Chapter Three

A ndy

Three months later

" A ndo, Pup said you've got twenty minutes." Jack called from his position with the centres as I ran another set of Hard Squares with some of the other boys on the field. It was one of the more endurance heavy training drills we did and focused on precision and increasing fitness. It was also one where I could focus entirely on football and improving our skills and ultimately the team. Cognitively, there was little room for anything else, exactly what I loved.

Nodding, I passed the ball to one of the forwards and jogged from the field. Training was intense and as captain I liked to set the tone, meaning making sure I pushed harder than anyone else. It also meant a shower was always necessary straight after.

Why I agreed to this feature with the same platform as my last attempted interview, was beyond me. That was if you could even call it an interview considering I didn't answer one of her questions and she appeared disorganised to say the least. Only reinforcing my opinion that they were all the same. Entitled and arrogant, simply assuming I would provide them a copy of my life story for them to do with as they wished.

Although, the woman who arrived was not at all what I had been expecting because whenever I was forced into a quick post-match discussion it was generally with another journalist. The surprise packet who arrived was sexy as fuck and had crossed my mind more than once since that day. She was flustered, chaotic and clearly out of her depth, yet it was obvious she had a fire in her and the spark of attitude left me with a strange curiosity. I spent many nights wondering what came over me that day when I reached out and pulled her taut lip free, sadistically enjoying the jolt of hunger which always swam through me when I thought about that small touch. But – there was no way I would ever let myself forget why I hated them so much, regardless of how often I sought release to the memory of her supple lips and the curvature of that fucking arse. The fact remained that she was one of them and they were all interchangeable with their lack of ethics and morals.

Frustratingly though, I still needed to get both Kieran and the team off my back about the fact it was mid-season and there had been no media interaction on my end. I was their captain and to them it came with the position meaning as much as I loathed these monotonous conversations, I had no choice and today marked that obligatory moment.

Forget about the fact I was one of the best players on the team, giving them my heart and soul week in and week out. That was irrelevant. They literally wrote a clause into my contract, highlighting the section so it was crystal clear, or in this case, fluorescent yellow, that I was required to conduct at least one major interview per season with a reputable tabloid. Who it was with or what I said was inconsequential, so long as my face was plastered on a billboard somewhere.

Publicity for me meant publicity for them – good or bad. Which was exactly why I was going to be sitting down for an interview within the next hour. My decision around today had proved far more difficult than it normally did though. I alternated between having Pup choose a random outlet – specifically one who would bring in the highest ratings – or selecting the same people I always did. Ultimately, my hormones won and I settled on Urban Pulse because I hoped I was going to get that same gorgeous blonde who walked into the sheds a few months ago with more attitude than someone should have brought to a job .

Jack ran to catch up to me as I greedily drank from my water bottle and headed for the change rooms. Hydration was crucial with how much I trained but it was especially balmy today and I was slightly more on edge than usual.

"You nervous or something, Cap?" I looked over to him, his forehead dripping with sweat mirroring my own.

"Why would I be nervous?" I asked, using my sleeve to wipe the droplets from my head.

"Usually, we have to tell you a hundred times to leave the park but today you practically sprinted off. What gives?" He was staring at me like I was spiking a fever, and in fairness, I wasn't sure myself. The interest tampering with my normally laser-like focus was not something I had ever experienced.

"No, dickhead, I'm meeting with some journalist. Just want it done." I said.

Jack laughed. "Hasn't stopped you from making them wait before."

Ignoring him, I turned a sharp left down the corridor lined with images of the greats of this club. Men who came before us and gave their blood, sweat and tears to ensure victory at the end of the season for the Hearts. I too aspired to one day hold that trophy like so many of them had before, victorious elation clear in their triumphant smiles. It was why I reluctantly agreed to all the bullshit which came with my contract and what we played for each week.

"Try to play nice, aye?" Jack's voice carried from where he still stood. I stuck my middle finger up and his laughter followed me to the showers. He was a nice kid and if it were anyone else, I would have told them to go fuck themselves, but I took him under my wing when he started a couple of seasons ago and spent a fair bit of time showing him what it took to play elite. He always arrived early and eager and that was more than I could say for some of the rookies who came through the ranks each year. Not to mention his innate ability to read the play was fast placing him as one of the best midfielders in the league. Before he started with the Hearts and took the time to get to know me, he too bought into the persona that the media portrayed of me. Amplified by the little information I volunteered, it wasn't a very positive one, but they only had themselves to blame for that. When you try to bulldoze someone into doing something, the results are never as clean or transparent as they could be.

