bradshaw, 8
NONSENSE BY SAbrINA CARPENTER
I’m standing outside the locker room at the training ground, sipping a coffee, trying to pretend I’m not just gandering for a peek at Oliver.
Technically, I finished what I came here to do ten minutes ago.
I had a few charity appearances to confirm and some media requests to run by the players.
I could have left.
Instead, I’m lingering in the hallway like a teenager with a crush.
Carlos heads out of the locker room with Sebastian trailing behind him.
“There she is!” Carlos says, grinning.
“What’s up, Carlos?”
“Just excited for the match this weekend.” He points at himself proudly. “Three goals.”
“Own goals?” I quip.
“Oh!” Sebastian roars with laughter, like he’s been waiting his whole life for someone to roast Carlos. “She’s good! PR Queen has some fight!”
“PR Queen? Oh, I like that.”
I can see Matt watching the exchange and chuckling to himself, no doubt wondering how he can take credit for any achievement I have, even a fake royal title.
“Are you coming this weekend?” Sebastian asks me.
“Of course.”
“Good. We’ve decided something.” Sebastian smiles as he tugs on the towel around his neck.
“Oh god,” I mutter, already bracing. “Should I be worried?”
“You need your own kit,” Carlos declares, nudging me with his elbow.
“Yeah,” Sebastian adds. “A real one. With your name and everything.”
I blink. “Why?”
“For match days,” Sebastian says. “Plus, we decided.”
I point my coffee at both of them.
“You two making decisions on behalf of the club feels wildly inappropriate.”
“We are men of the people,” Carlos says.
“You are idiots.”
“Also true.”
Sebastian nods. “We contain multitudes.”
“Exactly,” Carlos agrees. “You’re part of the team now.” He says that with such confidence, like he were making a presidential decree. The answer catches me off guard. I glance between them. These ridiculous men. These loud, chaotic, occasionally impossible footballers.
Somewhere along the way, they'd stopped feeling like clients.
They'd become my team.
My people.
My friends.
“But I’m not a player,” I point out.
Sebastian shrugs. “Neither is Luke, and he’s got pretty much all of us on a kit.”
Carlos perks up like he’s just had divine inspiration. “I’ve got it! Pick one of us.”
“What?”
“Pick one of our names,” Carlos explains. “Come on. Who gets the honor?”
“Why don’t you pick for me?”
“Bradshaw,” they say at the exact same time, without even blinking.
I laugh, raising my coffee cup to hide the heat blooming up my neck.
“Why?” I ask, trying to sound casual. Of course it would be Oliver. Of course it would be the man currently taking up all the room in my bed and somehow even more space in my head.
“He’s our leader,” Carlos explains. “It only makes sense that you should go with the captain.”
Sebastian tilts his head and chuckles. “Plus, you’d make it look better than he does.”
“Good luck getting her to listen to you,” Matt says, striding into the hallway having overheard the whole conversation.
He strolls up to us, hands in his pockets, a smug smile locked and loaded. Carlos and Sebastian both straighten, which surprises me.
“She’s not exactly one for letting loose. But hey,” he says with faux modesty, “you’ve done well for yourself. All that pushing I gave you back in the day must have finally sunk in. Look at where we are now.”
I clench my jaw so hard it’s a miracle I don’t crack my teeth. My face must look like I’m passing a kidney stone because Carlos looks at me like he’s checking if I’m going to murder someone. Sebastian mutters something in French under his breath.
“Yeah,” I say sarcastically. “It’s all because of you.”
Matt nods like he genuinely thinks he’s being appreciated. “Of course. Anytime.”
Then, thankfully, he strolls off toward the press area, because there’s nothing he loves more than a camera and a hot microphone.
“Fucking asshole,” Carlos mutters after Matt is out of earshot.
I raise a brow. “Sebastian, what is it that you said?”
He shrugs. “Idiot,” he says with perfect French disdain.
“Fitting.” I laugh, but then realize I shouldn’t be involving my personal feelings with the team. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
Carlos leans a shoulder into mine. “Anything we can do? Slash his tires?”
Sebastian nods thoughtfully. “Light kidnapping?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Moderate kidnapping?”
“Carlos.”
“Just checking.”
Sebastian nods solemnly. “You give the word.”
“Not today.” I smirk. “Just give him a good show on the pitch so he can get what he came for and get the hell out.”
“Yes, PR Queen,” Sebastian says, giggling as he pretends to bow. They both saunter back toward the locker room, and I’m left thinking about their kit suggestion.
Bradshaw. 8.
His name. On my back.
God help me, I like the sound of that way too much.
I’ve got Oliver’s kit on under my jacket, and no one knows.
It’s stupid. Maybe even reckless. And it wasn’t even my idea.
Carlos and Sebastian suggested it, like some kind of tag-team dare they didn’t expect me to actually take. They have no idea what a weighted choice it truly is.
And as I walk through the tunnel toward the locker room corridor, my skin tingles with a feeling that has nothing to do with the chill in the air.
I spot Pippa waiting with Luke, bouncing slightly on her toes, hair tucked into a ponytail. Her eyes light up when she sees me.
