Bad Boy Brit (A British Bad Boy Romance) (15 page)

It was strange; the things you became attached to.

“It wasn’t that long ago, you know,” Allison said with a smile.

I smiled back. “Footballers age like dogs, seven years to every one. A few years is a very long time in a footballer’s career. By the way, do you want to see inside the locker rooms?”

I wanted to show her anything that mattered to me, and that ratty little building was a landmark in my life.

“Sure.”

We strolled back across the pitch.

“What was the deal with John?” asked Allison.

“What do you mean?” I asked, playing dumb. Again, I’d rather hoped she wouldn’t ask. I didn’t like even the suggestion of me being ‘Saint Liam’, patron of the downtrodden, partly because that seemed too much as if I was
trying
to impress her, but mostly because knowing that I did something seemed to highlight how little I really did in the end.

“You said his Dad should give you a call.”

There seemed to be no getting away from the question, so I took a deep breath, determined to get through this as quickly as possible. “How these kids grow up is dependent on their parents. All these kids—all the ones you met today—they have great parents. Nothing like mine and Dean’s situation. But sometimes the best parents struggle to put food on the table, through no fault of their own. I don’t want to step in like some sort of…I don’t know…some sort of money fairy. These are proud people and they take pride in sorting their own lives out for themselves and not taking charity from anyone. Which I guess is why I’m okay to help, because I know if they take help from me then it’s because they
really
need it, for the sake of their kids. Like I said, I don’t want to… you know, lord it over them. But I like them to know that if they need help; I’m there.”

I shook my head and continued. “It’s a horrible line to walk, but if you don’t at least offer, then what sort of a person are you?”

I tried to say the last sentence with a degree of finality; drawing a line under the subject. Allison seemed to understand, because she nodded and didn’t press me about the subject anymore.

We arrived at the locker rooms and I took out my key.

“Not picking the lock this time?” Allison said in a teasing tone. She was consciously lightening things after the more serious conversation, and I was very grateful for it.

“I already impressed you with that the other night. Don’t need to do it again,” I said with a wink.

“Yeah, the lock-picking was totally the only reason I slept with you,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

I chuckled, opened the door and led Allison in.

As soon as I entered, as always happened when I came here, I found myself almost overwhelmed with a barrage of sights and smells that awakened a hundred latent memories, all of them good. This place was the keystone of my life—it held that life together. It was a dump too, of course, but…

“I should probably offer to have this place redone, to be honest,” I admitted as Allison took it all in. “It’s a bit of a shit-hole, but…well, it’s my shit-hole!”

“You have such an eloquent way with words, Liam. Maybe you should be a poet,” she teased.

I grinned. “You know what I mean. I have such great memories of this place that changing any bit of it is really tough for me. Even though I know that when the improvements have been made, a whole new bunch of kids will come in and make memories of their own…every bit as important as mine. And upgrading this place wouldn’t take away my memories. It’s selfish, but…” I pointed to a dented locker. “I did that. We lost an easy match. I missed a sitter in front of the goal. Could’ve made it a draw.”

Why was that a good memory? Perhaps because it was another moment that had made me who I was.

I watched Allison’s face as she sat on one of the wooden, slatted benches that stood in the middle of the little room and looked around her. I felt like I could see her thoughts, all outlined on that expressive face. She knew locker rooms—every sports journalist did—they were odd places, repositories of emotion. In here, victories had been celebrated and losses mourned, stirring half-time talks had been given amidst the sound of oranges being chewed, angry rants had been delivered into the faces of disappointing players and plaudits given on a dignified defeat. Locker rooms soaked all that up and then gave it back as an atmosphere that hung in the air: the accumulated memories of a thousand games distilled.

Allison seemed to be listening to what this one had to say.

She looked up at me. “I get it.”

I couldn’t help smiling. I suddenly felt the need to give her something back—a reward for ‘getting it. “You didn’t ask about Harry.”

Allison shrugged. “You want to be yourself around the kids and, ironically, you can’t be yourself if you come as yourself.”

“That about nails it.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Yes and no. I mean, on the one hand it’s really cool to know that those kids would like me and respect me even if I wasn’t Liam Croft. They’re not bullshitting me or hoping that I’m their ticket out of here.” That was probably selfish for me to say as well. The next bit certainly was. “On the other hand, I’d love for people to know that there’s more to the real me than girls and booze. You know, I chat to these kids and, much as they all like Harry, and maybe look up to him a bit, it’s Liam Croft that they love and, more worryingly, he’s their role model. I can’t tell them what a dick I think Liam Croft is without losing their trust. And also being a bit of a hypocrite, seeing as I
am
Liam.”

“Couldn’t the media version of you have a bit of a change of heart?” Allison said. “Would supporting a football team in your hometown really damage your reputation?”

