Rhys laughed, really enjoying my situation, clearly. “Usually, it’s the other way round.”
“Usually it is.” Women had only been too keen to get a girlfriend title from me, and all that entailed. It wasn’t as if I was a commitment-phobe. I may’ve grown up without my dad being around, but my mum had always been pro-relationships and she’d had strong friendships too. I’d done my time having one-night stands and chasing tail; in the last couple of years, having a steady hook up or girlfriend had been both easier, and I’d enjoyed it more. I’d basically gone through the last three years of my relationship history with Dee to try to get her to see that I wasn’t the playboy the media would sometimes make me out to be.
“So talk to her about looking for a house. Ask her to go on viewings with you. Even if you’re not going to live together any time soon, she’ll probably still like helping you. Maybe. Don’t fucking ask me to go with you though. I hate that shit.” Rhys grimaced at the coffee – probably not strong enough. He’d deal.
“You’re not changing your career to be an Insta-toss pot with home décor tips then?” I chuckled. My best friend was not into anything remotely interior wise. Some agents were able to give their clients tips, Rhys hadn’t a fucking clue when it came to that. He was much better on fashion advice.
“Nope. What time are you being picked up?”
It was game day and a grudge match from last season against a team that scored a last-minute penalty to win the game. It shouldn’t have been a penalty. They’d played dirty through the whole game, and the ref had a shocker. There was no way we weren’t going to go all out to win this today, a little bit more than usual.
“In an hour. Time for rituals and breakfast first.” Some of the players drove themselves to the grounds. Others were chauffeured in. Ryan and I had opted for the lift because both of us had plans for after the match. I had no idea what his were, but mine involved taking Dee out for dinner. Genny was having Toby overnight after he’d watched the game with Dee, which gave us our first free Saturday night together. I’d booked a hotel, a swanky one in the centre of Manchester, with a meal in their restaurant. It had a heated rooftop pool, which we’d make use of too, and given that we’d both have played games today, swimming would be a good way to relax.
Rhys shook his head. He worked with footballers, mainly, having a couple of rugby players on his books and a few cricketers. He’d never understood the importance of match-day rituals and superstitions because he was too scientific for that. “Is Dee’s game on TV?”
I shook my head. More women’s football was being televised, and Dee’d had three games on so far this season. “No, but I can stream it.” Which is what my game ritual was today. Watching Dee.
To be fair to my teammates, I wouldn’t be the only one watching. Since the shared training up in Scotland, the men’s squad had taken more of an interest in the women’s team, for one reason or another.
Rhys shook his head, obviously amused. “When are you going to introduce her to your mam?”
I ignored him. My mam knew I was seeing her. I’d mentioned it a few weeks ago and sent her a link to Dee’s club profile. I’d also told her about the issues with her sister, which she’d sympathised with, and offered help if Dee needed it. I wasn’t sure how that would happen, given that my mam was still in Newcastle, and we were a couple of hundred miles away in Manchester, and I hadn’t told Dee, but I knew she preferred the idea of Dee over Jade. She’d mentioned that more than once already.
“How’s your love life, Rhys?” I sprawled across the sofa.
Rhys stiffened and shut up. Ryan choked on his smoothie. I smiled.
That always bought us a bit of peace.
My hamstring hurt. I had a bruise on my ribs which would be a lovely shade tomorrow and a full palette of purples the day after. I’d needed a stitch above my right eyebrow to a cut that had bled like a fucker. But we’d won by two clear goals and had kept a clean sheet.
Victory tasted sweet. I’d picked up another yellow card for a tackle that was completely illegal and I was probably a shade lucky to not have been sent off, but I’d already picked up a goal and an assist before that. It had been a physical game against a team that were not much more than thugs with a bit of skill, but we’d won, and we now had two days off to recover.
Dee was standing with Genny in the players’ reception, still dressed in her club tracksuit. She’d picked up a goal as well today, the women winning three-one. Toby was kitted out in tracksuit bottoms and a shirt with my name on the back that he was surgically attached to.
He ran at me, arms outstretched, which was pretty much his standard greeting, but because the run up was longer than normal, I predicted more force. I stooped down and scooped him up in the air, hearing his victory cries at the win. I knew I had the widest smile on my face because his sheer joy was that contagious. In his eyes, I was a hero, which made my chest expand as well as making me feel as nervous as hell in case I fucked something up, which was always a possibility.
“We won!”
“We did. Two wins in one day!” I put him back down on the ground before any part of him could knock a bruise. “Aunt Dee scored a goal too.”
“I know. It was a really good goal.” He looked immensely proud. “She got player of the match.”
“She did.” Dee had also managed to come out of the game with a lot fewer injuries than me, which was definitely a win. I’d had a quick text exchange just before our game started when I’d asked if she was okay.
“She did what?”
I looped my arm around her waist and pulled her closer into me, managing not to flinch when she knocked against a bruise.
“You managed not to get injured.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I did. Unlike someone else. You were lucky with that tackle.”
“I was.” Wasn’t bullshitting my way through that. “Post-match analysis over dinner?”
She nodded, although we both knew we’d spend about ten minutes talking about football before going on to something else. Or doing something else.
“Can I not come with you?” Toby looked up at us with big eyes.
