Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
When she woke, Georgia stretched lazily.
She felt the stiffness in her legs, her back, the delicious feeling of having moved in ways she didn’t normally.
Matt had been pleasingly good. He’d taken his time with her, let her lead him to her room, her bed, the things she liked.
She came before his trousers were even unbuttoned, and then once more, together.
Afterwards, for the first time that week, she’d drifted into pleasant, uninterrupted sleep. She turned over, grabbing her phone from the nightstand, and clicked the lock button, bringing the display to life.
Rolling out of bed, Georgia stepped over her discarded dress from the night before, pulled on her tracksuit bottoms, and grabbed a Westcliffe training top from the drawer.
The club's logo, a blue compass wrapped around a bold, copper "W", was embroidered on both the trousers and the top.
It had been a controversial rebrand three years ago, but the fans had adjusted and the design was everywhere, including on every piece of stash Georgia owned.
Behind her thin curtain, the sun was already shining. Matt was nowhere to be seen, the only indication he hadn’t done a runner was the large, brown deck shoes abandoned just inside the door to her room.
She strode down the corridor barefoot, scraping her hair back with a hairband as she always did for training.
In the large kitchen living room, the blinds had been pulled back, and one sash window had been raised to let in the air.
The only issue with living in an old flat by the sea was the constant damp, the dehumidifier running constantly and the windows open to the cool autumn sunshine.
Matt was there, standing at the counter with two mugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who’d only just figured out the espresso machine.
“You make that for me?”
“Technically,” Rachel said from the other side of the room, “I did.”
Matt grinned. “I supervised.”
“We’ve got a game tomorrow.” Georgia fiddled with the mug in front of her, twisting it round and round on the counter in front of her. Should she ask him to come?
She could almost certainly get him a ticket.
Her parents had already been assigned her two complimentary seats, but someone else would have one going.
At worst she’d have to buy one at her discounted rate.
Getting the ticket wasn’t the difficult bit.
Offering it, after one date, one night together, certainly was.
She sucked in a breath. “I could get you a ticket?”
Matt's face twitched in disappointment. "I'd really love to, Hotch, but I’ve got work. What time’s kick off?”
“Three.” Georgia swallowed around the lump in her throat. It didn’t matter. He didn’t owe her anything after one date, one night. Of course he had plans.
“Yeah.” Matt put his coffee down on the side. “Sorry. Swapped my Friday shift with one of the guys so I could come up to Westcliffe last night.”
“No worries,” she said, voice falsely bright. “There’s always other matches. The season is just starting, after all.”
"Yeah," he said softly. "But this is your first match as captain, right?"
"There'll be other matches as captain too, I hope."
"Still, I would have liked to be there." He grinned around a mouthful of coffee and raised his eyebrows at her. “Failing that, I wouldn’t say no to a trip to Twickenham at some point, if that’s on offer?”
“You’ve got to wait for international matches for that,” Georgia explained. “And even then, a lot of the women’s matches aren’t held at Twickenham. They want to make it accessible for families, for local teams to attend.”
“If not Twickers,” Matt said, “then where?”
Georgia shrugged. “Everywhere,” she said. “Rugby grounds, football stadiums. Exeter, Leeds, Leicester…”
“Cardiff,” offered Rachel.
“Exactly,” Georgia agreed. “Wherever.”
“Oof.” Matt exhaled noisily, then took a sip of his coffee. “The glamorous life of the pros, eh? I bet all that travel's not half as fun as it seems. I hope they bus you girls first class.”
It wasn’t quite the response she’d been hoping for. Perhaps she pulled a face, or went still, because Matt put his espresso down and stepped in closer. He palmed her waist, pulling her close into his body.
He leant down and brushed his lips lightly against hers.
The ghost of last night’s release thrilled through her at his touch.
He pulled back, keeping his lips close enough to brush against the shell of her ear.