“I said pretty much exactly that to Brian,” I replied. “He said ‘name ten footballers who do that. Now name twenty more. You can keep doing that up to one hundred, two hundred. There’s nothing unique about it, everyone does it. Liam Croft has to be different, special, unique—the playboy player. And that lifestyle comes with a bunch of arrogance and selfishness. Liam Croft can’t care about anyone’.”

“Doesn’t that make you mad?”

“Of course it does. But…” I struggled to justify my life, a life that deep down even I didn’t believe in. “Brian’s right. This is the secret of my success. This is why I’m popular, this is what got me a lifestyle that—God help me—I’ve enjoyed, and allowed me to play football, which I love.”

Even as I said it, I hated myself a little. How long could I pretend that it was all Brian’s doing? It wasn’t like I’d been brainwashed, but if you grew up with nothing and someone offered you the world, then you took it, no matter the conditions, and you did whatever it took to keep things going well.

Allison said nothing. I’d convinced her no more than I’d convinced myself.

I tried again. “When my playing career’s over, then I can do this stuff.” It was a future plan that I often used to justify my present; exactly what I’d brought up in the interview the other day. “Then I can be the guy I’d like to be now.”

“And that will mean something,” Allison said with a nod. “But you won’t have the influence over these kids that you could have now, as a current star.”

“I know.”

Of course I knew.

Dammit, why was she always seeing straight through me?

I went and sat down next to her. “You know, you’re right. I’ll talk to Brian again. My life is fun, and I love it. But I’m not sure I
like
that I love it, and I don’t love being forced to pretend I haven’t met the woman of my…”

My voice trailed off and I coughed. We’d only known each other for a few days, so it would probably be weird if I admitted to Allison that she was my dream girl.

“Anyway, I know these kids envy that life they see in the media, and I don’t blame them, but I’d really rather they didn’t.”

“That makes sense,” she said.

I looked over at her. “You look really nice today, by the way. Should have said earlier. I always forget these things.”

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself,” she said, mischief lighting her eyes.

I returned my gaze to a roving path around the little locker room. “The best memories of my childhood are almost all from this room. I’d love it if I could help another generation of kids to have memories as good as mine.”

I felt Allison’s hand on my face, gently guiding me back to look at me. “If anyone can, it’s you. The real Liam. Not the dick on the news, not even the player on the pitch, but the man in here.”

She touched my chest.

With that simple gesture, it was as if she’d touched a nerve that ran between us. Suddenly the room seemed very hot, and our breathing very loud. Allison leaned forward to kiss me, gently at first, becoming more passionate as I responded.

“So we’re still not calling this a date?” I murmured as she left my lips to kiss my chin, my cheek, my neck.

“Shut up,” Allison murmured back. I felt her hand moving up my leg, drawing down the zipper of my pants and reaching inside.

Well, well…it looked like I was about to make yet another good memory in this locker room…

Chapter 15

Allison

Truth be told, this wasn’t the first time that I’d hooked up with a guy in a locker room. It wasn’t necessarily something that I was proud of, and it was definitely not something I would’ve mentioned to Liam, or indeed to anyone else, but I’d always loved sports, inevitably had a bit of thing for sportsmen, and subsequently found locker rooms a bit of a turn-on. So, when I was younger—not
that
young, but young enough—there had been a few times when my old boyfriend and I had given way to the urges.

The possibility of someone walking in always seemed so exciting when I thought about it in advance, but during the event, it was pretty distracting and actually got in the way of my enjoyment. And, however much my fantasy of a locker room made it seem like a sexy place, the reality was pretty smelly and not at all comfortable: the benches were hard, the floor was harder, the showers were freezing, the lockers were noisy. Short of piling used sports clothes and damp towels into a makeshift bed, where could you actually do it?

For all those reasons, and the fact that I’d grown a little older and a little wiser, I was now beyond such fantasies.

Or so I’d thought...

This current encounter with Liam was nothing like those late teen fumblings—always uncomfortable, always afraid of being disturbed. The bench I was lying on now, drawing Liam down over me, was probably as hard and unpleasant as those I’d laid on previously, but I didn’t even notice. The risk of someone walking in was presumably just as big—looking out across the room as Liam undid my blouse, kissing his way down my trembling skin, I could see that we’d left the door unlocked—but I just didn’t care. In some ways, we could’ve been absolutely anywhere right now, because all I felt was him; there was nothing and no one else in the world
but
him.

And yet in another sense, the fact that it was happening here was important, here in this place that meant so much to him; this touchstone of his existence. I was now a part of that, and a part of his history.

And perhaps a part of his future.

With urgent hands, I pulled Liam down roughly on top of me, unable to be without him for another moment. He kissed me hard, our tongues meeting in a furious dance, breaking for a second to allow me to rip his T-shirt off over his head and toss it across the room. I felt his hard, bare chest rub against me, and an irresistible pulse of desire flared through me, focused on my core.

