wouldn’t like the thought of you writing anything in your blood.”
“Me neither actually.” I pulled a face. “So why were the dates a disaster?” I maybe wasn’t interested from a journalistic capacity, but as a woman, by God, curiosity was gnawing at me like a rabid dog.
“She talked constantly about herself. Not once did she ask me even the most basic question about my life.”
“She didn’t?” How could she not? I would like to know every tiny detail from what his childhood was like to the exact shade of blond of his pubic hair.
“No, she wasn’t interested in how my day had been, if a match had gone well, and she didn’t mention my hat-trick against West Ham the day before.” He gave a humorless grunt. “So she certainly wasn’t bothered about learning my taste in books or movies, or where my favorite city to spend a weekend is.”
“Barcelona?” I said with a grin.
“Venice, so romantic.” He reached for his tea again. “It was all about her, her, her. I’m an expert now on Naomi George’s favorite shades of lipstick and all the names she put in a hat before deciding on Flowery Fauna for the yappy little handbag dog she has. Which by the way she insisted on taking to The Ivy and then was rude to the maître de when he asked her not to let it run under the table collecting the scraps of fillet she was dropping.”
“Oh, God, really? She let her dog run around The Ivy? I’ve never been but I’m sure it would be frowned on.”
He rolled his eyes. “It was but because she’s Naomi George they tolerated her. Plus, she has a reputation for losing her temper quite spectacularly. I don’t think anyone, including me, wanted to witness that.”
“So why did you go out the second time? If it was so awful.”
“That was the second time, but the first wasn’t really a date. We’d done a photo shoot for Gucci together and grabbed something to eat on the way back to our hotels. She was tired that night and not quite as hyper, plus she didn’t have the damn dog with her.” He shrugged. “We’d got on okay and it seemed polite to invite her to dinner again since she was in London for the week.”
“But you gave up on politeness after The Ivy experience?”
“I most certainly did. I put her in a taxi and said I’d call. I never did.”
“Ouch.” I pulled a face. “That must have smarted.”
“She could have called me. She didn’t and now I presume she’s back in LA living her crazy me-me-me life.”
“And you’ve just let the papers think that you’re carrying on a long-distance relationship with her.”
“I haven’t let them do anything, but if that’s what they think, that’s what they think.”
“It definitely is.”
“I know that we’re not an item and that’s what counts. I’m a single guy, have been for a few years now. My job is to play football, not pander to the press.”
“So you’re married to the game,” I said with a smile. I couldn’t deny that I felt happy-dance-happy he wasn’t seeing a super-model. So would half the female population of the world, come to that. But they wouldn’t find out from me.
“I’m living my dream career, so to say I absolutely love it would be a bit of an understatement,” he said.
“I love my job too. I know it’s unusual for a girl to be quite so passionate about football, but really, I’ve always been to every game I ever had the opportunity to, and when I was growing up I always had a kit on my Christmas list. Still do if I’m honest.”
He laughed, a lovely rumbling sound that warmed the room and settled in my chest.
“What’s so funny?”
I couldn’t help but stare at the way his face softened when he laughed. It was like all the creases dissolved and in their place laughter lines tugged at his lips and cheeks. It made him even more appealing if that was possible. Like someone to really spend time with and get to know. It was a dip into Lewis Tate the man, not the star.
“You in a football
“Me neither actually.” I pulled a face. “So why were the dates a disaster?” I maybe wasn’t interested from a journalistic capacity, but as a woman, by God, curiosity was gnawing at me like a rabid dog.
“She talked constantly about herself. Not once did she ask me even the most basic question about my life.”
“She didn’t?” How could she not? I would like to know every tiny detail from what his childhood was like to the exact shade of blond of his pubic hair.
“No, she wasn’t interested in how my day had been, if a match had gone well, and she didn’t mention my hat-trick against West Ham the day before.” He gave a humorless grunt. “So she certainly wasn’t bothered about learning my taste in books or movies, or where my favorite city to spend a weekend is.”
“Barcelona?” I said with a grin.
“Venice, so romantic.” He reached for his tea again. “It was all about her, her, her. I’m an expert now on Naomi George’s favorite shades of lipstick and all the names she put in a hat before deciding on Flowery Fauna for the yappy little handbag dog she has. Which by the way she insisted on taking to The Ivy and then was rude to the maître de when he asked her not to let it run under the table collecting the scraps of fillet she was dropping.”
“Oh, God, really? She let her dog run around The Ivy? I’ve never been but I’m sure it would be frowned on.”
He rolled his eyes. “It was but because she’s Naomi George they tolerated her. Plus, she has a reputation for losing her temper quite spectacularly. I don’t think anyone, including me, wanted to witness that.”
“So why did you go out the second time? If it was so awful.”
“That was the second time, but the first wasn’t really a date. We’d done a photo shoot for Gucci together and grabbed something to eat on the way back to our hotels. She was tired that night and not quite as hyper, plus she didn’t have the damn dog with her.” He shrugged. “We’d got on okay and it seemed polite to invite her to dinner again since she was in London for the week.”
“But you gave up on politeness after The Ivy experience?”
“I most certainly did. I put her in a taxi and said I’d call. I never did.”
“Ouch.” I pulled a face. “That must have smarted.”
“She could have called me. She didn’t and now I presume she’s back in LA living her crazy me-me-me life.”
“And you’ve just let the papers think that you’re carrying on a long-distance relationship with her.”
“I haven’t let them do anything, but if that’s what they think, that’s what they think.”
“It definitely is.”
“I know that we’re not an item and that’s what counts. I’m a single guy, have been for a few years now. My job is to play football, not pander to the press.”
“So you’re married to the game,” I said with a smile. I couldn’t deny that I felt happy-dance-happy he wasn’t seeing a super-model. So would half the female population of the world, come to that. But they wouldn’t find out from me.
“I’m living my dream career, so to say I absolutely love it would be a bit of an understatement,” he said.
“I love my job too. I know it’s unusual for a girl to be quite so passionate about football, but really, I’ve always been to every game I ever had the opportunity to, and when I was growing up I always had a kit on my Christmas list. Still do if I’m honest.”
He laughed, a lovely rumbling sound that warmed the room and settled in my chest.
“What’s so funny?”
I couldn’t help but stare at the way his face softened when he laughed. It was like all the creases dissolved and in their place laughter lines tugged at his lips and cheeks. It made him even more appealing if that was possible. Like someone to really spend time with and get to know. It was a dip into Lewis Tate the man, not the star.
“You in a football
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