Punt: A British Bad Boy Football Romance (9 page)

“Audrey…” Liam said.

“No,” she said, cutting him off with a shake of her head. “Don’t. I don’t know why this keeps happening, this… chemistry, this pull between us. But it has to stop.”

“You’re overreacting,” Liam said, keeping his voice low.

“No, I’m not. You and I come from two different worlds, Liam. On top of that, I’m your employee. There’s a piece of paper that we both signed saying that fraternization could get us fired.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Say something. Anything! Put distance between you and Liam, you idiot!

“You don’t know that. Let me tell you something you do know, though. You know that if Jack finds out about us, he’s not going to react well.”

“I don’t think so,” Liam said.

“Really? Liam, he worships you. Has since the second he met you. He considers you his best friend, his famous best friend at that. It’s the one thing he boasts about, the one thing he thinks makes him special and cool.”

Liam went silent, brow creasing as he considered that.

“I didn’t know that,” he admitted.

“Well, now you do. I don’t know how he’d feel about your part in it, since he thinks you walk on fucking water, but I know that he’d think I was trying to hurt him. Trying to take you from him.”

Liam waited a beat, then dropped his gaze. “That’s fucking rubbish.”

“It is what it is and nothing more,” Audrey said.

People in the room were standing up now, beginning to leave. Going in search of more private places to finish their trysts, perhaps.

“Audrey, wait,” he said when she stood and moved toward the door.

“I have to get my coat,” she said, changing the subject. “But I think we should leave, don’t you?”

Liam hesitated for a second. “I have to see Madame Richaud again. Just for a second. Do you feel safe going to the car alone?”

“I’m fine,” Audrey said. Truthfully, a little solitude was all she wanted right now in her whole life.

Liam gave her a final glance, then handed her the car keys and turned to seek out their hostess. After grabbing her coat, Audrey strode to the car, berating herself the whole way.

She knew better than to kiss Liam. She knew better than to let herself get a crush on her employer, her brother’s best friend.

Not only that, but Liam could have anyone he wanted. If Audrey let herself get caught up in the whirlwind, she’d spend the rest of her employment sourly watching him hook up with girl after girl.

She’d be setting herself up for failure and heartbreak. No doubt about it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Sliding into the car, she closed her eyes and tried to quell the anger roiling in her heart.

It was going to be a long ride back to the city.

T
o say
Sunday morning’s match was rough would be kindness bordering on deception.

At the beginning, Liam was stunned to walk out onto the pitch and see the new stadium stands packed with curious fans. It made his blood run hot, knowing all those eyes were watching, waiting for him to do what he did so well.

He loved this feeling. Loved this bloody game. The feel of the fresh turf under his feet, the smell of the grass, the sound of the fans cheering — so loud, sometimes, that he could feel the vibration of it sinking into his very bones.

“I didn’t expect so many Americans to turn out,” Liam’s teammate Alejandro said as they trotted out to their positions at the center of the field.

Liam shook his head. “Here’s the proof. They love it almost as much as the Scots, eh? The whole bloody place is packed,” he said, pointing to the stands.

A little cheer went up when he pointed, and he made sure to wave and grin as he moved. Atlanta Unified was selling him hard as an essential feature of the team, and he wanted to give the crowd their money’s worth.

Okay, maybe I like the blind adoration too
, he admitted to himself.
And getting to run circles around my opponents, that bit’s not bad either.

Today they were playing against Los Angeles Galaxy, the top-ranked US team. It wasn’t the easiest way to start their season, but that was fine with Liam.

Easy wasn’t really his thing, on or off the field. He might be a hot shot in England, but here he still had a lot to prove. A lot of hype that needed living up to.

A grin spread across his face as he took his place, ready to show America exactly what he was made of.

The beginning of the game was quick and intense. A lot of quick passing, with the ball going out of bounds quite a bit. The teams were testing each other, watching to gauge the strength of the other’s offense and defense.

Who was fast, who was cutthroat, who was weak. The first minutes established that both teams had fairly strong defense coupled with quick, focused offensive players.

As center forward, Liam’s job was simple. At the beginning of each play, the black and white ball was set precisely in the middle of the field. At the starting whistle, Liam was to surge forward and gain control of the ball, passing it to a midfielder.

Then he was supposed to sprint toward the other team’s goal, receive a pass from a teammate, and slam the ball into the goal by absolutely any means possible.

It was a process he loved, more than anything in the world. In the beginning seconds of a game, his excitement was so strong that he often got half a hard-on, just thinking about how amazing the coming ninety minutes would be.

Today was no different, though he could use a little more audience support. It was the first game, though. They weren’t quite the slavering madmen Liam was used to in the UK.

Not yet, at any rate. If Liam did his job well, they’d soon be converted to screaming, belligerent football fanatics.

