One of the good things about being a professional female footballer was that no one really expected you to wear makeup. It wasn't that I didn't like getting dressed up to go out, it was just that exercising with a full face of foundation wasn't great for your skin, so by the time I hit twenty I no longer cared about being seen barefaced. My one exception to this was the false eyelashes I had infilled every two to three weeks but other than that, my skin care routine was straight forward: cleanse and moisturise.
This meant that getting ready after training could be done in fifteen minutes flat. Shower, dry off, moisturise, get dressed. What was weird though, was when I got to the coaches and saw Rowan, he looked at me as if I was some form of alien. I figured it was because he wasn't used to seeing women who didn't look like they were about to take a string of selfies for social media, which summed up most of the girls he'd been linked with in the past year or so.
“Isn't the other coach for you?” I was outside the one that we usually used for away games. It was funny, that a group of grown women usually stuck to the same seats they had each time.
“Nope. some bright spark’s decided it would be a good idea to mix us all up, so I'm on this one.” He pointed at the coach. “You'll need to check which coach you're down for.”
I felt my shoulders sink. I was definitely one of those people who liked routine. “Where's the list?”
Rowan raised his brows in a faux serious look. “Or you could trust me when I tell you that you're on this one.”
“Why would you care enough to check which one I'm on?”
“Because I was hoping it would be a different one to me.” He gave me a blisteringly sarcastic smile.
I knew the expression on my face was the same one that I used to give teenage boys when they made comments about girls not being able to become professional footballers, Then I threw my handbag over my shoulder and shifted past Rowan to head onto the coach.
“You're sat here,” Izzy shouted, patting the seat next to her.
It wasn't my usual seat, because I was one of those players that had at least half a dozen superstitions, including where they sat and who it was next to.
“We’ve even got little goodie bags!” She held up a thick paper bag with a bow at the top, the Manchester Athletic logo printed on the front.
I took the seat next to her, thankfully facing forwards, the table in between us where my goodie bag now sat.
Everyone had one, including Rowan who was taking the seat opposite me, Ryan already having sat down opposite Izzy. I felt Rowan’s eyes on me, and I could tell he was smirking, as if he knew that his very presence was causing the muscles in my back and shoulders to tense tighter than the skin of a drum.
He hated that I was always seemingly so happy. I hated that he made me feel like growling.
“You going to see what’s in the bag?”
I’d been trying not to look at him for fear I’d turn to stone.
“Later.”
“You should look now. Maybe your bag had a little extra dropped into it.”
I definitely wasn’t opening it. No way. He’d probably added a butt plug, or something to try and embarrass me. Which it probably would.
“Have a look, Dee.” Izzy elbowed me in the arm.
“I will later.”
I caught sight of Rowan shrugging.
More players got onto the coach. With both the men’s and women’s squad, there would be about forty people, plus the coaching staff and anyone else who was coming, such as Genevieve. The two coaches wouldn’t be full, so if sitting opposite Rowan became too much of a pain in the arse, I’d be able to move somewhere else. Besides, I suspected he’d move anyway, wanting to join in the poker game that was starting, Bobbi and Susi from the women’s team instigating it.
I wasn’t sure how good an idea this was. A lot of the men’s squad were single, apart from half a dozen who were either married or in pretty serious relationships. Most of the women’s team were single, although Joely, our first choice ‘keeper, was married to the captain of the Liverpool team. A weekend away, where there would be alcohol and opportunity meant that there would inevitably be drama. The reputations of a lot of the players in the men’s squad spoke for themselves.
Our athletic figures and the fact that we were occupied most weekends with matches meant that socialising was scuppered during the season, and none of us were looking to settle down any time and have babies. That wouldn’t help our careers, and they were short-lived as it was.
Guy Babin was on our coach, sitting at the table across the aisle from us. He was a handsome Frenchman, who’d played professionally until moving into management, and I knew at least a couple of the office staff who had huge crushes on him. He was single, with two teenaged daughters, and I hadn’t known him to be linked to any woman since he’d joined the club.
He was diagonally opposite me, studying his iPad, and paying no attention to whatever was being said at his table. I watched for a little while, the coach taking its time to get out of the city with the traffic in its usual busy state. Guy was engrossed, his forehead slightly creased with a frown as he tapped something on the screen. I could totally understand why people crushed on him.
“Does Captain Fantastic wish she had our manager to play under?”
Rowan’s voice was low, the words meant just for me. I hadn’t realised he’d been watching me; the last thing I’d been aware of him doing was reading a book.
