Bad Boy Brit (A British Bad Boy Romance) (8 page)

“Why there?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Well yes, I understand that. I was hoping to get some sort of advance preview of what you’ve got planned.”

Liam chuckled, a warm sound which made me melt. “Trust me. You’ll like it,” he said. “Wear something casual and comfortable.”

“Do dates with you always come with a dress code?” As soon as I said it, I regretted my choice of words.

“This is a date, then?” he said.

I would’ve been prepared to swear on my life that I could actually hear Liam smiling.

“For want of a better word.”

“Nah. I like the word ‘date’.”

“I’m actually starting to prefer ‘meeting’,” I said in a coy tone.

“Well, whatever you want to call it…tonight at midnight, outside the stadium. You’ll be there?”

“Sure. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then. Bye.”

As I hung up, I took a moment to wonder if I was doing the right thing. Leaving aside the fact that I was taking my career into my own hands, it was all so sudden, all so quick, all so unlike the sort of thing that I would normally do. But then again, perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. I’d often been told I was too uptight and serious.

Besides…how often did a perfectly normal girl like me get asked out by one of the most famous sports stars in the world?

Chapter 8

Liam

As a rule, I didn’t go through any great preparations before a date—just being myself was usually enough for me to get away with making the bare minimum of effort. But, as another rule, I didn’t usually go out with girls like Allison.

I had a feeling that being my usual ‘media’ self would not be enough for her. In fact, I couldn’t quite get over the sense that she was going out with me not
because
I was Liam Croft, but in spite of it. Usually girls expected me to be the arrogant playboy they saw on the news, but from what I’d seen of her serious attitude so far, Allison would probably roll her beautiful eyes and leave if I started acting like a cocky douchebag.

I found myself quite excited by the prospect of having to actually put in some real effort. The truth was that I didn’t much like the media’s version of Liam Croft—as I’d mentioned in the interview earlier—so it would be a relief to leave that idiot behind for an evening.

This being the case, I found myself putting far more effort into pre-date preparations than I usually did. I’d specified casual clothes to Allison and was dressing casually myself, but still spent several long minutes going through my wardrobe and trying to pick out the
right
casual clothes. I had to look casual, but I didn’t want her to think that I wasn’t trying at all. Then again, if I looked as if I was trying too hard, that would make me seem like the type of man who put a lot of stock in clothes, even when they were casual, and I didn’t want that either.

Goddammit…why did this stuff have to be so hard? Was this what women usually went through when they got ready for a date?

I had to hit a nice middle ground, and I had to do all of this without it seeming as if I had purposely done any of it. That alone raised even more questions. Should I shave or was stubble more attractive, or did leaving the stubble make it seem as if I was trying to appear attractive? And what about aftershave? If I wasn’t shaving, was aftershave redundant or presumptuous, even though it smelled nice? Was that too much for a casual first date at a football stadium?

Fuck, I had no idea. There was just so much stuff to consider; stuff I usually didn’t think twice about.

I was therefore running five minutes late when I left my place, baseball cap pulled low and hood up to avoid recognition, which was more and more of an issue these days, even at night. Fortunately I was, as ever, comfortable running without working up an unpleasant sweat, and I managed to only be three minutes late by the time I arrived at the stadium, where I found Allison already waiting for me.

“Thought you might have changed your mind,” she said, smiling at me as I approached. She said it with a joking tone, but I thought I could sense a genuine fear that she was hiding behind the joke.

I smiled back at her. “Not a chance. You look great.”

Allison did a little twirl so I could admire the tracksuit she was wearing. “They’ll all be wearing them in Paris this year.”

I grinned. “They won’t wear them half as well as you.”

Allison smiled shyly, clearly a little embarrassed by the flattery. Usually women ate up the flattering comments with no shame and trawled for more and more, but once again, she was different to all of them.

I fucking loved that about her.

“So why am I wearing this? Can you tell me now?” she asked.

I held up my hand. “Almost. I promise. Follow me.”

