‘She’s incredible,’ I corrected him.
Oliver turned his body towards me, and I caught another strong hit of his heady scent.Goddamn it.
‘So the interview? Get the job?’
Irrational irritation flared to life inside me. He was asking a simple question, one that had a simple answer. No.
But the thought of admitting that failure sent a wave of shame washing over me. I could practically hear my mother’s sharp tsk of disappointment, and Charlotte's prepared speech about my many failings. The only person who never commented on my career slip-ups or life decisions was my dad. Brian Lowell was remarkably indifferent to his children. As long as they weren’t interrupting the football or cricket, and no one sat in his spot on the sofa, he didn’t care what they did or what they said, even if it was a blatant stripping of his youngest daughter’s dignity.
I chugged the last of my drink, forcing it down with a grimace. ‘No.’
I put the glass behind me, feeling Oliver’s gaze track my movements. Needing to gain the upper hand or feel remotely better about myself, I spun around to face him head-on.
‘So you’re a footballer, correct?’
His lips quirked. ‘Like you didn’t already know.’
The arrogance of this man was incredible. I swallowed agroan but continued my bid to keep the focus off me. ‘What position do you play?’
He hesitated for a second as if he’d been expecting me to ask something else.
‘Uh, striker.’
My nose wrinkled. ‘So, you kick the ball at the goal, not the people?’
Oliver’s head tipped back, and he groaned at the ceiling. ‘Jesus Christ, you really know nothing about football, do you?’
I didn’t miss the slight hint of an accent as he said nothing. It came out asnuthin.
‘I did tell you that, but you were too obsessed with yourself to hear me properly.’
‘Let’s just say it’s a first for me. Even if people don’t know about football, they’ve seen me on the news.’ Oliver lifted the glass to his lips and took a large sip. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. I cut short my lusting when I saw the sharpness in his eyes. The blue depths turned black with what appeared to be anger. His jaw ticked as he finished the drink, placing it beside my empty glass.
‘I don’t watch the news.’ I stated with a shrug.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Any particular reason why not?’
‘Nope. I know the worlds fucked. I don’t need to know every shitty thing that happens on a daily basis. As long as nothing happened to Taylor Swift, I’m good.’
Oliver’s eyes lost some of their intensity, softening a touch. ‘You saying Ineed to calm down?’
My eyes popped out of my head. ‘You listen to Taylor Swift?’
‘Her music is on everywhere you go. It’s hard not to.’ He cast a look towards his brother, his posture deflating. I followed his gaze. Rosie and George were huddled in the corner, their lips locked in an intense show of tonsil tennis.
In sync, we both let out a sigh.
‘Who's going to break it up?’ Oliver asked.
I eyed him curiously. ‘Do we need to break it up?’
‘George is my ride.’ He rubbed a hand down his face, like exhaustion suddenly washed over him.
I frowned. ‘Can’t you get a cab?’
Oliver rolled his eyes as if that statement was ridiculous. ‘Youmight not know who I am, but the rest of Britain does. And I don’t want anyone knowing where I live.’
It was slowly dawning on me that I needed to google this man. Whoever he is, his fame was volatile enough that even getting a taxi was a risk he didn’t want to take. He kept casting furtive glances around the pub that had gained a few more patrons since the early evening.
