Breathe You In (25 page)

I watched the footballers take their
seats. The captain, Lewis Tate, sat in the middle, his angular jaw tight, his
mouth a straight line and his sharp blue eyes assessing the scene. He shoved
his hand over his dark blond hair, took a sip of water then rubbed the famous
vertical dent in his chin with his index finger.

My heart skipped a beat. I’d admired him
for many years but this was the first time I’d seen him up close. His skill as
a striker was second to none and he more than deserved his captaincy as the
team went into the tournament. If anyone could get the goals when they
mattered, when the pressure was on, then Lewis Tate could.

The team’s best defender, Neil
Bryers
, sat to his right. All impossibly wide shoulders,
broad chest and skin the color of the darkest night. On the other side, sat
Gavin Fellows, England manager, and one-time England captain himself. I’d seen
him on several occasions. He was matter-of-fact, said it how it was. I rated
his abilities in managing the team.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Fellows
said, leaning forward to speak into the static microphone on the desk in front
of him. “This, as you know, is the last press conference in the UK. Tomorrow we
head to Donetsk and the day after begin our journey that will end in us lifting
the European Cup. So if we could have questions in an orderly manner then
everyone will get a chance to ask what they need to.” He looked at the tall
reporter to my right and nodded. “Ted, you
wanna
start?”

Ted puffed with importance then
immediately tried to look nonchalant about the fact Gavin Fellows knew his
name. “Yeah, thanks. Lewis, what kind of mood are the team in after the nil-nil
result in the friendly against Spain last month? Surely they are feeling
nervous about taking on France after that?”

Lewis Tate folded his arms and raised one
eyebrow. “The mood is positive, as always. That score was perfectly
respectable. A decision didn’t go our way but if it had then it would have been
a defeat for Spain.”

I watched his lips as he spoke. He had a
soft, wide mouth that although sensuous wasn’t prone to smiling. Press
photographs always seemed to catch him serious, brooding, as if thinking about
tactics and strategies even when walking into a restaurant or hanging out on a
beach. Tonight he looked like he could do with a bit of lightening up. I
suspected his ultra glamorous girlfriend, Naomi George, would take care of that
later in their hotel room. Goodness only knew what she could do with a hot body
like his to make him feel better.

I suppressed a shiver of appreciation. It
was no secret that beneath his football shirt there were the sculpted muscles
and sinewy tendons worthy of a Grecian God. He wasn’t just the player to put
money on in terms of skills, he was also the guy all the top designers wanted
to wear their clothes, feature in their adverts and endorse their products

“Next,
er
, you.”
Fellows pointed over my head to the reporter on my opposite side.

I jigged in frustration and thrust my
iPhone further forward, hoping to be picked next.

“Ryan Dell, Mirror. Can I just ask what the
policy is on wives and girlfriends? Are they traveling to the Ukraine with the
team, and if so, what are you going to do to keep the players,
er
, fresh for the morning?”

Gavin gave a humorless huff. “Wives and
girlfriends are not staying here at the Hilton tonight, and as per policy, they
will not be traveling with us. The England team is going to the Ukraine to
work, not holiday, and I’m insisting on no distractions of any kind, on or off
the pitch.”

Ah, of course, no wonder Lewis looked more
pissed off than usual. He wouldn’t be getting any for weeks. Starting tonight.

“You,” Fellows said, moving his attention
to the back of the room.

“Phil Adams,
Sportsline
.
Neil, how do you think the defense is looking now that Harley is injured?”

Neil
Bryers
shrugged. “At the end of the day, injuries happen. It’s a shame for Harley but
I have every confidence in Taylor. He’s young, fast, playing great, and his
experience is growing all the time.”

Fellows picked another reporter who asked
a question about substitutes. Then another who wanted to know where the players
were staying during the tournament. The
Donbass
Palace Hotel. Another was sarcastic about Ted Hatton, the goalie, and how he’d
let in three penalties for his club, Arsenal, the weekend before. Lewis responded
with a short remark about moving on and I spotted a muscle flexing and
un-flexing in his cheek. The question had irritated him.

Each time Fellows searched for another
reporter to pose the next question, I offered forward my iPhone, jigged up and
down then felt my guts twist in frustration when he asked someone else.

After fifteen minutes Fellows stood,
straightened his jacket and scanned the room. “Right, thank you gentlemen for
coming. We’ll see you in Donetsk.”

I bristled with indignation. What the hell
was I? Invisible?
Lewis also stood, as did
Bryers
.
They turned toward the door.
The noise level rose around me,
conversations, a few final called-out questions.

Damn, my boss,
Reg
,
would have me hung, drawn and quartered if I didn’t get the scoop about formation.

“Hey,” I shouted, elbowing my way further
forward and breaking free of the crowd. “What about me? I haven’t asked
my
question.”

Lewis,
Bryers
and Fellows carried on walking. Fellows put his hand on the door handle and
pushed it down.

“Hey, for crying out loud,” I bellowed. “I
might be a
female
sports reporter but I still have as much right as all
these guys to ask my question. What are you, a bunch of pig-headed sexists?” As
I shouted out the last few words I was aware of the room becoming quiet.

No, more than quiet. Utterly silent.

Lewis stopped, turned and settled his
piercing gaze directly on me. His brows hung low and his lips tightened.

My throat felt tight and my mouth dry. Had
I really just called the captain of the England football team a sexist pig?

It seemed I had.

