I shook my head. “Nothing. It really is nothing.” Because it was.
“Liar.”
I sighed. There was no point in not sharing because she’d only yank it out of me at some point. “This flirting with Nate. It isn’t going anywhere, is it? He has kids. He’ll want someone to help parent them at some point. And he’ll have a queue of women to do that.”
Genevieve shrugged. “Probably. But that doesn’t mean it’s what he wants now. Stop overthinking things and just enjoy the flirting, and whatever comes after. Ride that dick, Amber, and see how many orgasms it can give you.”
She was possibly right.
“What if he’s just stringing me along?” The insecurity blurted out.
“Do you want to pretend we’re teenagers again and have me ask him about you? I will if you want.” Her magazine was down on the table now, arms folded.
Her expression, which was totally serious, made me laugh. “I think I can manage without that.” If only I was sure.
We won, one-nil, thanks to a Ryan O’Connell goal and Nate saving a penalty in the eighty-ninth minute, taken by Levi Statham of all people. It had been Nate who’d given it away, when he’d crashed into Levi after a really well taken corner, but Nate’s elbow that had risen too high had caused the referee to call for a penalty.
I’d never sat so tightly watching a penalty being taken. Levi had been infuriated, arguing with the ref that Nate should’ve been sent off rather than just picking up a yellow card. He ended up being booked himself, but the penalty still stood.
I knew Nate had elbowed him on purpose. I knew he’d done it for me. It was the most stupid thing I’d ever seen, because it could’ve cost us two points, but Nate had gone the right way as Levi took the penalty and saved it like it was a kick from a child.
This only annoyed Levi more, who went back to the ref to argue that there had been an issue with the defenders distracting him, stropping enough to end up with a second yellow for dissent, meaning it was him who got sent off. He walked up the tunnel still shouting at anyone who was there to listen.
Four minutes later and Nate’s clean sheet was still intact. Manchester Athletic had scooped three very precious away points, and Levi Statham had been sent off, showing the cameras what a sulky dickhead he was.
Pretty much a perfect afternoon.
I had no idea what to say to Nate. The players headed into the changing rooms off the pitch after doing their usual applauding of our away supporters who hadn’t stopped singing all through the game. There was euphoria from Jude and Nicky, their youthful idiocy apparent when Nicky put Jude on his shoulders and ran across the pitch with him, making Guy shout obscenities for everyone to hear.
They ignored him, or pretended not to hear, carrying on back to our supporters and getting them even more riled up.
Nate was one of the first into the tunnel, Ryan behind him. He found me in the seats reserved for the backroom staff and gave me the thumbs up and a huge smile, which made me shiver rather pleasantly. I wanted to find him straightaway, to tell him off for the elbow and then heap the praise on him for the penalty save. Then I needed to check that save hadn’t injured his shoulder again.
Then possibly check something else, even if it was by text later.
It hadn’t been a bad match for injuries. The two substitutions had been made tactically, rather than because someone had picked up a knock, which meant James – the third physio – and I wouldn’t have a huge workload to get through before the team coach left. Everyone would want to get home sooner; given the amount of games due to be played over the coming period. Players were only required to come in between games for remedial work or light training if they were recovering from an injury when we had fixtures this close together.
“Matty’s picked up a pull on his hamstring and Jude’s Achilles is niggling him.” James put his hand on my shoulder as he met me in the tunnel, following the players inside. “Nate’s also mentioned his shoulder needs checking. Can you pick that up? I’ll see Matty and Pete can check Jude – that won’t be much. The kid’s been looking after it.”
James was the head physio and usually oversaw our caseloads. Pete was our trainee, and only here because The Count was at home with the baby.
“Sure. Is there a room free for Nate?”
“The one next to the big one. I’ll keep an eye on Pete so we’ll share that room. We should be out of here by six unless anyone slips on soap.”
Because that had happened once. It was Jude, because of course, it was Jude. He’d dropped a bar of soap in the shower, managed to step on it and did the splits. He didn’t tear anything, thankfully, but there was a pull and a bruised ego.
I stuck my head in the team’s changing room, banter and teasing, and someone singing some butchered song practically deafening me.
Nate caught my eye, half naked already, just a towel round his waist.
“Me?” He pointed to his well-sculpted chest.
I nodded, unsure whether I was drooling. “You. Room two as soon as you’re ready.”
He gave me a smile that incinerated my underwear and made me wish for privacy for at least an hour.
“Five minutes.” He held his hand up, showing five fingers and giving me a smile that was full of promise.