I felt a fluttering thrill in my chest as I led the way to the players’ entrance with Allison a step behind me. I didn’t usually feel like this when I was out with a woman; in fact, I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt like this before in my whole bloody life. So what exactly was different about this girl, that she could make my heart race without even touching me, by her presence alone? I wasn’t entirely sure, but I was determined to enjoy the hell out of it.

“Ever been on a British football pitch? A real one, I mean?” I asked.

“No. But I’ve always wanted to, ever since I was a kid.”

I could hear the barely restrained excitement in her voice as she spoke.

“Well, I thought as much, so tonight’s the night.”

“Really?” That thin veil of restraint was gone now, and Allison beamed like a toddler watching Finding Nemo for the first time.

“I think someone who loves the game as much as you should have the chance at least once.”

I’d been a little proud of myself when I’d thought of it; if there was a better first date than fulfilling one of someone’s lifelong dreams, then I couldn’t imagine what it would be.

“Seeing the place when it’s full is pretty special,” I said, as we approached the door to the players’ entrance. “Don’t get me wrong—that’s how it’s meant to be: full of people, full of action, full of football. But when there’s nobody here…well, it’s got a quiet magic all of its own. I think you’ll really like it.”

“They just give players the key to the place so they can come and go?” Allison asked, somewhat surprised.

I shook my head. “Fuck no. Trust me, if players could just bring girls here, there’d be a queue outside and naked ass-prints all over the grass. Which would really interfere with play,” I said. “Not that that’s why I’m bringing you here,” I added hastily.

“So if you don’t have a key…” Allison said, her voice trailing off as she implied a question.

“I asked management if it was okay for me to come by and show you around after hours,” I said. I was subtly avoiding really answering the question which was going to answer itself in a moment or so.

“And they said yes?”

“Not exactly.”

We finally reached the door, and I shot a look over my shoulder, then up to a security camera trained on the door. “Evening, Reg.”

The security camera nodded up and down on its articulated arm in a polite greeting and then turned demurely to face elsewhere.

“What the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve about,” I said with a cheeky wink, hoping this would soften what I was about to do.

After all, you never knew how a girl was going to react to breaking and entering.

Allison gasped as I brought out a set of lock picks and knelt to work on the lock. “Oh my god! You’re picking the lock?”

“Yep.”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get caught? More to the point, aren’t you afraid
we’ll
get caught?”

The door clicked open and I smiled what I hoped was a confident, but also comforting, smile. “Old Reg is all right. Me and him go way back; he’s happy to look the other way for an hour or two. Trust me. No one will ever find out, and you’ll love having the whole pitch to yourself. That’s why we had to come so late.”

I held the door open for Allison, and after a moment’s consideration, she walked through.

“If he’s such a good friend, why didn’t he just unlock the door for you?” she asked.

“Because picking the lock is so much more impressive,” I said with another roguish smirk.

“Yeah…in prison, maybe.” Allison flashed me a look, and I was forced to reflect that she saw through my bullshit a lot better than any other girl I’d ever met. I might have to stick to the truth tonight.

I sighed. “Okay, truth is, if the camera’s pointing the wrong way at the crucial moment, then that’s nobody’s fault. But if he were to actually unlock the door for me, well…then Reg could lose his job. I’m not having that on my account.”

Allison nodded; that, she obviously believed.

“This way.” I led the way through a maze of darkened corridors, picking up a football on the way. Allison followed.

“Where did you learn to pick locks?” she asked.

I shrugged. “In my part of town everyone knew how. You just sort of learned as a matter of course. I think me and Dean would’ve starved if we hadn’t known. Couldn’t tell you who taught me—Dean probably—but it never leaves you. Just like riding a bike. Which is something I’d never have learned to do if I hadn’t known how to pick a bike lock.” I paused, not wanting to spoil the moment but not wanting her to misunderstand either. “I’m not proud of it, you know—stealing someone else’s bike. Not what you’d call proud at all. It’s the way it was, and now it’s part of who I am.”

Allison simply nodded, and in the dark, I felt her take my hand and give it a gentle squeeze before releasing it again.

“This way.”

I led on, my heart threatening to burst out of my chest; it was beating that fucking fast from her touch alone.

