“Let’s get this over with.” Having this conversation was the last thing I wanted to do, but he was right. We did have the same goal—to help our team go as far as they could. And despite the fact that I abhorred the man standing in front of me, he was my teammate, and there was nothing I could do to change that fact. For now.
When we were alone, safely behind a closed door in a small side room, Jordan’s neutral look faded, replaced with a smirk that I immediately wanted to smack from his face. “It must be killing you to have me here.”
I stepped up to him. I’d never let him push me around before, and he had to know that nothing was going to change in that respect. “It must be killing you to know that I’ve been here since the beginning of the season, playing against some of the best teams in the world, and you—”
He lunged at me, getting his hand around my throat and pressing me into the wall. The smirk was finally wiped from his face as his eyes darkened with anger, now a stormy blueish grey.
I swallowed around his grip, throwing my arms around him in a grappling move. His grip tightened on my throat, and I wanted to hurt him so badly, but I also didn’t want to be sued for being the one to break his bones. Or even worse, mine. “What the fuck are your eyes doing?” I rasped around his hand.
His grip loosened, and I took in a much-needed gulp of air before releasing him suddenly and giving his chest a hard shove, which made him stagger backwards. With a growl, he came at me again, but this time, I was prepared, and I sidestepped him, twisting around and coming up behind him. This time, I was the one pressing him into the wall, my hand covering the back of his skull, mashing his face into the hard surface. Hopefully, it would bruise.
“You fucking wanker,” he ground out, his words muffled as his face was up against the wall. “What the fuck are you saying about my eyes?”
Pulling back a little but still holding him in place, I attempted to gather my thoughts. It was difficult—he’d always had a talent for annoying me so much I’d forget the original reason I was upset with him. The temptation to get under his skin, the way he got under mine, was always there. Every time I saw him.
“Never mind. Do you have to be such an attention-seeker?” I whispered harshly. “I’m already sick and tired of seeing your poser photos appearing all over my socials.”
He barked out a laugh, and I pressed his face harder against the wall. “For you to see my photos, that must mean you’ve been stalking me. I’m flattered, really, but you need to stop. You’ll only give yourself a complex, wishing you could measure up to me and knowing that you’ll always fall short.”
“You’re such a fucking brat.” With one final push at the back of his head, I stepped away.
“Why does everyone keep calling me a brat?” he muttered to himself, rubbing at his face. When he turned around, I noticed that his cheek was red, and I couldn’t help smiling. My smile soon dropped when he stood there, silently glaring at me.
“Are we going to get to the point of this conversation? I have places to be.”
“More tea parties to attend? Or do you have tickets to the croquet?” Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back against the wall, a challenging look in his eyes. This bastard lived to get under my skin.
“I thought you might have grown out of your childish taunts, but I should’ve known better. Has anyone told you that you have the emotional maturity of a thirteen-year-old?”
“I was thirteen when I met you.”
I rolled my eyes. “I suppose you want to blame me for that, too?”
“That was the worst day of my life.”
“Really? Not the day when my team beat yours 9–0, and I scored five of those goals? And what was it that happened? Oh, yes. You got a red card because you couldn’t control your temper.” I laughed as his eyes darkened, his brows lowering and his mouth flattening into a thin line. “It was quite amusing to see you kicking that chair over and then tripping over the legs. You really did earn the nickname ‘Trip,’ didn’t you?”
“I hate you so fucking much,” he spat between gritted teeth. “You were an asshole then, and you’re an asshole now.”
“Likewise.”
“Fuck.” Rubbing his hand over his face, he exhaled sharply. “Enough. Let me say what I was forced to come here and say, and then we can go our separate ways. I’m sick to the back teeth of seeing your face, and I’m not the one stalking the other on social media.”
I didn’t bother to mention the fact that he’d messaged me via his social media, so he was clearly lying. That would only lead to another argument, and I wanted to spend as little time as possible in his obnoxious presence.
“Go ahead.” Spreading my arms wide, I gave him an expectant look. “I’m all ears.”
“Fine. All I brought you here to say was that we need to act civil with each other in public. I have to look good for my brand endorsements, and I don’t want to fuck things up with the club, either. As much as I know you hate it, Glevum needs me. I don’t want them thinking they made a mistake in signing me. It won’t look good for you, either.”
Of course he’d focus on his brand endorsements before anything else. I’d expect nothing less from someone so self-centred.
Hold on, he already had brand endorsements? “Brand endorsements?”
He gave me a smug grin. “Yep. A big one with an underwear company. Guess they appreciate my pictures more than you do.”
Underwear. More excuses for him to show off his body. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from someone whose social media was filled with half-naked mirror selfies.
“What a surprise. You’re such a poser. You just love to show your body at every opportunity, don’t you?”
“I’m not a prude like you,” he shot back, raking his gaze over me in a disdainful way that made my blood boil.
“It’s called having a sense of decorum, something you’d know nothing about.” I smiled internally when he glared at me. “But to get back to the point, because I have far better things to do than discuss your lack of clothing, I agree to your terms. I don’t want to ruin anything for the team, and I’m prepared to act civil to you around the team and the wider public. Outside of that, you’d better stay as far away from me as possible.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to be around you any more than you want to be around me.”
Good. Then we were done here.
Without another word, I turned on my heel and left the room.
As I walked, I tapped out a quick message to the group chat I had with some of the footballers in the team.
Me:
Does anyone fancy going to a club after our away game at Arsenal?
Reuben Mendy was the first to respond. He was our best striker and currently the fifth-highest goalscorer in the league. His message was closely followed by a reply from Ainsley Shaw, one of our defenders.
Reuben:
Drinks, women and a VIP area? Sign me the fuck up!
Ainsley:
Time to initiate our new team member
No. The last thing I wanted was to invite Jordan fucking Emery.