“God, don’t make me wait!” I gasped between kisses.

If Liam had been slightly tentative to that point, then those words let him off the leash. His lips never leaving my mouth, he reached for my belt, unfastening it with practiced ease before unbuttoning my jeans. Looping fingers into the waistbands of both jeans and panties, he leaned back and yanked both garments down my legs. They caught momentarily.

“Damn shoes…”

Then I was naked from the waist down, staring up at Liam, and he looked down at me with an animalistic hunger in his eyes that only excited me more. He still wanted me as much as I wanted him. My eyes drifted down to between his legs, and I reached for him.

He was more than ready for me.

In a moment he was back on top of me, our bodies meeting from top to toe, and in another moment I gasped in desperate, almost anguished pleasure—he was inside me.

The other night at the stadium had been fun, an enjoyable exercise in seeing just how many places in one room and how many times we could do it before one or the other became just too exhausted to continue. It was passionate as well, certainly, but above all, it had been fun.

This was different.

Not because it wasn’t fun, but because it was more heated, more focused; the pleasure seemed concentrated to a white-hot lance of sensation, piercing me. In the stadium, we’d wanted each other—in fact, I’d wanted him more than I’d ever wanted another man in my entire life. But here and now, I
needed
him, felt as if I might die if I didn’t have him.

With closed eyes, I slid a hand up his steel arm and snaked it up behind him to the nape of his neck as he withdrew before thrusting deeply inside me again. Gathering his thick, soft hair between my fingers, I pressed my lips against his and immediately decided that it wouldn’t be so bad if I drowned in his scent. Liam returned my kiss, and I loved every second of the moment; his hungry lips, his steady hands holding me on the bench, his stiff manhood buried between my legs…all of it.

I wanted him to kiss me even harder. I wanted his teeth grazing my skin in breathless bites, and his tongue sliding up and down my neck and breasts.

I wanted
him.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growled into my ear, moving his lips against my cheek. I felt him pepper kisses in a trail from my ear to my neck before taking a detour back to my mouth. His right palm circled my nipples, and I cried out.

“Don’t stop…oh, god, yes!”

He slid out and picked me up a moment later, and I yelped in surprise as he maneuvered me so that I was bent over the bench, my hands pressed against the cold wood. He spread my legs and entered me from behind, and finally he was inside me again, fucking me harder than anything I’d ever felt. I was wet and hot for him, so I could take anything he gave me, and sighs and moans of pleasure spilled from my lips with every hard movement.

His fingers dug into my hips as he plowed into me, pressing my knees back together so that I was almost too tight against him. There was no worry about getting caught now; the thoughts had simply vanished from my mind in my heated bliss. There was just me and Liam in the locker room, his harsh breathing as he took me in punishing strokes, filling me completely and utterly until there was no room for anything else in the world except us.

Us.
That felt nice to say.

Soon each stroke was taking my breath away and making my mind go completely and utterly blank. I felt myself peak, feeling the hot gush as I came all over his cock, hard and pulsing. I was too far gone to really know what was happening in my body, drowning in sensation, and when the point of no return came, I thought I might black out from the tight intensity of it, tugging me in, suffusing every cell. Every inch of my body seemed to cry out in frustration, only to be suddenly and wonderfully fulfilled in a tidal wave of overwhelming, voiding orgasm.

“Oh…” It was all I could say as my body went from tight to limp, my muscles relaxing in a blissful post-coital wash that flowed across me.

Liam finished with a gasp, and we lay down on the cold floor, grateful for the relief on our hot, perspiring bodies. Liam was almost as out of breath as I was, and as he wrapped me into his arms, our sweat mingling, I felt like we might dissolve into each other. I slid my arms around him too, holding him gently but firmly against me—a silent ‘thank you’ and an attempt to retain that sweet intimacy for as long as I could.

When we’d laid there for a while, long enough to get our breath back and recover some strength in our exhausted bodies, we got up, unconcerned by our nakedness, and, holding hands, we made our way into the showers.

“Damn!” I squealed as the freezing cold water hit me, puckering my skin to gooseflesh.

“Shit. Okay, I definitely need to replace the showers in here!” Liam said beside me. “It’s so bloody cold!”

“I can tell,” I said with a giggle, noticing where the cold water had particularly shrunken him.

“Hey, that’s not fair! Don’t judge me on this. I’m freezing…and tired,” he said with a wink. “Besides, this water isn’t half as cold as your heart.”

“Hilarious,” I said, gathering up a handful of water before throwing it at him.

I loved that we were already at the stage where we were comfortable enough to tease each other and make silly jokes. It normally took me months to be like that with a new guy, but Liam and I had reached that stage in what felt like no time at all.

