My grin disappeared. Fucking bastard. He wasn’t wrong about most of it, which left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I wouldn’t let him rain on my parade. Whatever the reasons were, the fact was that there were other good wingers available for transfer, but Glevum FC had chosen me out of everyone. My dream was coming true, and I wouldn’t let one asshole ruin it for me. And I was going to fight to keep my place, even if Knowles came back—which might not even happen because he was one of the oldest players in the league, and there had already been talk of retirement before he was injured. I’d just have to prove to everyone that I had the talent and the drive to succeed. I’d make myself indispensable to the team, and then they’d have no choice but to keep me on.
@jordanemery_official:
Say what you want but I’m the one taking your position. Remember that. Have a good evening bestie
I added a couple of kiss emojis and then pocketed my phone so I wouldn’t be tempted to continue the conversation. I’d riled Theo up enough.
For now.
3
THEO
I was living in a nightmare. From my vantage point in the back corner of the room, I watched the cameras flash in quick succession, making the cluster of microphones that had been thrust under Jordan Emery’s nose stand out in sharp relief. This was supposed to have been a low-key event—who cared if a Premier League club signed a virtually unknown player?—but the reporters had done their due diligence, and someone, somewhere, had found out about our supposed “feud.” My money was on that slimy git Greaves—he’d been at CEFYA with us both, and he’d always resented us for being more talented than him. The last I’d heard, he was playing for a non-league club, but it looked like he’d had a career change since he was sitting amongst the other journalists. From the smug, satisfied smile on his face that I could easily see from my position, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. The jealousy radiating from him as he reclined in his third-row seat was almost palpable, despite his obvious glee.
Thanks to Greaves, Harvey had asked me to come along today, even though I’d rather poke out my own eyeballs with a fork than endure this farce of a press conference. He’d laughed off the rumours, but he wanted to make a point of showing the press that there was no animosity between myself and my new teammate.
The reporter from Sky Sports cleared her throat, glancing over her shoulder at me before returning her gaze to Emery. “Do you think you’ll be able to put your differences with Theo Lewin aside and do what’s best for the club?”
I sucked in a breath, my body stiffening as a significant number of the press in the small conference room turned their attention to me. I’d never been more thankful for my breeding, which allowed me to smile graciously while I internally cursed Jordan Emery for putting me in this position.
“Helping Glevum FC to go as far as they can in the league is my one and only goal. Yeah, Theodore and I clashed in the past, but we were children back then, and we didn’t know any better. You know what kids are like. Now, we’re teammates and professionals, and we’ve put the past behind us. We both have the same goal.” Jordan laughed lightly as his gaze flicked to Greaves and then back to the Sky Sports reporter. “I hope none of you have been listening to rumours from unreliable sources.”
My smile felt brittle, but I held it for as long as I could, nodding to indicate that I agreed with the liar at the front of the room. He gave me a thumbs up with a wide, fake smile, flashing his straight, white teeth. The press seemed to eat it up, and as they returned their attention to Jordan and his agent, who had taken a seat next to him, I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the wall behind me.
We hadn’t put the past behind us at all. We hadn’t even spoken in person since we were seventeen.
I heard Harvey announce that they’d be taking a few photos, and when I opened my eyes again, Jordan Emery was holding up a deep red football shirt with his surname and his new number—22—emblazoned across the back in gold. His fake smile had been wiped away, replaced with a beaming grin, and I immediately slammed my eyes shut again. Seeing him with his new shirt made things far too real for me.
What I needed was a distraction to help me temporarily forget this nightmare. Preferably one in the form of a beautiful brunette woman.
We were due to play an away game against Arsenal next weekend. Perhaps I could get myself on the guest list at Sanctuary after we’d played the match. It was one of London’s hottest, most elite nightclubs, and as well as the main club and highly regulated VIP section, there was supposedly a brand-new secret basement area that could only be accessed by those who needed absolute privacy. From the rumours I’d heard, phones were banned there. Anything that could capture footage was banned, in fact. Everyone who was allowed access was thoroughly scanned for electronic devices.
It meant that I could party without worrying that the paparazzi would get a photo of me or if someone would sell me out.
I made a mental note to speak to Amir later to see if I could get on the list. Nothing was guaranteed, not even for top-flight football players. But even if I couldn’t get on the list, Sanctuary’s VIP area would most likely afford me enough privacy. I’d heard that the owner of Sanctuary didn’t take too kindly to negative publicity, and paparazzi were barred from photographing inside the venue. As yet, I’d never seen any leaked photos from the club. Not even from the main dance floor.
“Lewin.”
My head flew up at the low hiss, close to my ear, my eyes widening when I saw Jordan Emery standing in front of me. During the time I’d been lost in thought, it appeared that the impromptu press conference had finished, and the room had emptied out.
“Jordan Emery. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Pleasure?” His brows rose, and I rolled my eyes. Of course he wouldn’t understand the phrase. Or…he did, and he was trying to get under my skin. Either option was just as likely. He continued before I could form an appropriately cutting response, jerking his head towards the door. “Can we talk? In private.”
I noticed his gaze dart to his agent, who gave him a short nod, motioning with his hand, and it suddenly became clear to me. Whatever Jordan wanted to speak to me about, his agent had clearly put him up to it. I momentarily wished that Amir had been here to talk me out of what was most likely going to be an inadvisable conversation, but he was my agent, not my minder. He could have been here—in fact, he’d offered to come, but I’d insisted he take the evening off. The man worked harder than anyone I knew. Although he was London-based, he owned a small flat in Gloucestershire, and he’d come up this weekend for our home game against Chelsea. He was currently enjoying a meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant in the local town of Cheltenham with his wife, courtesy of yours truly.
“I suppose so, if we must,” I drawled, pushing off from the wall, bringing me closer to him. My jaw clenched when I noticed that he was now almost the same height as me. He must’ve had a late growth spurt.
“I wanna do this even less than you.” This close, I could see the brown and gold flecks in his light eyes. It might have been the lighting in the room, but his grey eyes looked green today. Of course he couldn’t be normal. No, he had to have ridiculous colour-changing eyes.