Chapter Fourteen

C hapter Fourteen

A ndy

W e hadn't even ordered our entrees and I knew I was in serious trouble.

Despite my original resolve on this being a business arrangement, those cognitive nudges were becoming fewer and far between. With Arna, conversation came easy which was a definite first for me in the company of a woman. Not to mention a very fucking beautiful woman, with no idea just how gorgeous she was, a sense of humour and an impressive brain in her head. Most shockingly of all, she hadn't asked me about my dating history or made jokes about how many females I was photographed with.

This was unchartered territory which made me oddly uneasy and yet abnormally curious. Arna was like a puzzle without instructions, and I was hell bent on figuring her out. I felt compelled to have her complete this feature because, for the first time, I believed the words written wouldn't be coated in condescension or peppered with sly falsities which, like grains of sand, infiltrated people's thoughts and damaged my reputation.

Readers never wanted to know about the success of the Hearts or my contributions to the team. They were hungry for information on how many women I had slept with, when I was planning on settling down or why I had never had a long-term girlfriend.

Ironically, they were the reason. Abominations.

Choosing to play football for a high-profile club meant you lost your right to anonymity. You lost your right to grabbing an early morning coffee without fear of being photographed. You lost your right to serendipitously meeting new people without having to wonder if it was truly by chance or premeditated. You lost your right to freedom, sometimes even in your own space.

I often wondered if this was what I always wanted, especially on the days when people told me I was the luckiest bastard they'd met. Or when I wasn't allowed to dislike the media or intrusive strangers, because I was ‘living the dream'. Always uttered from someone with no experience of what it was like to be afforded no privacy.

Yet tonight, I was sitting in a public place with someone who, six months ago, I would have hated on sight, and I was enjoying myself.

"I'll have the eye fillet please - medium - and a gin and tonic. Thank you, Dale." Arna said, closing her menu and turning to me. I had been so lost in my thoughts that my own menu still sat untouched.

"Sounds good, I'll have the same. Cheers, mate."

Dale nodded and took our menus before retreating.

"Pup did well with him." I said, tipping my head towards the direction he disappeared, and Arna's chuckle gave me pause.

"Sorry," she apologised. "It's just he has the same puppy-dog eyes as Kieran and I'm ashamed to say I can see how the nickname came to fruition."

"See," I said, nodding enthusiastically at the mirth in her eyes. "Dale is studying law and works here most nights. Pretty busy life for a young kid. He has a good head on his shoulders."

"I could say the same about you. I'm sure you've had a similar schedule since you were his age. When did –"

The sound of a phone ringing cut her off and she reached into her purse before glancing at the screen. "Sorry, it's my dad, do you mind if I answer?"

"Not at all." I was strangely interested to hear her have a conversation with someone who wasn't me.

Smiling gratefully, she answered. "Hey Dad, how are –," she paused abruptly, staring at the table as she listened. "Dad, it's May. Christmas is more than six months away." She rolled her eyes, mouthing an apology to me. I shook my head in understanding, a smile forming on my face.

"I'm at a work dinner, Dad. Let me think ab–," again she stopped, turning away slightly. The soft murmurings of her voice were a cute attempt, but I could still hear her. "Yes, I'm with him now. I'll call you later." She hung up, looking mortified and I couldn't control my grin.

"Andy, I'm so sorry. My Dad is outrageous sometimes. He called to ask what I wanted for Christmas. It's MAY! The man starts shopping earlier and earlier every year and he buys gifts for like three people. Anyway, what were we talking about?" She ran a hand down her long ponytail, pulling it over her shoulder.

"You've told your dad about this interview?" I asked, a small smile still lingering. Of everything she just explained, I fixated on the possibility of her thinking about me after hours.

Suddenly, I wanted to be the interviewer. I wanted to know everything there was to know about this woman with the crystal blue eyes and the dad who did his Christmas shopping at the end of May. I wanted to know what she ate for breakfast, her favourite song and the sounds she made when she was lost in the throes of pleasure.

Shit. I reached for my drink, needing a distraction from where my traitorous mind was headed.