Yet Jack was one of the few, who despite his constant sledges, went out of his way to learn about me, even on days when I was not the most forthcoming. A small token not many chose to afford, even within the team environment. I knew the boys all respected me as captain, but many kept me at arm's length, thinking they otherwise might be painted with the same brush I was. Everyone was constantly reminding me to play nice, but the media ate the bad boy image up like it was nobody's business. This was what they wanted. It was what sold papers. It was no secret in the industry that I hated them. Despised their tactics and everything they stood for – but the reason behind that was not so well known. And I definitely didn't owe them anything, including an explanation.

When I finally walked into the office where the interview was to take place, I was surprised to find it already occupied. A woman sitting with a laptop open in front of her and a long amber braid slung over her shoulder. She turned around at the sound of the door and a strange feeling washed over me.

"Andy, hi. It's so nice to see you again." She stood, a warm smile spreading across her face as she thrust her hand out towards me.

I took her hand in mine but didn't move to sit down.

"Felicity. I didn't expect to see you. You weren't available last time." My unexpected irritation at seeing her rather than who I was expecting sent a feeling of unease through me. Maybe it was better if Flick was here considering this was my reaction .

"No." She giggled nervously before correcting herself. "Sorry about that. I was unwell. My colleague Arnabelle filled in for me, however, I understand a conversation didn't eventuate. We are so glad to be able to meet again though and especially excited you chose us for the feature."

She remained in her seat, likely hoping I would do the same, but it didn't feel right. I didn't want to do this with her. The only reason I pursued Urban Pulse was because part of me hoped I would get to spend some time with the firebomb who left me speechless. With her verbosity and aloofness all I had wanted to do was take her in, which I recalled with a sick pleasure, only fuelled her anger. Something I ruthlessly enjoyed.

But today, Felicity was here. And while I wanted to get this over with and then stay as far away from these people as I could, the agitation and apprehension simmered. I looked back towards the door quietly estimating just how pissed Pup would be if I walked out. I knew I should start and forget about the woman who had clearly cast a spell over me. This was a stipulation, part of the job, and something I could easily push through.

I tilted my head and looked at the woman before me. Felicity seemed nice and she was attractive in her own way I guess, but she wasn't who I wanted. Even thinking that, I wanted to punch myself in the face for forgetting how they were all scum.

I was glad no one could read my thoughts because it would no doubt earn me the spot as number one laughing stock in the team. Why would I – or should I – care about who interviewed me. Dating was not even remotely close to something I was interested in doing, although the random hook ups over the last few months felt even more meaningless and unfulfilling than normal. I no longer sought out the monotony of another nameless woman who were all cut from the same cloth. With me only for the five seconds of fame and everything I wished didn't come with my job. There was no challenge, no excitement, no push and pull of banter, something I was starting to realise was more important than I used to think.

And ultimately, these interviews were bad enough and the disappointment that the thing I thought was going to get me through this one, wasn't here, was the deciding factor.

"I won't be able to chat today. I'll have the interview rescheduled. The feature is still with Urban Pulse." I said, providing no other explanation. I didn't owe that industry any more than they had already taken from me. I would do the article, because I had no choice, but it was going to be on my terms. And that meant a perfect little blonde with eyes the colour of an iceberg would be asking the questions while I thought of new ways to see how far I could push her before she broke.

A rna

"There is absolutely no chance I am getting up on that stage. This bar does not have enough tequila." Despite downing my third shot of the night, I shook my head to reinforce that tonight I wouldn't be entertaining a room full of people.

I was wallowing.

"Come onnnn," Marlee whined. "You actually have such a good voice and the crowd always loves you and your absolutely outrageous dedication to Whitney Houston."

"Babe, I am literally six months into a dry spell, Barbara is covered in cobwebs and I am considering joining Tinder. Karaoke is not an option."

Marlee cackled. "One - you are the most dramatic person I've ever met. Two - it is putrid you call your vagina Barbara." She snorted, evidently needing to take a breath before continuing. "And three - you are the hottest bitch in this place. You could go home with literally any guy here. It's been over a year since your last relationship with – what's his face."

"Oh my god. Remember him? He was a ten but he called his parents mummy and daddy."

Marlee laughed at the memory. "Definite ick. But seriously, it's time to move on, Arns."

Her eyebrows were raised as she stared straight at me, refusing to let me worm my way out of this conversation. She knew better than anyone that these topics made me squirm and keeping things light was her go to when getting me to see reason.

"What about you, anyone new in your life?" I asked, swaying to the music of the latest daredevil who was destroying an INXS classic.

"Deflection." She uttered, rolling her eyes in what was a signature facial of hers. "Fine, no karaoke, got it. But let's talk about B-Barbara." She emulated gagging as she spoke and I belted out another laugh.

