy here that I’ve spoken to about anything other than football is our Captain, Santi, but that’s mainly because the guy doesn’t shut up.
“This is Maria at her friend’s birthday party,” Santi croons. “Look how cute her little dress is.”
I offer him a genuine smile at the picture of his toddler, dressed in a frilly pink dress and a wide smile as she’s held by Santi’s wife. They’ve been together since they were fourteen, and from what the guy tells me, are as much in love now as they were fifteen years ago.
“Where is Carmen?” I take a sip of the water in my hands and glance around the packed field.
The training ground has been transformed into a luxury afternoon garden party for a ‘Friends and Family Gathering’.
High top tables are dotted across the centre circle and pop up bar has been erected in the home penalty box.
It’s more than strange to stand on the pitch with my dress shoes, and I worry about the women’s heels damaging the grass, but Hamilton demanded it be hosted here, regardless of the protests of management and the groundskeepers who are definitely going to have to re-turf.
“I thought tonight would be the night I put a face to the many, many pictures,” I tell Santi dryly.
Santi laughs as he tucks his phone back in his pocket. “Nah, she deserved a night off. Hamilton is hosting so many of these things that it’s basically our entire social calendar for the year. The only one she actually wants to go to is the charity fundraiser.”
“At least she can get out of it,” I mutter.
“Hear hear.”
I’ve gathered from my teammates, and from the many, many invitations I’ve received in the month I’ve been here, that Hamilton loves any excuse for a party. I can’t decide if it’s to enforce team bonding or just because he likes the opportunity for a piss up.
Santi nudges me and nods his head towards the camera crew heading our way.
That’s the other side of Hamilton’s multiple step plan for publicity this season.
A short social media documentary charting his second season as owner and my first as the Premier League transplant guaranteed to ‘win us the cup’.
I feel my knee twinge as I turn my back on the camera, downing the rest of my drink so it can’t document the look on my face.
“When will they have enough content, do you think?” Santi asks around a wide smile, his eyes not quite crinkled enough to be genuine.
“At this rate, they’ll only stop when we Truman Show our way out,” I reply with an equally wide smile. Inside, I’m hoping that we look just manic enough to freak out the four man camera team that’s been following the team around all day.
When Hamilton initially pitched promotional footage for social media, I put my foot firmly to the floor, even getting Lucas involved before I signed on the dotted line.
I’m going to be in the background, but absolutely no on-camera interviews or–God forbid–the camera following me anywhere.
Hamilton made a big deal out of it, but at this stage, I’ve got more cards than he has so he scaled back the day’s filming to just observational content.
Still, one camera is one too many in my opinion.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the lens pointed in my direction until a commotion by the front door changes their course.
There’s only one person that can cause that much attention by just walking in.
I take a sip of my water and turn my back, desperately praying that she’ll ignore me like she should do but it’s no use. I can hear her footsteps on the grass behind me and swear I can smell a faint scent of berry shampoo.
“Afternoon,” her sultry voice says from behind and my eyes close. It wouldn’t be so bad if my cock didn’t rise to attention at any words that fall from her lips. Incorrigible bastard.
I try to communicate to Santi through osmosis that I want nothing to do with this conversation, but he sadly hasn’t developed the ability to read my mind this early in our friendship.
“Hey Cassie,” the traitor says from behind me. “Do you know King?” He claps his hand on my shoulder and I turn, my eyes glued to my feet.
“We’ve met,” Cassie drawls.
Thank god for my sunglasses so she doesn’t see my eyes as they slowly drag across her body.
She’s wearing a jade green bodysuit full of complicated looking straps and molded tight to her figure.
I don’t have to look to know every man here is taking an eye-full and I have to tamp down on the rush of unreasonable jealousy.
“You alright?” I nod once, taking a final sip of my water, intending to use it as an opportunity to get the fuck out of here.
She sends me a half smile, her pink lips glistening in the sun and all I want to do is kiss her until it smudges across her mouth.
“Can I get you a drink?” Santi asks her.
“A beer would be great, actually.”
“King?” he asks me.
I nod. “I’ll go—”
“I’m on it man, don’t worry.” He waves me off. “You stay and mingle.”
I wonder if Santi has in fact developed the ability to read my mind but has instead decided to use his powers for meddling.
