“You don’t say much, do you?”
“Just trying to get to training,” I said pointedly.
“Oh. Right.” She hurried into the high heels she’d kicked off last night. “Have you seen my handbag?”
“Entrance.” I gestured with my head for her to follow me out of the large primary suite, down the hall my bedroom shared with two guest rooms and a large bathroom, and out into the open-plan living area.
The light streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows was another reason I’d bought the flat. A balcony wrapped around two sides of the apartment, overlooking the small park behind Loverose Lane and New Town beyond. Most flats in this area were period properties, but I’d wanted something modern. It would have been easier to get a flat closer to the football ground out in Carrick Knowe, but like Baird and John, I preferred being in the city center. It did mean, however, I needed to leave an hour before practice to make what should have been a twenty-minute journey. But at this time of the morning, city traffic was a nightmare.
“Wow, I never really had a proper look at the place, but your flat is hot,” the brunette offered as I gently nudged her toward the door. “Did the couch belong to a grandparent or something, though?”
I grimaced. “Nah. It’s just comfy.”
As she grabbed her bag off the floor, she peered past me into the living room with a dubious expression.
Remembering what Beth had said about my sofa, I asked, “If you’d seen it before we fucked, would we have still fucked?”
She let out a laugh. “Of course. Just not on your grannie’s couch.”
Glancing back at the couch, I scowled. I couldn’t see ugly. I’d sat on the thing in the furniture place after sitting on what seemed like five million sofas, and it was by far the comfiest of them all. That’s all I saw. Aye, maybe it didn’t match with the leather recliners and fancy pieces Baird’s sister had helped pick out. But it worked for me. Deal done.
“I seem to have everything.” She rummaged through her purse, checking.
“Great.” Taking hold of my training bag, I let us out of the flat.
“So … will I see you again?”
“Georgia, right?”
She smirked unhappily. “Right. I guess I should be flattered you remember my name.”
“I wasn’t drunk last night, so why wouldn’t I?”
“Uh, well, you didn’t seem so sure there.”
“I’m crap with names,” I lied.
Truth was, I’d woken up that morning to Georgia lying in my bed, and I’d had a moment of panic when I realized I couldn’t remember her name. And it really wasn’t because I’d been drunk when we came back to my flat. The season was about to start, and while I was training, I didn’t drink. Neither did any of the other lads. But Georgia had suddenly looked like every other woman I’d brought back to my place for a night of shagging. I’d been in my new place two weeks and she was the first woman I’dbrought here, but that didn’t mean the one-night stands hadn’t been going on for a while.
In fact, my entire football career was a revolving door of one-night stands.
After eight years, it was starting to wear a bit.
The sex was boring. Maybe it was because there was no foreplay or banter running up to it anymore. I didn’t have to work for it because what I’d said to Beth Carmichael was true. There were women out there who merely wanted to shag a footballer … so they always came to me and made it very clear from the get-go that they wanted my dick. The dating app on my phone was like a waiting list. If that made me sound like a total arsehole, then so be it, because it was the truth. That shouldn’t be boring. That should be fucking tremendous. Most guys would kill for my dating life.
There had to be something wrong with me.
“Right.” Georgia walked toward the lift as I strode toward the stairwell. “Oh. Really?”
I shrugged. “You can take the lift.”
“Naw, naw, I’ll come with you.” She tottered over in six-inch heels that did great things for her legs.
“I had a nice time,” I forced out so she wouldn’t feel bad that I was rushing her away.
“Me too. Would you … would you want to repeat it sometime?” Her heels clattered loudly on the concrete stairs.
“Eh …”