A few moments later and an open door loomed ahead of us, picked out by the pale moonlight that shone through.

“Here we go.”

We passed through the door.

“Oh my…” Allison seemed unable to complete the sentence, so overwhelmed by the sight she was now presented with. Her hands flew to her mouth as her eyes widened to try and take in all they saw. She turned around and around as we walked out onto the grass, gazing in wonder at the stadium she’d probably seen so many times but was now seeing from a completely different perspective.

I watched her. Her reaction was exactly the same as mine had been when I’d first walked out here, and that fact made this moment all the more special.

“It’s so…” Allison still seemed unable to successfully complete a sentence.

“Awesome, isn’t it?” Placing the ball on the ground for the time being, I started to walk back towards the entrance. “Stay there a minute.”

From the looks of her, I couldn’t have removed Allison even if I tried. She continued to turn around and around, still gaping, and still going through some private moment of revelation.

At a jog, I hurried to the electrician’s booth. It was locked, but that didn’t present me with any major problem. Once inside, I ran my hand down a row of switches, wishing I could’ve been out on the pitch to see Allison’s reaction as the huge arc lights that lit the stadium burst into brilliant light, turning night into day.

I hurried back out to the stadium itself. Allison was now sitting cross-legged, almost in the center of the pitch, her head lolled back, gazing up at the lights. As I drew closer, I saw her close her eyes, and I thought I knew why.

“Can you hear them?”

Allison opened her eyes again to look up at me. “Hear who?”

“The fans.”

Allison grinned involuntarily and I knew that I’d guessed right. Again, I’d done the exact same thing when I’d first come out here; closed my eyes and imagined the roar of the crowd around me, lifting me, energizing me.

“How do you do it?” Allison asked.

“What?”

“I mean, doesn’t it make you nervous? Knowing that all these people—
all
these people—are here for you. They’re relying on you. Cheering when you do good, blaming you and yelling at you when you screw up. Doesn’t that make you nervous?”

I nodded. “Of course it does. But…” I thought about the question. There was of course the standard media answer but that didn’t come close to being the truth. “I guess,” I finally said, “that’s what drives me to win.”

Allison nodded. “Seems to work, huh?”

“Yeah. So far, so good.” I gazed around at the empty seats. In a way I preferred them like this. “Can’t last forever, though.” I looked back down at her. “I never asked; why did your editor let you stay if the article was finished?”

Allison looked away, apparently embarrassed. “I told him there was a bigger story…that there was a rumor saying you were considering moving to the US.”

“What?” I said, chuckling. “I’m not, you know. That’s more of an end of career thing.”

“I know.” Allison nodded shyly, still unwilling to meet my gaze. “I guess I just…I wasn’t ready to go yet. I guess I wanted to see you again.”

“You did, huh?”

Only now did she look up, and our eyes met. The look between us couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds and yet it felt far longer. There was a heat; an electricity that crackled through the crisp night air. It was something that, for now at least, neither of us seemed ready to deal with, and we both looked away almost simultaneously.

I cursed myself—I should have gone for it in that moment. But then again, that was what the cocky asshole version of me would’ve done: conquered the girl and taken the prize. I wasn’t him tonight. Tonight, I was a new version of myself. A
better
version of myself; the kind of guy who actually gave a fuck about a woman.

I picked up the football.

“So, do you just know the game or do you actually play?”

Allison stood. “Seriously? I get to play on this pitch?”

I grinned. “That’s what it’s for. I didn’t just bring you out here to look at it.”

Allison looked around nervously. “I guess, but…”

“Unless you’re chicken.”

That did it. I saw the fire ignite in her eyes as she drew herself up to her full height— at five foot two, it was barely worth doing but she did it anyway. She was so small that I wanted to pick her up, squeeze her and carry her around like a caveman, but I refrained and kept my distance.

“I’ll show you who’s a chicken. Toss me the ball!” she called out.

I threw the ball to her and she caught it on one foot, kicked it from one to the other for a while, then caught it on her head to balance it there a second. Then she let it drop to the ground and placed her foot on it with an air of smug finality.