Twenty minutes in, the tone of the game shifted. The fans grew more vocal, chanting songs, making their opinions known. Loudly, at that. It was a welcome feeling, the instantaneous feedback of the crowd’s raucous roars.

Gregor Madras, the star center of Galaxy, soon singled Liam out. Every move Liam made, Madras stuck to him. Every time Liam’s foot touched the ball, Madras was right there, sticking his own foot in the way to foul things up.

It was the nature of the game, of course, but Madras didn’t seem interested in taking control of the ball or scoring goals. He seemed more interested in trying to trip Liam and take him to the ground, embarrass him or even hurt him.

A couple of times when Liam glanced at Galaxy’s coach, he caught signals flashing between him and Madras. Liam was the Unified’s biggest threat, and Galaxy was trying to neutralize him.

Sending the center forward to the medical tent was a dirty but viable way to assure victory. Too bad Liam wasn’t going to let that fucking happen.

Instead, Liam kept shooting mocking grins at Madras, intentionally throwing hard elbows and knees every chance he got. Madras glowered at him, which only made Liam play harder.

After Liam scored his first goal of the game, the fans went ballistic. The sound was deafening, filling Liam with a kind of euphoria better than any drug. He felt downright fucking stoned, floating on bloody air.

After his goal, he faced off against Galaxy’s center forward again. They both eyed the ball, lunging forward. But instead of going for the ball, the Galaxy center hopped right over it and did a little turn, getting the cleats of his right boot into Liam’s ankle,
hard
.

Liam faltered and dropped back a step, unwilling to let the other bloke seriously hurt him. It was a big nasty, but nothing he hadn’t seen before. He just kept his focus, ignored Madras at his back every step, and worked to win control of the ball.

The second he got his chance, intercepting a pass and turning the ball toward Galaxy’s goal, he knew he needed to shake Madras.

Even as Coach Havershom was screaming bloody murder on the sidelines, Liam signaled to Carlos and Alejandro, who approached from both sides in a pincer movement. Liam picked up speed, sprinting hard.

The second that Liam put distance between himself and Madras, Carlos and Alejandro pretended to fumble and collide, falling to the ground and taking Madras with them.

Half the fans cheered, the other half booed. Liam burst forward and passed the ball to one of the defense players, then circled around to receive the ball once more.

He slammed the ball into the goal in a single smooth kick, and the crowd went mad. Liam trotted off, heart thundering.

This
. This feeling, this was why he played. The infinite satisfaction of doing something perfectly right, a moment of true achievement.

So rare in life.

Unfortunately when he faced off again at center field, warring against Madras for control once more, things didn’t go his way. The ball lay in the center of the field, the referee blew his whistle.

Madras and Liam went at the ball together, and Liam took the lead. As soon as he crossed onto Galaxy’s side, though, several players came at him at once.

Though he saw it coming a few seconds before, one of Galaxy’s players managed to get his foot between Liam and the ball. Then, driven by sheer momentum, Liam tripped the other player and sent him crashing to the ground.

Liam went down too, but it certainly looked like he’d intentionally fouled the Galaxy player. It didn’t help that the other guy was on the ground, clutching his shin and howling like a wounded toddler.

The fans were frothing with anger and excitement, though Liam couldn’t tell whether they were for him or against him.

The whistle blew, the ref threw a red card.

“Mother of FUCK!” Liam growled, accepting a hand up from Alejandro.

“That looked nasty, my friend,” Alejandro said, shaking his head.

The whistle blew, the ref pointing at Liam. He knew well enough what
that
meant. Benched for the rest of the game.

Red-faced and furious, Liam trotted off the field to various screams and cheers from the crowd.

When Liam reached the sidelines, Coach Havershom gave him a long look. Like he knew it wasn’t Liam’s fault, exactly, but he was disappointed that Liam hadn’t outmaneuvered the play.

“Just get off the pitch,” Havershom snapped at Liam. “Davies, you’re midfield. Tell Carlos to take center striker…”

Jack was on the sidelines too, and he stood and approached Liam. Liam just needed a couple of minutes stretching after his fall, drinking some water and catching his breath.

Liam could see the hesitation on Jack’s face as he walked over. Liam and Jack hadn’t spoken in a few days, which was Liam’s intention. Liam was starting to resent Jack a little, and having a break from Jack seemed like a good idea.

“Hey, tough break,” Jack said.

Liam just shrugged, stretching his quads out.

“Anything I can do to help?” Jack asked.

“You can stop gambling,” Liam said.

Jack blinked at him, looking utterly surprised. “How do you know about that?”

“I’m not a bloody idiot. I’ve been running all around town, trying to sort out what you owe, whose pocket you’re in,” Liam said, grabbing a towel and wiping his face and neck.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jack said. “I’m taking care of it.”

