Chapter 5
Chapter five
Emily
Regardless of the fact that I was fully humbled by Jess and Dan last week and that Jack is obviously not interested, I haven't been able to keep my eyes off the tattooed God this whole match. He played the full ninety-five minutes with extra time, and he scored two out of the three goals for his team. Having no casualties to attend meant that I could be pitch side to watch the whole thing. I’ve seen him play before, but now it’s like there is no one else on the team.
Even when the ball was at the other end of the pitch, I was watching him, hands on his hips as he gulped down large breaths, filling up his well sculpted chest. Then, when the ball came in to range, the utter focus he had, sprinting on those thick legs to secure a tackle.
Unbelievably sexy.
Oh no. I do not fancy Jack Cartwright.
I need to apologise for being a bitch, then I can get him out of my head and not need to stare at him for a whole match to see if he looks like someone hurt his feelings.
God, he probably doesn't even remember the conversation. I really do need to check my ego.
“Game’s over, Em.” Daves voice startles me as he nudges me out of my daydream. I blink and my eyes refocus to see the team clapping and walking to greet the fans at the side of the pitch. I stand and let out an embarrassed laugh, “Sorry, must have been miles away.”
Yes, miles away thinking about Jack Cartwright’s thick thighs. Hussy.
I stand and make my way inside as small drops of rain start to fall from the sky. “Eeesh, are you sure you don’t want a lift home?” Dave turns and asks.
Ahh yes, my car. My exhaust fell off this morning on the way to the gym.
Dave picked me up for tonight’s match, but my house is twenty minutes out of his way and it’s Tuesday night.
I know Dave gets up for work at five a.m., and I would rather eat my own hair then inconvenience someone.
“Honestly, it’s fine, I’ll get the bus. It’s only a little water. ”
A little water turned into a freezing cold February downpour. And in a surprising turn of events the bus is twenty minutes late. And in what is just my luck, the bus stop has no shelter. Oh, and my jacket isn’t as waterproof as I first thought.
Anyway, why would the bus be on time? Not that I’m getting absolutely piss wet through or anything.
***
Jack
“Two out of three. Jack, how does that feel?” The reporter asks as a mic is thrust under my face.
I grin unable to keep it in. “Incredible,” I reply. Not lying at all.
It does feel incredible, these moments when we’re on top, knowing I helped get us there.
It’s why I was hired; I used to be a top goal scorer with City.
After my accident my pace dropped so I couldn’t keep up with the premier league players, but I could still score goals, and I was desperate to still play football.
After many discussions with my manager and my family we decided I should still play, just in a lower league.
It was never about the money for me. I make that on brand deals and through sponsors.
It’s always been about the game. When we have games this good, and I perform like that, I can’t help but be elated.
The fact that a certain first aider was sat pitch side, eyes always on me, helped massively with this good mood I am in.
I have decided that is the best thing about playing in a lower league, how close the fans are to the pitch.
I can see exactly who can’t take their eyes off me.
My grin widens remembering those green eyes following me up and down the pitch.
“Your leg not giving you a hard time, then?” The reporter asks.
“I’m as healthy as I always have been.” Again, not a lie, but a definite avoidance of the question.
My hip is well and truly ‘giving me a hard time,’ I am in absolute agony and will be off to see the team physio as soon as this round of interviews is done.
I will never be fully better, if I keep pushing it like this then my replacement won’t hold up.
Money can buy the best surgeons, equipment and recovery resources, but I can only push as much as it will let me.
But I can’t give up the sport, it was never just my dream.