Striker (70 page)

‘More secrets,’ she whispered, letting go of his hand, closing her eyes as he touched her cheek, running his fingers over it so lightly it sent another shiver right through her.

‘Not for long, baby,’ he said quietly, moving in to kiss her long and slow. ‘Not for long.’

She was lost in him again, every emotion she’d ever felt for this man colliding inside her until she was nothing but one big, emotional wreck, too in love to disagree with anything he was saying, and knowing he was right, anyway. Okay, her father had reluctantly agreed to accept the fact that her and Jim were together now, but she knew all too well that he would still try and talk her out of marrying him. Somehow. This way he wouldn’t get the chance. And yes, she’d be betraying him again and that wasn’t something that made her feel entirely comfortable, but she would do anything now to keep Jim by her side. She would do anything to make sure she never lost him again.

‘Next week?’ she smiled, staring into those beautiful green eyes of his.

‘Next week,’ he grinned. ‘You up for that, gorgeous?’

‘Oh, you bet I am, handsome. You bet I am.’

*

Ryan pulled the earphones he was wearing off his head and threw them down on the table that separated him from Gary on the coach that was taking them on the short journey from the hotel they’d been staying in to Tynebridge for that afternoon’s match against another of the league’s biggest northern clubs.

‘Hangover kicked in, has it?’
Gary
asked, not looking up from the magazine he was reading.

Ryan ignored him and stared out of the window instead, watching as the frosty landscape whipped past them, passing cars with Red Star scarves sticking out of their windows, quite obviously on their way to the match.
Gary
wasn’t wrong, though. His head was pounding. It felt like someone was holding a rave in there. Jim Allen might think that sticking them all in a hotel made them immune to any of the excesses forbidden on the night before a match, but he was deluded if he actually believed they all behaved themselves. Until they actually started checking their bags the temptation to smuggle in drink, laptops and anything else designed to distract them from the focus of their game, was always going to be there. Some of the lads were always going to be one step ahead. And none more so than Ryan. He’d brought the lot in last night – drink, a line or two of coke, his iPad. And he’d proceeded to spend the night drinking, getting high and gambling away three week’s worth of wages in an online casino. He’d had a blast! He’d forgotten the kick he got from money being no object, from being able to pick a number, stick £1,000 on one of two colours and not give a fuck whether it came up or not. That was the mood he was in right now – he couldn’t give a fuck. About anything.

‘You’re gonna regret this one day,’
Gary
continued, still refusing to look up from his magazine.

‘When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it,’ Ryan muttered, smiling down at a pretty brunette in a car beside them as the coach stopped at traffic lights.

Gary
finally threw the magazine down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. ‘Y’know, I used to think
I
was the bigger prick around here, until
you
started to piss about.’

Ryan turned his head slowly to look at his friend. ‘I’m not “pissing about”, as you put it. I’m living my life the way
I
want to fucking live it. You got that?’

‘I’m finished trying to help you, Ryan. I’m fed up of it. You need to grow up and deal with the fact that, just because you’re some big-shot footballer who can usually have anything he wants, there are some things even ridiculous amounts of money can’t buy.’

‘And what the fuck’s
that
supposed to mean?’ Ryan asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

‘Oh, I think you know what I mean,’
Gary
replied, picking his magazine back up and opening it up at a random page.

‘Fuck!’

‘You got something on your mind?’ Jim Allen asked, stopping by Ryan’s seat as he made his way along the narrow aisle of the coach.

Ryan stared out of the window again, not in the mood for small talk with his manager.

‘You gonna answer me, Fisher?’ Jim carried on, leaning back against the seat opposite, folding his arms. And still Ryan said nothing. ‘Have it your way,’ Jim sighed as the coach turned into Tynebridge, pulling up outside the main entrance. ‘But I’ll tell you one thing, son – you’d better make sure you’ve brought a cushion this afternoon.’

Ryan turned to look at him, frowning. ‘Huh?’

‘You’re on the bench, Fisher. And the next time you turn up on a match day looking like crap and smelling of alcohol you can consider yourself suspended.’