“There you are,” she says excitedly.
“Yeah, sorry I’m late.” It took me forever to get here today. Not because of any crowds or traffic. I paced back and forth in my apartment for hours, debating whether to wear Oliver’s kit or not.
A few of the players trickle into the hallway after coming in from warmups. Oliver passes by me and smiles, completely oblivious to what's under my coat.
“I need to talk to you about something,” Pippa says, loud enough that it echoes through the tunnel.
“Okay,” I say slowly, already suspicious.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
I blink. “What?”
“You heard me,” Pippa says. “Romantically. Sexually—”
“Oh god,” Luke groans, looking horrified. “That’s practically my sister, Pips.”
She shoots him a look. “Shut it, or you won’t know anyone sexually either.” Then she turns back to me with a wicked grin. “As I was saying, I have this friend, Callum. He’s really great, Ads. Very cute. Plays piano in a jazz band.”
“And?”
“You want him to tickle your ivories?”
“Jesus,” I hiss, glancing around. “What?”
“Hear me out,” she insists. “He’s responsible. He’s got a dog. He volunteers, probably even recycles.”
“Pippa.”
I glance up, eyes instinctively looking for him. Oliver stands further down the tunnel, head slightly tilted like he’s been watching and listening this entire time, like he’s waiting for my answer. His arms are crossed, but those intense brown eyes are fixed on me.
Shit.
“So, what do you think?” Pippa asks.
“About what?”
“Are you even listening?” Her voice grows louder. “About getting properly railed while you’re here.”
I can feel Oliver’s eyes burning me and I panic.
“Come with me.”
Before she can protest, I grab her wrist and drag her toward Luke's office.
The second the door shuts behind us, she bursts out laughing.
“Addison, what the fuck?”
“I need to tell you something,” I say, already pacing. “I need to tell you, and you can’t tell anyone. Not even your husband.”
“Okay…”
“Swear it, Pips.”
“I swear.” Pippa draws an exaggerated cross over her heart. “Spill.”
I hesitate, then exhale. “I’m sort of… seeing Oliver.” A smug smile spreads across her face and my stomach drops. “You knew?”
“Oh, babe,” she says, laughing. “Of course I knew. The way he looks at you? The way you look at him? Shit. I thought he was going to walk through a wall when I mentioned Callum.”
“Did… did you do that on purpose?”
“Sure did! Callum isn’t even a real person!” Pippa grins, proud of herself. “You both squirmed. You were so awkward I almost felt bad.”
“You made up a fake man?”
“I had to test a theory.”
“Pippa!”
“And my hypothesis was correct!”
I groan, dropping back onto a bench. “We’ve been keeping it secret since December. No strings. Just until the end of the season.”
“That’s never going to work.”
I shrug. “It’s working so far.”
She leans against a filing cabinet. “What’s it like then?”
I grin despite myself. “Honestly? It’s amazing. He cooks. We watch old movies and talk. He just listens, and it’s—”
“You’re mad for him.”
“I am not.”
“Whatever you say, love.” Pippa twirls her fingers casually, like she knows something I don’t. “But I’m not the one wearing his kit under my coat.”
I gape. “How did you—”
“You’re not subtle,” she says with a smirk. “Plus, Carlos and Sebastian told Luke they suggested it to you.”
I groan. “Do they know?”
Pippa laughs. “God, no. They’re daft. They have no idea. But Oliver’s going to lose his mind when he sees it.” She crosses her arms, a devious sparkle in her eyes. “Real talk, though. How’s the sex?”
I choke on air. “Pippa!”
She shrugs. “Come on, love. I’m married, not dead. I can window-shop without buying the product. I want to live vicariously through someone getting railed by Oliver Bradshaw.”
I hide my face in my hands. “Oh my god.”
“You’re glowing! Spill.”
I peek at her through my fingers, then drop them and shake my head, laughing. “It’s… incredible.”
“Fuck.” Her mouth drops open like she’s receiving divine revelation. “I really hate you.”
“I don’t even know how to describe it,” I ramble. “It’s intense, and tender, and really dirty sometimes, and—”
Pippa lets out a muffled scream into her palms, then fans herself dramatically. “It’s hot in here.”
We dissolve into a fit of giggles. Once she catches her breath, she looks at me more seriously. “If it’s so great… why not stay? Make a proper go of it.”
I straighten, my smile fading. “I have rules.”
“Addison,” she says gently, “you’re already breaking some of them.”
I shake my head. “Please. Don’t.”
Her voice softens. “But if it’s so wonderful, then maybe it’s worth finding out if the rules even matter anymore.”
“Pippa.” I swallow hard, staring at the floor. “Please don’t push this. Just be my friend.”
She watches me for a second, then nods. “Okay. I won’t push.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’re mental if you think I’m not going to enjoy this.”
“Fine,” I say, giggling.
I smile and link my arm with hers as we head back out into the tunnel.
I feel better now that someone knows, someone I trust. It feels like I’ve been holding my breath and can finally take a deep breath.
But the worst part? I know she’s right.