“Water, huh?” Cassie asks, taking Santi’s place by my side.
“I’m practicing abstinence. Last time I drank I…” I trail off. Why did I say that? Why, why, why?
Of course, she doesn’t let me off the hook that easily. “Last time you drank you…” Cassie asks with false curiosity. She pulls her sunglasses to the top of her head, getting them trapped in her red curls.
“Made bad choices.” I finish for her, shoving my hand in my pockets so I don’t do something stupid like free the strand of hair trapped in the arm of her glasses.
“I don’t think you can blame champagne for your bad choices, Bert.”
“Don’t call me that.” I glance around to see if anyone’s spotted us, but Cassie just rolls her eyes.
“Are you going to be like this the whole season?” She blinks up at me. “Because this is going to get so old.”
I narrow my eyes at her. I’m never normally this rude, but there’s something about Cassie saying these things purposefully, trying to get a rise out of me, that causes panic to tighten my throat and impertinence to spill out.
“So we hooked up, it’s not a big deal—”
I glance around frantically, but no one is looking in our direction.
I step closer to her. “Cassie—”
“There you two are! I see you’re already chatting. Good, good,” Hamilton says as he approaches, flinging an arm around us both before gesturing to the camera crew.
“Dad,” Cassie mutters, shrugging the arm off her shoulder. “Do you have to have them here?”
“Obviously, honey,” Hamilton tells her. “They’re here for you.”
Even though this whole situation makes me uncomfortable, and I’d rather stick a knife in a toaster than entertain this, I turn to Hamilton with a smile. “Where do you want me?”
Cassie blinks up at me, but I keep my attention on her father.
“Attaboy.” Hamilton beams. “There’s a couple of the admin team’s kids around the back playing with some of the guys. Go let them get some shots of that.”
I nod my head. “Sure thing.” Relieved for the opportunity to play ball, I attempt to walk away.
“Before you do,” Hamilton grabs my shoulder with his iron grip. “This weekend, there’s going to be a little gathering after the first game. I expect both of you to be there.”
“I can’t this weekend Dad,” Cassie says. “I’m in England for Rosie’s baby shower.”
His brow creases. “Who?”
“Rosie, my friend in London.”
Her father blinks at her again before she explains further. “Jackson Harper’s girlfriend.”
“Oh.” He nods, awareness dawning. I haven’t a clue who these people are and I’m really ready to play with the kids, but Hamilton’s hand is still clasped firmly around my shoulder. “Can’t they have it here? They can use your house.”
Cassie replaces her sunglasses on her nose, and I wonder if it’s so she doesn’t have to look her dad in the eye. “She’s thirty eight weeks pregnant, Dad. She’s not taking an eight hour flight to LA just so I can come to your party.”
“You can miss it, Cass. She probably won’t even notice you’re not there.”
“I can’t do this weekend either,” I interrupt. “I have plans after the game.”
Hamilton tilts his head to me, “What kind of plans?”
I raise my eyebrows. It’s one thing to interrogate his daughter about her plans, but he’s no father of mine. “Private ones.” I keep my tone firm and hold eye contact until he sighs and looks away.
“Fine, fine, not this weekend.” He tugs his phone out of his pocket, mumbling about assistants and ice sculptures. I hold my breath in preparation for a long diatribe about failed commitments, but he pulls his phone to his ear with a clipped hello and wanders away.
“Thanks,” Cassie says quietly, pulling her curls away from her face and knotting it in a ball behind her head, exposing the long line of her neck. “I don’t know how I was going to get a heavily pregnant woman and her entire friend group on a flight out here but I was almost about to do it.”
I shouldn’t get involved. Not my circus and all that, but still my mouth opens and unsolicited advice tumbles out. “You don’t have to go along with everything he says,” I tell her “You can say no.”
Sure, her presence might sell some tickets, but she’s not responsible for the success of this team. I am.
She bristles. “Thanks, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I exhale a harsh breath. This girl turns hot and cold faster than the quality air conditioning I still can’t get to work right in my condo. Cassie spins on her heel and storms back up into the crowd.
“Have fun in London,” I call.
She bends an arm behind her back, looking for all the world like she’s adjusting one of the many straps across her spine, but I can still see the middle finger she waves in my direction.
I wipe my smile with my hand.