*

‘It’s going okay, then? The reconciliation?’ Amber asked Ronnie as they sat in the Players Lounge, grabbing five minutes peace before the match started. Ronnie was commentating on the game for a satellite sports channel and she was doing a piece for News North East so they were both there working, but it was good to catch up again. A lot had happened since they’d last seen each other.

‘Yeah,’ Ronnie smiled, and Amber couldn’t help but feel incredibly happy for him. She’d had her reservations when she’d heard he’d taken Karen back but, given her own circumstances, who was she to tell someone who they could or couldn’t love? Relationships were a complicated thing at the best of times. People had to make their own decisions. Their own mistakes. She just hoped that, for both her and Ronnie, those mistakes had already been made, never to happen again. ‘Yeah, it’s going great. Y’know, maybe splitting up was the best thing that could have happened.’

‘Really? How do you work that one out?’ Amber asked, looking around the room to see if she recognised anyone, smiling at Debbie as she walked in.

‘Because, it made us
both
realise how much we really love each other,’ Ronnie replied.
 

‘Well, that’s good. Isn’t it?’ Amber went on, slightly distracted by a text from Kevin asking where she was,
followed
by another one from Jim telling her to meet him in his office.

‘On a match day? Not half an hour before kick-off?’ Ronnie smirked, arching an eyebrow as he read Jim’s text over her shoulder. ‘Now that
really
doesn’t sound like the Premiership’s most professional manager. Is he dropping his guard a little? And what are
you
gonna be dropping when you see him, eh?’

Amber looked at him. ‘Ronnie! That’s private.’

‘Nothing of yours is private anymore, kiddo. You’re living your life in the sporting spotlight now.’

‘Yeah, thanks for reminding me. And anyway, he only said to meet him in his office. It didn’t say come and indulge in
a seedy
, pre-match shag up against his office wall while he finalises the team sheets.’

‘Yeah, but you want it to be that, don’t you?’ Ronnie grinned.

‘Shut up!’ she laughed, hitting him on the arm with her phone. ‘Jesus, Ronnie, you sound like a twelve-year-old. Is this what being in love does to you?’

‘Yeah. And what does it do to
you
?’

‘Ah, now, you see,
that
would be telling,’ she smiled, getting up and running her fingers through her loose, tousled hair. ‘See you later.’ She threw him a wink and another smile and left the Players Lounge, hoping she wouldn’t bump into Kevin on her way to Jim’s office. Maybe she wasn’t the only one letting her professionalism slip slightly, but she knew Kevin would be okay. She was giving him more newsworthy stories for the programme than he’d had in years so he was her best friend at the minute. He was still going to freak when he realised she’d married Jim by the time Newcastle Red Star’s away game next weekend at
Wigan
came round.

But it wasn’t Kevin she had to be worried about bumping into. ‘Jesus, Ryan, you look like shit,’ she said, realising there was no way of avoiding him now, seeing as the dressing room was directly opposite the manager’s office. And, to be honest, she was slightly shocked at the state of him. To say he looked rough was an understatement.

‘Yeah. Thanks for that. You on your way to see
him
?’ He indicated Jim’s office door with his head, aware that he probably sounded like some wounded boyfriend who was still sulking over the fact he’d been dumped for someone else, but, to all intents and purposes, that’s exactly what he was. And he didn’t care, anyway.

‘Are you not well?’ She was curious as to why he looked so rough. He couldn’t have been out drinking, not when they’d all been confined to barracks, so to speak. But then, this
was
Ryan Fisher they were talking about here. Unreliable, didn’t-give-a-fuck Ryan Fisher. ‘Were you drinking last night?’ she asked, leaning back against the wall and folding her arms.

‘Who are you? My mother?’
 

‘What are you playing at, Ryan? Why are you doing this to yourself?’

‘What do
you
care?’

‘You sound like a petulant teenager now. Just because we’re not sleeping together anymore doesn’t mean I suddenly stop caring about you. Don’t throw it all away just because you can’t handle a situation that isn’t going to change. You’re bigger than that.’