“You let me know the dates, and I’ll have a look at the shift book and see what I can wangle. ”
She nodded, stepping in again for another kiss. His hands anchored her against his hips, and he tasted of coffee and toothpaste. She leant against him, tilting her head up to meet his. The kiss drew her in, soothed away the pinprick of hurt.
Georgia almost caught him by the belt loop and pulled him back to bed. She could spend all day tucked up in the sheets, ignoring the pressure of tomorrow’s match. She could get lost in physicality and turn her brain off for the day.
Before she could act on impulse, Georgia’s watch beeped. If she was going to make the Redford girls’ training session, she needed to leave in fifteen. She stepped away from Matt, moving around the corner of the counter to put some space between them.
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Or, an alternative, I’m reffing Redford men's in a couple of weeks’ time. Ollie will be playing, no doubt, and we could all go out with the lads afterwards.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” she said. “I’m really sorry, but I promised Erin and Tam I’d go and meet their girls. If I’m going to be there on time, I should probably get going.”
Matt downed the rest of his coffee. “Following me home, are you?”
He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and Georgia felt a blush race up her chest, no doubt turning her cheeks an attractive shade of puce.
“I’m gonna stop you there.” Rachel put her coffee cup down on the low table in front of the sofa with a clunk. “Between the dramatic creaking of your bedframe and Georgia screaming like she’d just been dumped into an ice bath, I’ve heard more than enough from you two for a lifetime.”
Georgia choked on her coffee, and the blush painting her cheeks intensified and travelled to the tips of her ears. “Jesus, Rach.”
Rachel sounded pissed off, but Georgia could see the tug of a smile at the corner of her lips, the way her eyes slid sideways as she spoke.
Matt didn’t miss a beat. “What can I say?” He spread his hands wide. “Man of the match, right here.”
Rachel turned round to glare at them over the blue velvet back of the sofa. “If either of you uses the word “scrum” right now, I’m leaving.”
Georgia leaned against the counter opposite Matt. “If I’d known you were so into post-match analytics, I would've taped a highlights reel.”
“Oh,” Matt agreed. “I’ve made notes. We should definitely review the tape.”
Georgia felt the strength of Rachel’s eyeroll from across the room.
“We’re embarrassing her,” she stage-whispered to Matt. “Forgive my roommate. She’s a prude.”
“Am not!” Rachel was all open-mouthed outrage. Georgia knew this would wind her up: Rachel prided herself on her open-mindedness, on her body positivity. She was also incredibly gay, with a giant squeamish spot when it came to any romance involving men.
Georgia pretended to whisper. “A gay prude.”
Matt lifted his eyebrows in understanding. “Ah,” he repeated, exaggeratedly slow, playing along, “a gay prude.”
Rachel turned, kneeling on the sofa cushions and leaning over the back. “I am not a prude!”
“Shall we test that?” Georgia asked Matt, threading her arms around his neck.
His hands snaked around her waist, pulling her in close.
It was for show, an over-the-top demonstration of affection, but, as Matt lifted her onto the countertop in front of him and stepped between her legs, excitement sparked.
“That’s it.” Rachel stood abruptly, pushing back from the sofa.
“Love you, love this. But nope. Not for me. I’m out of here.
” She crossed the room in a few quick strides.
In less than three seconds, the sound of her bedroom door shutting very firmly echoed down the corridor.
As soon as she was gone, both Matt and Georgia burst into laughter.
“But seriously,” he said once the laughter had died. He leant forwards, trapping her on the counter with his body. “I would like to see you again.”
Georgia melted at his closeness, at the press of him against her. Less than twelve hours ago this man - Matt Mitchell, who she'd fancied almost before she knew what fancying someone meant - had been pressed even closer, had been inside her.
She swallowed. “I’d like that too.” She let her hands drift to the waistband of his trousers, fiddle with the dark denim. Matt leant down and kissed her, slow and thorough, and a spark of desire shot through her.
She pulled back. “I really do have to go. Raincheck?”
He kissed her again, shorter, firmer, and stepped away. “Raincheck.”