“Motherfuck—”
“I’m kidding, Lucas. Calm down,” Alan chuckled. “You’re cute when you get all worked up.”
“Seriously, get out. You’re making my head hurt.”
“You were so messed up last night. I had to pay the cab a mint after you puked in the backseat.” Alan finished his bagel and wiped his hands on his trousers.
“Alan, if you don’t want my fist down your throat, get out now.” I glared at my best friend for emphasis.
“Yeah, yeah. Okay. I’ll see you downstairs. I’ll try to get Mo in a good mood before he kills you.”
I closed the bathroom door in my teammate’s face and then locked it for good measure. I dried off and got dressed, though not quickly. I wasn’t in the mood for my agent to give me whatever grief he planned to dish out.
“You look like dog shit,” Mo announced as soon as I came downstairs.
“I don’t know, Mo, I think he looks adorable,” Alan teased, handing me a cup of tea.
“Shut up, Cole,” I snapped.
The smell of fried egg and mushrooms filled the kitchen. Under normal circumstances the kitchen was my favorite room in the house. It was bright and open, and yes, damn it, guys cared about those things too. But not today. Today I hated just about everything.
“Here you go, big brother, enjoy,” Anna chirped with a sunny smile handing me a plate laden down with fry up basics. Fried eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms, hash browns and sausages. It looked revolting.
“I’m not supposed to be eating this sort of food, Anna. I’m on a strict fitness regimen.” I tried pushing the plate away, but Anna pushed it back.
“One day won’t hurt you. You need the calories. Plus the grease will soak up the residual alcohol in your system.”
I sat down on a bar stool at the island and took a long drink of water. I felt horrible. I should have known better than to get so pissed last night. Millwood would have a fit if he knew.
“Here you go, Mo.” Anna put a plate down in front of my agent who thanked her with a sweet smile before turning an angry frown to me.
“No smiles for me?” I asked with a weak grin.
Mo slammed a copy of The Sun down in front of me. Across from the page three girls was a grainy photograph showing Alan and the woman from last night carrying me towards a cab with the headline–Football’s Bad Boy at it Again. It went on to describe a night of debauchery. Drinking, screwing, and everything else in between.
I glanced up at Alan. “Did all that actually happen?”
He shrugged. “It says we were having a three way in the toilet for part of the night. Too bad the real story isn’t half as good.”
“I know most of this is bullshit, but it doesn’t change the fact that people will believe it. We talked about this, Lucas. Your image is important. Particularly with you starting in the Premier League. You have to think about your reputation.” Mo was on a roll. He all but wagged his finger in my face.
Ignoring Mo I looked down at the picture. I pointed to the woman. “Do you know who this is?” I asked Alan.
“She said her name was Morgan and you definitely seemed to fancy her last night,” Alan filled in.
“Morgan what?”
“Carter I think. She was American and pretty damn fit if you ask me. Nice one, buddy.” He fist bumped my shoulder.
“Morgan Carter,” I repeated, staring down at the picture.
“I don’t give a toss who she is. We have to talk about how to reframe this for the interviewer because you know you’ll be asked about it,” Mo cut in.
“Just talk about the time you saved the old lady from the care home fire and you’ll be fine,” Anna suggested sarcastically.
“Really? I didn’t know about that,” Mo exclaimed excitedly.
“She’s kidding, Mo,” I deadpanned.