We showered in each other’s arms, washing the sweat of passion from each other’s bodies. Afterwards, Liam fetched towels from the equipment locker, and with careful purpose, he dried my body, neglecting no area. I happily performed the same duty for him, my eyes never leaving his gorgeous face, even as I felt his cock stirring back to life.

“Really? Already?” I asked, one eyebrow arched.

Liam answered with a smile.

“Sorry, but you’re going to have to wait,” I said, poking my tongue out at him before turning around to find my clothes. “I’m hungry.”

We dressed, both finding that we were missing a button or two from our earlier activities, and then we were ready to go.

Liam took a last look around the locker room. “It’s time, I think.”

“Time?”

“To take this place down and replace it with something better.”

“Jeez, the sex was that bad, huh?” I said with a teasing grin. “Gotta tear the place down to get rid of the memory?”

He chuckled. “Nah. I’ve got so many good memories here, but I’m never going to top that one. I want this afternoon to be the last memory I have of this place.”

I went to him, and he folded me into his arms, kissing me and stroking my hair. It was strange, I thought: last night I’d been as angry at him as I ever could’ve been, and this morning I’d been wondering if I could ever really trust him. So had I answered those questions? In a way; no—I had no more firm evidence that I could trust him now than I’d had before.

And yet I did trust him and felt no need for evidence of any sort, beyond the evidence of my heart and the way it skipped a beat every time I saw him.

“Will this pitch be part of the foundation you were talking about in our interview the other day?” I asked as Liam locked up the locker room. “Somewhere for the kids you’re helping to play.”

Liam shook his head. “We can build something new for that. I don’t want this place to change too much. It’s always been here for the local kids to play on and that’s how it should stay. I can buy boots, fix goalposts, replace locker rooms, maybe get the place re-sodded—because this grass is looking torn up—but in the end it belongs to the community. For parents and their toddlers as much as teens with their friends. If it became part of my foundation then it’d be something else, and it’d be like I was claiming ownership of something that wasn’t mine. No, this place will always be what it is: a bit down-at-heel, a bit short of funds, and absolutely essential.”

I could only smile and nod. He knew exactly what he wanted. There was a whole great picture in his mind, which was not something I would ever have guessed about him before meeting him. He’d surpassed my expectations in so many ways.

“Probably goes without saying,” he said as we walked back across the pitch in the direction of the tube station. “But I don’t want this area overrun with fans thinking it’s cool to take over the pitch and play where their favorite football star grew up. So I’d prefer you to keep this stuff to yourself.”

“Oh, too late, I secretly filmed everything we did today and already sent it to every media outlet,” I said with a grin.

“Ah, now who’s the hilarious one?” he said, playfully jostling me and chuckling.

“I guess I also better cancel my scheduled press conference where I tell them about that shower back there.”

“Hey, it was cold in that shower!”

We laughed together as we walked on.

“Listen,” I said, aware that I was about to raise a sensitive issue. “I understand why you don’t want those kids to know who you are, because ‘Harry’ is a better role model and because you don’t want them to be idolizing you unconditionally, but…”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“Well, I’m going to say it anyway. Why wouldn’t you want people to know? Then you could be a role model worth being, rather than just a bad boy star. Why wouldn’t you want people to know that you have this connection to your past? That you care about where you come from? I mean, you touched on the issue in the interview you gave me the other day, but not
this
much,” I said. “I guess what I mean is, you’d be better able to preserve this place for future generations if you were able to use your own name.”

Liam looked dead ahead, refusing to meet my gaze directly. “Because that’s not Liam Croft.”

“Except it
is
.”

“I doubt my manager would think that’s a good id…”

“Oh, screw Brian!”

“He’s got my best interests at heart, you know. He’s done me well so far. That’s why I tend to listen to him.”

“Something tells me he only has his own interests at heart,” I muttered.

“Look…what if,” Liam now faced me, making his point with keen intent, “what if I’m better able to help these kids in the future
because
of the path I choose now? What if Brian is right, and if I stop being Liam Croft the drunken arse, then my whole career comes tumbling down? Then I lose the ability to ever help them. Did you consider that yet?”

He had a point, but I still disagreed for various reasons. I blew a raspberry at him instead of saying so.

“That’s not a cogent argument,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, it’s all the argument I can be bothered to give to that load of crap that Brian’s obviously spoon-fed you. Liam, as long as you can play, then I think your career will be fine. Maybe—and I’m specifically saying ‘maybe’ not ‘definitely’—you would make less money from endorsement and all that, if you just played football and were a generally decent human being who was respectful to women and didn’t act like a dick. I think that’d be a pretty sad state of affairs, but
maybe
. But even if that were the case, do you really think your income would drop that low? You’d still be the best football player in the world, and, as far as I understand it, that’s a pretty damn well paid job. Do you want me to list the millionaire sportsmen who manage to be millionaire sportsmen without acting like a frat boy overdosing on Viagra?”