Scored by Lily Harlem Page B

scores we hoped for.”
    “I know you’re hardly a novice, I’m just curious how you cope. Not as a great captain or a fine addition to the team, but you, Lewis Tate. What runs through your head at night before you go to sleep? What thoughts help you through it?”
    He stuck out the tip of his tongue and stroked the seam of his lips. “Mmm…okay.” He sucked in a breath. “When I was first given the captaincy, for the World Cup six years ago, I will confess I was jittery, but my grandfather sat me down and put things into perspective.”
    “How did he do that?” I was itching to know. I couldn’t imagine myself in Lewis’ shoes even for a second. He had not just the physical challenges of the game but also mental ones.
    “He told me to think about leaders in history and who had truly got things accomplished. Eventually I came to a few conclusions.”
    “Which were?”
    “People don’t always notice the best leaders and that to lead my team I had to walk beside them not ahead of them.”
    “An interesting concept.”
    “Yeah, I wanted to be part of the team, not a captain who was disliked or dictatorial or thought myself more important than everyone else. In fact, my grandfather always said no truly great man ever thought of himself so. And that is what I’ve tried to stick by.”
    “You mean you’re humble and great?”
    “Probably neither, just trying to be the best that I can and remember my place in the bigger world.” He finally moved away and walked toward the door.
    Again, I admired the grace of his steps and the way he carried himself with such controlled finesse.
    “Well, Mr. Tate, it seems you’re not just a top-class footballer but also quite a philosopher too.”
    He turned, his hand poised to open the door. “Ahh, you see, Nicky, now you know one thing about me the rest of the world doesn’t and that most definitely includes Naomi George.”
    A lovely warm feeling, like hot chocolate and marshmallows, settled in my tummy. “I’m glad I know that about you.”
    “And I am glad I know you adore Barcelona.” He glanced through the spy hole then turned back to me. “Thanks, for the tea and the chat. I appreciate it.”
    “My pleasure. Any time, neighbor.”
    He twitched one side of his mouth into a half smile then, between one heartbeat and the next, he was gone.
    I was left staring at the white polished wood of the shut door and wondering if I’d dreamed the whole incident. Had Lewis Tate really been in my room? Drinking tea and chatting as though we were old friends? I glanced down at the two teacups I was holding, gave the handles a little squeeze. They were definitely real. Lewis had been here.
    Quickly, I set them on the tray then moved over to the door and attached the security chain. There was only one thing for it. Big Ben would have to have his batteries re-inserted.
    My body was tingling, my nipples hard and my pussy had a familiar ache that I knew wouldn’t go away until an orgasm was had. And whose name would be on my lips as I brought myself to climax?
    Lewis Tate, the philosophizing footballer who had my hormones skittering this way and that and my heart dangerously close to beating for him.

Chapter Four
     
    The roar of the crowd blasted through my ears and vibrated in my chest, chants and songs I knew well from the English fans and unfamiliar ones from the French. Anticipation was running hotly through my veins and my nerves were stretched. We had to win this match.
    The players looked colorful against the bright green of the pitch. England in red and white and France in blue. From the press box, I could make out Lewis standing in the center with the captain of the French team and the referee. Probably discussing who wanted heads or tails of the coin. He looked cool and calm, but underneath that façade I knew, as did the opposition, he was like a snake about to strike, a missile ready to launch. If he got the ball he would be dangerously fast and the other team would