“What, by doing fights?” Liam asked.

Jack’s mouth opened and closed, but this time he just squared his stance and crossed his arms.

“It’s my mess to clean up. None of your business,” Jack said.

Liam wanted to snarl and rage, especially after what just happened on the field, but this was neither the time nor the place.

“What do you think, you can owe that much money and it won’t touch anything else in your life, mate? You’re bloody stupid for that. They’re going to ask you to throw a game. They’re going to make you hurt someone, film it so they have blackmail material.” Liam paused. “They’re going to threaten Audrey. I can’t let that happen, can I?”

“I can look out for my own sister,” Jack hissed.

“No, Jack, you can’t. You can’t protect her any more than you can protect yourself,” Liam sighed.

Liam turned and jogged toward the locker room. Fans noticed him leaving and started to boo, which was rubbish. It wasn’t as if Liam could control the fact that he’d been taken out of the game…

He stalked into the building, ready to get the hell out of the stadium. Ready to get the hell out of Atlanta, as a matter of fact. This bloody city was getting to him.

And of course Audrey was standing in front of the locker room entrance. Arms crossed, anxious expression on her face.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Her question infuriated him. For being the person who he saw the most, she didn’t understand him or his profession any more than the fans out in the stands.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I have business to attend to. Find your own way home.”

Liam left her there, open-mouthed. He felt a little twinge of regret when he saw hurt splash across her face, but nothing he’d said was out of line.

He and Audrey were spending too much bloody time together, simple as that. The last few weekends had been filled with worrying about Jack or flirting with Audrey. He hadn’t gone out, hadn’t met any girls…

If Liam wasn’t careful, the Cross siblings would take over his life. Audrey especially, those big blue eyes of hers looking at him with so much expectation…

The worst was that a little part of him wished he could impress her, show off for her, prove just how much he could achieve. His usual response to others’ expectations was to raise his middle finger and do the opposite of what was asked of him.

The fact that prim little Audrey made a small part of him want to fall in line, made him want to be different…

That was not acceptable.

Liam needed some space, needed to blow off some steam without Audrey watching his every move and disapproving when he did something she didn’t deem appropriate.

He showered and changed as quickly as possible, and was out of the locker room before the rest of the match was even over. He took the back way out, in case Audrey was still waiting, and got to his car without speaking to another living soul.

Leaving the parking lot with a squeal of tires, Liam realized he wasn’t sure where he was going. He didn’t want to go back to the house. That was the first place Audrey would come looking for him.

Or Jack, who liked to apologize after a fight.

Liam decided to head to a part of town he didn’t know well. He drove into East Atlanta and parked, then walked around until he saw a bar called the Earl. It looked appropriately seedy, with plenty of patrons inside though it was early and a Sunday.

His kind of place. He grabbed a stool at the bar, wasting a few hours drinking and playing pool. He had a rather good burger and chips and listened to the bartender chatter about how bad traffic was in Atlanta these days.

It was a relief, getting away for an afternoon. He slowed down a little after he ate, evening himself out with nearly a whole pitcher of water. No matter what he did today, he still had practice tomorrow.

No need to throw himself off balance by getting drunk and dehydrated.

That’s probably the most adult thought I’ve had in ages
, he thought to himself.
I’m getting boring in my old age. Wait, is late twenties old? It feels old…

It didn’t really matter. The important thing was that Liam was alone, that he wasn’t worrying about what Audrey thought or whether Jack was in a gutter somewhere.

He did get recognized by a couple of fans, two pretty brunettes who bought Liam a drink and flirted a little before asking for a selfie. Liam snapped a photo with them, wondering if he ought to ask them back to his house for a little fun.

He thought of how fizzed Audrey would get, and couldn’t bring himself to do it. The girls left eventually, although one of them did leave her phone number. Liam didn’t even pick it up, just left it on the bar.

What in the hell is wrong with me?
he wondered. He felt restless in a way he hadn’t felt before. Like he was missing something, like he should be doing something.
But what?

As the sun went down, Liam paid his tab and drove home. The house was quiet when he got there, and in a moment of selfishness, Liam felt glad for it.

He stripped and crawled into his bed, pulling the comforter over his face, and slept. It was deep and dreamless and satisfying, until the chirp of his cell phone pulled him from the darkness.

Mumbling a curse, he found his jeans and pulled out his phone. It was only eleven p.m., so he’d only slept for a few hours at most.

A number he didn’t know flashed on the screen. The phone number caught his attention. It was from London, but not a number he recognized.

He checked the time; it was the middle of the night in London. He felt his stomach sink.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Mr. Packham?” came a woman’s crisp British accent.

“Yes,” he said.