The two reporters, who had until now been
shouldering me, pushing into me as though I wasn’t there, moved away. It was as
if I were suddenly contagious. They didn’t want to be associated with the
hysterical woman with the wild hair wielding an iPhone like it was lethal
weapon.

Well, fuck them. If they’d been the only
member of the official press team not to get their moment they’d be huffing and
puffing too—but later, when it was too late, over a whiskey in the bar.
Well that wasn’t me. I was a strike-while-the-iron-was-hot type of girl.

Lewis was still staring at me. His
attention dropped down my body, from my rapidly heating cheeks, to my red top,
dark denim jeans and scarlet stilettoes. He then shoved his hands deep into the
pockets of his black joggers and cocked his head.

I pursed my lips and squared my shoulders.
Refused to be stared down.

“Hang on, Fellows,” Lewis said in his
deep, rumbling tone. “You missed someone.”

Fellows turned and looked at me. His nose
twitched as he shoved in a stick of gum and began chewing like a mastiff dog;
open-mouthed and noisy.

The withering look he shot my way could
only mean one thing—the misogynistic bastard had missed me out on
purpose.

It was well known he was superstitious
about women around the team during big matches. He thought we were bad luck,
like a bunch of witches or something. Hence his obsession with the abstinence
rule.

Well, it was too bad. My flight was booked
and
Reg
had sorted out my accommodation too. I was
going to the Ukraine along with every other qualified and experienced sports
journalist in this room.

Fellows glanced at his watch. “We really
have to get going,” he said, still chewing rapidly and now making icky snapping
noises with the gum as it rolled in his mouth.

Without breaking eye contact, Lewis
nibbled on his bottom lip and continued to stare at me.

My heart was beating so hard I could hear
my pulse whooshing in my ears. My legs had turned jelly-like so I buckled my
knees to keep from swaying. The man was devastatingly beautiful, but no amount
of photography or admiring from a distance had prepared me for what it would
feel like to be scrutinized by him. It was as though every fiber in my being
was laid out bare. His eyes seemed to go right through my clothes, right
through me.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice
loud in the eerily hushed room. “Nicky Thomas, Kick Magazine.”

“Nice to meet you, Nicky. So sorry about
you getting overlooked, if you would like—”

“We really haven’t time for any more
questions,” Fellows interrupted.


Lewis pulled in a deep breath, and the
material of his red and white top strained as his chest expanded. “I don’t
think one more will make any difference.” He paused. “Fire away, Nicky.”

One corner of his mouth kind of twitched.
I couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or the start of a rare smile.

I didn’t ponder that puzzle. This was my
moment. “Thank you,” I said then harnessed my most professional tone. “Because
of the adjustments in defense are you still going with a four-four-two formation
or do you think a four-three-three would be more sensible? Up the armor, so to
speak.”

Lewis nodded slowly, as though mulling
over his answer. “
Mmm
, yeah, we did think of
switching, but as
Bryers
already mentioned, Taylor is
playing well and should cope just fine. Not only that, we’ve trained in
four-four-two so switching at this stage might not be sensible. Having said
that, nothing is set in stone and the decision is flexible. We’ll see how the
team holds, not just defense but also up front.” He paused. “Does that answer
your question?”

“Great, thank you.”


“Come on,” Fellows said, opening the door
and half stepping through it.


Lewis made no move to follow. “Anything
else, Nicky?”


Yeah, come and do me a private strip in
my room later.


“
Er
, no, that’s
it, thanks,” I said.


He nodded, turned, and the star of all my
dirty dreams and football fantasies left the room.

“How did it go?”
Reg
asked when he called ten minutes later.

“Great, I got what I needed. I’m going to
write up my report and email it to you by ten.”

“Nine would be better.”


“Oh, okay.”


“And, Nicky, don’t forget I’m relying on
you to get the scoop on this. I could have sent Jeremy, who by the way is
completely pissed off that he isn’t going, so make sure you get me inside
gossip. Stuff no one else has.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Do better than your best. I want to be in
the know. Kick readers are relying on you.”

I braced for what I knew was coming next.

“Kick hard.”
Reg
chanted the annoying office motto he’d introduced the year before. “Kick fast
and kick better than the rest.”

“I will.”


“And you’re staying at the Hilton tonight,
right, with the team?”


If only I was staying with one particular
member of the team. The player who’d made my whole body tingle with just a
glance earlier. “Yes, but they’re dining privately and having an early night.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Fellows is seeing to that.
That guy is anal about WAG rules.”

“I know, and I don’t think he’s too happy
a female reporter is going to be hanging around either.”

“Tough shit.”
Reg
laughed.

It was no secret that he and Gavin Fellows
didn’t get on.
Reg
had played professionally at the
same time as Fellows many years ago, and the two had clashed on more than one
occasion. I couldn’t help think my lucky break in getting sent to cover the
Euro had something to do with their long-standing feud.

“I’ll get the report over to you
asap
, okay, boss.”

“Yeah, and make sure you keep your eyes
open and your ears pricked every second of every day.”

“I will.”

The line went dead and I picked up my Mac.
I was determined not to let
Reg
down, but equally I
had my reputation as a sport’s reporter to think about, which meant it was the
football I was reporting not the antics of the players off the pitch. And if
Reg
didn’t like that, it was too bad, he should have sent
Jeremy. I could always get another job. What I couldn’t do was repair my
to-date, professional and pristine reputation in the industry I adored.

My attention was drawn to a quiet lounge
to the left and I decided to order from the bar menu and write while I ate.
That way I wouldn’t be eating alone in a restaurant, which I hated, and it
would make my immediate task more pleasant.