"I'm not looking for anything serious, Marls. I mean, I am twenty-seven and could consider the possibility of commitment, but really, I just want someone to make my toes curl because I'm developing RSI at this point with how often I have to sort myself out." I rolled my wrist in a circular motion for emphasis. "I wasn't kidding. I almost downloaded Tinder. But I don't think I want to sleep with a stranger. It's not me. I need someone with some fucking substance." I took a sip of my drink and sighed. Looking around the bar, there were plenty of attractive men. Some who had looked our way more than once, but none of them ignited any kind of spark. I needed someone who was going to galvanise my libido.

"Is it too much to ask to find someone who I'm attracted to, has a brain in their head and is not living in their parent's basement? Oh, and showers regularly and smells good. Personal hygiene seems to be a commodity these days."

"Arna, that was one guy. I'm sure they don't all live with their parents." She gestured around the bar before discreetly nodding her head at the table next to us holding four guys who looked as though they came from work. I glanced over and one of them winked at me, his tie loosened and his business shirt untucked, while he took a sip of his drink. A wedding band firmly planted on his finger.

"Three of them are wearing wedding rings, Marls, and the other has an imprint as if he recently took his off. Again, reinforcing my point, douchebag city. I just want syzygy, ya know?" Turning away from them, I grabbed my long hair and pulled it over my shoulder to put some small barrier between us.

"I literally have no idea what that means. Sometimes I wonder if you've had a thesaurus implanted in your brain." Marlee rolled her eyes again before scanning the QR code to order us another round of drinks.

"You know, like a genuine connection. I wish I could just ‘ tap and gap ' as that knob said a few months ago on yet another miserable date, but I can't. I just can't, Marlee." I whined, throwing my hands in the air. I really was done with the meaningless dinner dates with painful small talk and me fleeing to my car in the hope they didn't try to kiss me. Plus, I funded far too many of those meals and on the one occasion I decided to give the guy a chance beyond dinner, he took me to his parent's house. His mum offered me a cup of tea for fuck's sake. I was starting to wonder if Taylor Swift wrote her song about me and I was, in fact, the problem.

Marlee raised her voice over the music now playing as karaoke finished for another night. "Fine. We both have work tomorrow so let's enjoy the night with another round before you have to go home to your voyeuristic roommate."

"Ugh, speaking of work, did I tell you Dickhead Darren emailed me this afternoon to tell me I was going to be doing a full feature interview and article."

"What, even after you practically gagged on your lust last time and got absolutely nothing from Andrew Gloss?" Marlee giggled as the bartender came over with another round of shots and two margaritas. My head was going to give me grief tomorrow but right now I couldn't have cared less. Being out with my number one girl always made things better and it was hard not to be swept up in her bubble of positivity. "But also, an interview and article. What the heck, girl. This is HUGE."

"Right! Not sure what happened because if you remember, Darren apologised to me for the stuff up and I just nodded and never brought it up again. I'm still perplexed by it all. I did try again to remind him I am an editor not a writer, but he wouldn't listen. Just told me I needed to get my shit together including my hair apparently." I creased my brows in exaggerated disgust.

"What the hell is wrong with your hair?" She questioned.

"Who knows. He is such a prick."

"I will never understand how he is able to get away with the things he says to you." She said and I nodded in agreement. "You know," she continued, "I follow the Heart's social media religiously – obviously, and he hasn't done another interview all season. Even today when he kicked the match winning goal and we are all desperate to hear what the bloody looker has to say. But the network won't even approach him and other than the photos they snap of him with the lucky thirst traps, he is rarely seen in public." Marlee picked up her shot glass indicating it was time to drink.

"He is pure sin that guy." I said more to myself than Marls, thinking about the way his sweat had slowly dripped down his olive chest and how tempted I was to lean in and lick him. Shaking away the memory, I brought my glass up to meet hers. "Cheers to the only wet pussy I will have tonight." Marlee laughed and we drank the peach, vodka and cranberry shot, before I added, "The interview tomorrow is with him again. That gorgeous, infuriating, angry man. Like it makes no sense, why would old mate Dazza send me to do it after I so royally fucked it up the first time?"

"Are you serious? You get to interview him again. He hates the media and you get to be the one to do this! Do you know how many people would kill to be you? Yet you're sitting here getting drunk." Marlee squealed and began shaking me by the arms. "Why can't I be an editor slash writer slash interviewer? Obviously one who doesn't need to write, because – well, gross. But this is my dream. Life is so unfair." She said dramatically, throwing her arm across her forehead as if she was suffering life's greatest tragedy.