"You heard that part, huh?" She asked, shaking her head.

I nodded, my grin again growing. "I did and now I have some questions of my own, so I think until our food gets here, I'll ask the questions and then I will tell you whatever it is you need."

She groaned, but acquiesced. "Okay, Andy Gloss, what do you want to know?" She leaned back, unknowingly drawing my attention to her chest and the way her white shirt pulled taut. It seemed we could also add perfect tits to everything she had on her side. Clearing my throat and ignoring the twitch in my pants at the thought of how supple they would feel under my touch, I focused on her face.

"Tell me about your family. Siblings, where you grew up, weird aunts and uncles?" I shrugged, pausing when Dale appeared placing our drinks down and signalled for him to keep them flowing.

Slowly, she raised her glass, her eyes locked on my own as she seductively took a long sip.

"I'm certain this is not how it's meant to go, but fine, I'll play along." She turned her body towards me, brought one of her legs up onto the booth and rested her hand on her ankle. For some reason, the relaxed stance took me by surprise. Leaning back, I was suddenly aware that there was something innately comforting about this conversation, and I was very much eager to hear her tell me more.

By the time we finished our meals I knew more about Arna than I did about any other woman besides my mother. At no point did I reach for my phone. I was entirely focused on her; everything she said, the way her mouth moved and especially when she took the slice of orange from the side of her glass and sucked it between her full lips. An image I would most likely be replaying later tonight, only substituting that orange for something else.

I laughed easily when she spoke about her father and how he wrote his Christmas list each February, stuck it to the fridge and checked it daily as if anyone else would dare change it. Her resounding giggle, which tinkered around the empty glasses on our table, was the best sound in the world and I leaned in desperate to hear more. She mentioned her best friend Marlee, how they'd been inseparable since they were kids and how she was a huge fan of the Hearts, which was one of the few things they apparently did not have in common.

Other than clarifying what a couple of words meant, I felt no need to interfere. She was the most intriguing person I had ever met, and I never wanted her to stop talking. She made no secret of the fact that she had little interest in my role with the Hearts, other than for the purpose of this interview, and all the while I couldn't look away. I was captivated.

"Okay, Ann-dy," she drawled, the alcohol we shared clearly affecting her. "Your turn. Tell me how you stay so invested. How do you make sure that as the captain you lead your team, play the game and still look as good as you do." She gestured up and down with her pointer finger, before taking another sip of her drink.

The compliment washed over me, and I sat a little taller, finding I liked that she unapologetically found me attractive. It was reciprocal, evident through the fact that each time we met, I couldn't seem to stop myself from touching her, however slight that was.

"I guess there's no choice. I don't give myself one. For me, football has always been my life. Which means, it's just part of my daily routine to get out and train, be at the club and work with the boys and coaches. If that means I'm there for ten hours running drills, then so be it." I spun my glass in circles, looking up at her when she didn't immediately respond. She was staring at me assessingly, as her straw rested on her plump bottom lip, before she leant towards me, awakening my entire body.

My heart began to hammer in my chest, my breathing increasing. My own gaze flickered from her eyes down to her mouth – that plush fucking mouth.

Fuck, was she going to kiss me? Did I want her to kiss me? Right here in the middle of a restaurant?

Her hand reached around my neck and gently touched my skin, her eyes glued on mine. I took a deep breath, focused on the way my skin ignited under the soft pads of her fingers and wondered if she also felt as out of control as I currently did.

She was so close, our heavy breaths mixing as I again memorised the sight of her mouth, wondering how she would taste. How it would feel to nip at her bottom lip, to press my tongue into her mouth and take.

"Your tag is out." She whispered, her fingers now softly moving beneath the collar of my shirt.

She didn't move away though. We were frozen.

What if, what if, what if beating through the air.

She was all I could see, a small smile lacing her lips, her clear eyes framed by dark lashes as she looked up at me suggestively. I contemplated moving – in what direction I wasn't sure, but before I could decide, fast consecutive flashes sliced through the moment, snapping us from what could have been.