No, Gerald hadn’t tipped me off.
But, apparently, me playing nice was exactly what the Paris Triomphe wanted.
And despite bollixing everything from the practice’s start time to not playing aggressively enough, I walked out of Zahir Zaman’s office with a handshake offer for more than the amount I’d been hoping to get in order to show Greenwich they’d best pay up to keep me on.
I unexpectedly walked out of the meeting having gotten everything I wanted from Paris Triomphe.
And, to my shock, I found Bruno leaned up against the hallway’s far wall when I emerged from Zahir’s office.
“You’re still here?”
“Of course. I am perhaps going to be your new captain, sooui, I remained behind as promised to hear your long story.”
The old, familiar wall threatened to go back up, but then I thought,Why not?
Unlike Kayla, Gerald had actually made the French team sign NDAs that covered every interaction they had with me while I was in Paris.
So Bruno was probably the closest I would get to a confessor who would not run off and tell a gossip site like PureFootball all about it.
And bloody hell, I kinda needed someone to talk to, if only to sort through the mess I was making with Kayla.
So, I told him everything as we headed back to the locker room. Even though I was half afraid Bruno would call me whatever the French version of “twat” was for being this twisted up over a girl I’d only just met.
Instead, Bruno nodded when I finished with my story. “I knew this kind of romance once. An American I met while doing charity work in Eastern Africa. We were both there with an international aid organization, and we grew close, even though our time together was very short. She knew I played football, but she did not comprehend what that meant. I very much liked her not understanding this part of my life.”
I nodded, liking the feeling his story was giving me. Suddenly, I understood why the therapist bloke from my anger management course kept going on and on about validation.
“And how’d that end for ya, mate?” I asked, truly interested.
Bruno answered with a Gallic shrug. “Not well. There was a misunderstanding between us, and we never saw each other again.” His face darkened with the memory of whatever had happened between him and his American woman.
But then his face relit with an idea as we entered the training room, where the rest of the team was re-suiting up for the last bit of practice after the break. “Actually, I know what we should do!”
He regarded me with an eager look. “Do you mind if I tell the rest of the team your story, too? Sometimes, with big emotional problems, we find it good to talk as a group. How do you put this in English? Perhaps you say, circle up?”
“You want to circle up to talk about my emotional issue?” I squinted at him. “Yeah, you lot are the exact opposite of FC Greenwich. But yeah, mate, why not?”
“Bon!” Bruno slapped me on the shoulder, then turned to the rest of the team to give them a much shorter version of my story in French.
To my surprise, instead of giving me the business, suggestions came back in in a mix of French and English—but mostly French.
Eventually, Bruno clapped his hands to signal for them to be quiet. Then he stood up on a bench to deliver another short speech in French.
One that was greeted by a loud cheer.
“What’s goin’ on, then?” I asked Bruno.
“We were thinking to take you to see one of our most popular burlesque shows after the practice. But I have told them we now have anew plan! We are all still going out tonight. But we must find a club with a special VIP section. Very discreet—no paparazzi allowed, just you and us footballers. You will invite your woman. You can tell her it is part of your—how did you call it?—Tourmalineprize package? And we will all pretend you are a nobody non-footballer so that you can continue to enjoy her company on your trip.”
I shook my head. “And they’re cheerin’ for that?”
“Mick,mon ami, you must understand.” Bruno stepped down from the bench and placed a somber hand on my shoulder. “The French do well in three areas, above all others.”
He ticked them off on his fingers. “Les rapports sexuels.L’art dramatique.La duperie.”
Even with my severely limited French, I understood what Bruno had just said. The French excelled at sex, drama, and deceit.
Still, I squinted at him.