Laughing, I motioned for her to stand before grabbing her arm and looping it through my own. "Honestly, I won't even try to understand your fascination, other than his devastating good looks. But I'll put in a good word and tell him you're his biggest fan. Maybe I can even get his number for you."

"Don't you dare! I would need a puffer just to breathe." She said, her face serious.

Heading towards the dance floor, I winked at her and tried to ignore the trepidation sitting low in my stomach at the mere thought of Marlee dating Andy.

I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about him since that abomination of an interview. There was something about that chiselled jaw and the small laugh lines which shaped his eyes that screamed at me to climb aboard and enjoy the ride. Even though he answered none of my questions and left with no apology or explanation. That evening, I had spent hours searching for a new job because I thought when I arrived at work the next morning, Darren was going to have already packed my desk and my name would be besmirched within the industry.

Imagine my absolute shock when he apologised to me . I didn't want to tempt fate and seek clarification so I simply accepted the apology and continued with my day. And now, three months later, he was again asking me to complete an interview, at a location to be advised tomorrow morning. It was ridiculously secretive and confusing as all heck. I mean, I was glad I didn't lose my job, but Andy was still an A-grade jerk in my eyes. Despite the connection I felt when his fingers had caressed my lip, something I hadn't dared admit to anyone, he was unresponsive and insolent with my questioning. He would have known I was out of my depth and nonetheless his insouciance remained. When I met with him tomorrow, I was determined to match his attitude. I would ignore the way he awakened the deepest parts of me and I would focus on keeping my job. But if he treated me like he did last time, I was going to pepper him with a little taste of my own fire.

"I give up, Marls. I have no clothes. I'm going to this interview in my pyjamas. I mean I wore sweats last time so it can't be worse than that." I scowled at the clothes lining my unmade bed and the floor. "I'm literally in my bra and undies wearing one boot and one sandal."

"Just relax, babe. Where are you meeting him?" My call woke her up only a few minutes ago and I was jealous that she was blissfully still in bed and not freaking out about an appointment which could see her with no job by the end of the day. My eyes felt as though they were hanging out of my head, mostly due to my incessant scrolling through social media last night. In my infinite drunken wisdom, I thought it appropriate to dedicate at least an hour to reading up on Mr. Andrew Gloss and the Hearts Football Club. However, my now sober mind was both foggy with fatigue yet lucid enough to frustratingly remind me of how mildly impressed I was with what I read. Other than seeing him pictured with a different goddess on his arm in every single photo off the field, he didn't appear to be engrossed in scandals. He maintained a mostly private existence, other than the few interviews he had given since he first started playing, and even those were generic in content. The media often painted him as ‘rude' and ‘difficult' which I could also attest to after I met him. Although, he was never seen drinking or partying, which was enough to spark my curiosity. There were plenty of pictures and articles on players from the Hearts and many other football teams enjoying a night out, yet Mr. Captain was either never in attendance, or sober and photographed leaving much earlier than the rest of his peers.

"Arns, you still there?" Marlee asked and I ran my hands through my hair.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I don't even know where I'm going. It's an address in the city somewhere, but I'm not too sure. Maybe it's a café or their head office or something. Looks like it will only take me twenty minutes to get there though. But anyway, what do I wear?" If I wasn't using my earbuds, I most definitely would have thrown my phone in frustration.

"You realise you are asking the wrong person, right? I have absolutely no fashion sense – as you like to remind me. The fact you are even asking me is a huge red flag for where your head's at."

"You're right. Okay, I'm going to wear my navy pencil skirt, white blouse and flats. Comfortable but professional. I want to appear both proficient but also scream, please scratch Barbara's itch ." I giggled at what was mostly a joke, as I reached for the skirt.

"If Barbara meets Andy Gloss and I don't, I will cry. But also, I really hope she does. You're living the dream, Arns."

"I was kidding. I don't think he has much going on between the ears – a crying shame really based on the packaging. Okay, I need to get dressed."

"I should go shower too. Pleasssseee call me as soon as you are done, I need to know everything." I could hear her moving around and knew her phone was clutched between her shoulder and face with the way her voice was slightly muffled now.

"Okay, have an amazing day, wish me luck." I said, reaching for my phone and ending the call as Marlee did just that. I tucked the blouse into my skirt and adjusted it so it sat evenly. The outfit was simple but still highlighted my hourglass figure, giving me the confidence I needed to face the silent assassin. There was no way I was going to show him a disorganised and tumultuous mess like last time.

Today he was getting editor Arna and my entire persona was going to scream, I am a journalist and I will not be taking your shit, thank you . Throwing my hair into its regular updo and securing it with a pen, I grabbed my bag and headed for the interview that was either going to make or break me.