‘Something going on here?’ Jim asked, opening his office door and leaning against the doorpost, his eyes fixed firmly on Ryan. ‘You going somewhere, Fisher?’

Ryan just threw him a look before shuffling back inside the dressing room.

Amber watched him go, a feeling in the pit of her stomach she couldn’t describe. He looked truly awful, but wasn’t he bringing it all on himself? She hadn’t asked him to do what he’d done, to sleep with two women in
their
bed; but, in reality, hadn’t it only brought forward a situation that had always been on the cards anyway?

‘He’s dangerously close to facing disciplinary action,’ Jim said, noticing the look in Amber’s eyes as she watched Ryan head back into the dressing room.

Amber swung round to look at Jim. ‘Disciplinary action? Why?’

‘Drinking the night before a match, turning up late for training, bad attitude… Do you want me to go on? Amber, honey, he’s his own worst enemy. The kid needs to learn how to grow up and channel that talent he was born with, before it’s too late. He’s one of this generation’s greatest players, no doubt about that, but, if he carries on the way he is…’ Jim pushed a hand through his hair, sighing. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him. Come on, come inside.’

She looked over at the dressing room again, listening as laughter and the sound of Ryan’s voice filtered out into the corridor. He’d be okay. She was sure of it. But maybe she should call Max, give him the low down on Ryan’s behaviour. Just to be on the safe side.

‘Amber? Honey?’

She turned her attention back to Jim, smiling as she followed him into his office. ‘So, what did you want to see me for?’ she asked, watching as he closed the door behind him, holding out his hand. She took it, and in one swift movement he’d swung her round and pushed her back against the closed door, kissing her hard. She responded immediately. How could she not? He wasn’t giving her that much choice.
 

‘I just want to see you,’ he smiled, slowly unfastening another button on her shirt, running his fingers lightly over her cleavage, drawing a small and quiet moan from her slightly parted lips. ‘You okay with that?’

She nodded, closing her eyes as he bent his head to gently kiss her now-heaving breasts. It wasn’t even kick-off on a Saturday afternoon and already they’d had sex more times today than she cared to remember. It was like they were desperately trying to make up for all those years they hadn’t been together, all those chances to be this close that had gone by the wayside. Making up for all the wasted opportunities they’d never taken.
 

She buried her fingers in his dark, slightly greying hair as he freed her breasts from the confines of her fuchsia-pink bra, his mouth covering first one, then the other. She could feel him hard against her thigh and in just seconds he’d made her desperate to feel him inside her all over again, despite the fact it had been just a matter of hours since they’d last made love. That had been a slow and languid affair, whereas this one was going to, quite obviously, be nothing more than a quick fuck up against the wall. So, yeah, Ronnie had been right. It
was
what she wanted. More than anything. Even though she was supposed to be at work. That just made it all the more exciting.

With expert fingers Jim slowly unzipped her jeans, pushing them down far enough to give him the room he needed to push into her, so fast and hard it took Amber’s breath away. And she couldn’t help but shout out loud, quickly biting down on her lip to silence herself. It was quite possible people knew what they were doing, anyway, but why give them any proof?

It was over in minutes, a satisfying rush of muffled moans and banging hips. Anything but romantic, but this wasn’t exactly the place for romance. He’d needed her, she’d needed him, job done.

Amber quickly pulled herself together, running her fingers through her hair and shaking it out, hoping she didn’t look too much like someone who’d just indulged in a quick one up against a closed office door with the hottest manager in football. She watched him as he tucked his white shirt back into his suit pants, positioning his collar so it fell just so, slightly open, and always no tie. He never wore a tie, not on match days. White shirt, dark suit – that was his uniform. And it suited him. As a player he’d always been a bit of a fashion icon, always immaculately turned out, the one that men all over the world wanted to follow. And he was no different as a manager. He was still as sexy-as-hell and a man who was both fancied and admired in equal measures by both sexes – men wanted to be him, women wanted to do him.