“Me too.”
“When did you know you wanted to be a footballer?” He hadn’t moved, even though the rest of the room was involved in some weird drinking game that was only going to end badly.
“Always. My dad used to kick about with me when I was little. I have a photo of him with me in an athletic kit.” Both my knees were grazed, but I had the biggest beaming smile on my face, a smile identical to his.
“Same. Never wanted to do anything else.”
“Why? Because you wanted to be famous?”
“Because I wanted to play football. Even if I was earning fuck all in the semi pro leagues, I’d have still been a footballer first.” He took the cocktail from my hand and took a sip. “Fuck that’s sweet.”
“You weren’t invited to try it.” I took my drink back, suddenly feeling quite possessive over it.
His smile was killer. One of those smiles that could equally belong to a movie star or serial killer, with the same success level for both. I knew there were calendars dedicated to his legs, Instagram accounts showing off photos of his thighs, but there should probably also have been a television series just about his smile.
I tried to look away, but it had me glued. He was smiling, and it was at me. So many women would give their finest designer handbag to be looked at by him like I was right now, and I wasn’t sure I didn’t hate it. And I didn’t have a designer handbag.
Would Rowan care about that? The cynic in me thought he would, that he’d be more concerned with how someone dressed than how they were, but the person who’d spent so much time with him the last few days didn’t think that.
He wouldn’t care about designer stuff.
“I think I’d love to know what’s going through your brain right now.” His smile had become more amused.
I was analysing his smile.
I gulped another drink.
This wasn’t right.
“Probably things your small brain couldn’t understand.” It was a low blow, but I classed it as defensive, so it was allowed.
So was making the rules up as I went along.
“I’m surprised you’re donating your time to talk to me, given I have such a small brain.” He raised his brows. “I’m sure there are people worthier of your time than me.”
I looked around the room. Izzy was flirting her way round the men’s team. Everyone else was either talking, downing shots or sat down looking like they’d be the sensible ones tomorrow who wouldn’t have a headache.
“Probably.” I didn’t have a wittier answer. “But anyone with half a brain would’ve headed home now to sort out the shit her sister has left her in.”
Rowan slowly shook his head. “Genny’s looking after Toby. He’ll be enjoying himself. So should you.”
I nodded and downed the rest of my cocktail. “I need another.”
Rowan’s eyes stayed on me. He didn’t seem to be looking to find someone else to speak to.
“Why aren’t you with your teammates?” My filters had been removed by the alcohol.
“I spend most of my time with them during the season. Why would I want to be?” He put his drink down on the nearest table, then took my empty glass from me.
“Why not find your next victim to be your girlfriend, then?” At least two of my teammates wouldn’t say no to Rowan. Dating a high-profile men’s footballer wouldn’t hurt anyone’s image. I knew my agent would be actively encouraging me to be seen with him if she knew I had any connection with him, other than the summer school last week.
Rowan laughed. “What makes you think I’m not already doing that?” His wicked grin was flashed again.
I felt myself burn, and I knew my pale skin was turning bright red. “Because I’m not your type.” I wasn’t. I’d seen what his type was in the media.
He chuckled, then put a hand on the small of my back, turning me back towards the pack made up of our two teams. “Do you want another drink?”
I nodded. “I think that would be a good idea.”
