Tito let the weights settle. He grabbed his sweat towel and wiped his brow.
“Fucking hell, Noah,” he said. “You’re making a major deal out of this.”
Before Noah had a chance to answer, Ewen Armitage, Brockton’s other striker, took the bike next to him.
“What are you two squabbling about?” he asked.
“Noah is still banging on about this plot of land,” Tito explained. “And I’m saying he needs to get on with it instead of endless talking.”
Ewen spun round on the bike seat, so he faced Noah. Ewen probably had three good playing years left in him. Even so, heremained a fan favourite. With his floppy hair and cheeky grin, a lot of female supporters swooned when he came onto the pitch.
Yet he remained single.
“You’re wanting to build your own place?” he asked.
“Not with my bare hands,” Noah replied, panting.
“First off you need an architect,” Ewen said. “Adam got a great one when he did his house up. Maybe he can give you their details.”
“Hey, I know,” Tito cut in. “Stefano at La Piazza said his son’s an architect, remember? Reckons he’s come home after being in L.A. Is that fancy enough for you?”
Noah did recall a conversation they’d had with the owner of the team’s favourite restaurant. He’d been excited that his son had returned to the fold.
“L.A?” he replied. “I bet he charges a fortune.”
“Only one way to find out,” Ewen said. “Give him a try.”
Ewen got his phone out of his tracksuit pocket and tapped away. In no time he handed it to Noah.
There was a news article from a Manchester-based website. The headline readL.A. to Deansgate. Why Carmine Amato came home.
What caught Noah’s attention was the photograph which accompanied the piece. The man smiling from the page took his breath away.
He’s gorgeous.
The combination of dark hair and olive skin was a knockout. Yet there was something in this man’s eyes that really spoke to Noah.
After handing the device back to Ewen, Noah took his own mobile out and searched for Carmine Amato Architect.
Instantly a phone number and address came up.
“Right,” he said, getting off the bike. “I’ll do it right now.”
Noah stretched his calves. Stopping midway through a workout could make him seize up. Javier, Brockton’s manager, would not be pleased if he injured himself proving a point to Tito and Ewen.
“Thank fuck for that,” Tito replied. “I can’t deal with this much longer.”
Ewen sniggered. “Dramatic much?”
He got a one-fingered salute from Tito for his answer.
These two winding each other up had become a solid fixture of life at Brockton. Noah went out into the corridor. He dialled the number and waited.
“Amato Architect practice. Samantha speaking.”
“Oh hello, Samantha. I…well…”
“Can I help?”
