Not someone.
Freddie.
I blink, annoyed, as hot tears burn behind my eyelids. I am twenty-one years old, a national champion, I have two international caps for England, and I amnotgoing to cry over a boy. No matter how light he makes me feel inside and how I’m more like myself than any other time when I’m near him.
Knowing what it’s like when we’re together and not being able to have it stings. No. It sucks. It fuckingsucks, and I’ve been annoyed and on edge ever since we won the league.
The first real achievement of my career will forever be tainted by the memory of Freddie quietly, sweetly shutting me down, and I will have to live with that.
I swallow, then press my palms against the cold tiles of the wall behind me. The smooth, cool material gives me something to focus on that’s not my aching heart or my broken pride, and I stand there and breathe until it gets better.
In professional sports, you don’t give up. Especially with a club like Westfield. You can’t afford to. Sure, you may stumble, even fall. But you don’t stay down. You get up again and you keep pushing. Keep searching for a way to turn it around. To get a win even from games that already seem lost.
And that’s exactly what I will do. I will keep going and turn this into a win.
I’ll have the summer off. Time to relax my body and mind, which have done so much for me this past season.
The press won’t care about me while interesting things are happening abroad, so I can go out and meet more men. There has to be one out there who can capture my heart.
Clara will be off to Greece for two weeks and I’ll have the apartment to myself.
Plenty of things to look forward to.
I’ll make the most of this summer. And when the season starts again, I will be over Freddie and over my hurt about not being chosen for this team. I’ll show them all. I’ll do what I can to come out of this ahead. And I will have so much fun doing it.
Now I just need to believe it.
My date of the day collapses on top of me, heavy and boneless after his orgasm. He’s a fantastic fuck, just the right side of dominant and with stamina to match my own. Thankfully, he now rolls off me and drops on the white hotel sheets, panting. I wipe sweat off my forehead, a foot away from him.
He has a name. Obviously he does. I just can’t remember it right now. It’s only been an hour or so since we met, but he’s fucked part of my brains out, apparently.
For a minute or two, there’s silence, both of us trying to catch our breath. I turn my head and look over at him, using the opportunity while he’s still got his eyes closed. He looks like a model, silky black hair and a soft tan and a smile that’s just a tiny bit crooked. Objectively, a beautiful man. One I’m lucky to be messing around with.
But he’s not Freddie.
God, Marlon, shutup. Freddie is in Sweden with the national team and has no business being on my mind. Frustrated, I rub my forearm over my closed eyes. I’ve been bitter and resentful since being sent home from training camp and Freddie getting to live my dream while I’m here does not help.
I wish I didn’t care.
“Was I that bad?” My lover’s voice is teasing and full of confidence. He knows he wasn’t bad. We both know it, and so I only snort.
“Fishing for compliments?”
He rolls over so he’s on his stomach and can study me. Reaching out a finger, he smoothes sweaty damp hair out of my forehead. “No,” he says quietly. “Just wondering if you’re lovesick or what else might be on your mind.”
My heart stumbles and my pulse immediately picks up speed again. “What?” Why on earth would he think I was lovesick? We barely talked before we got to fucking, he knows nothing about me.
“Because that was a very dejected groan and I can’t help but think Freddie has something to do with it.”
I flinch and whip my gaze towards him. “What did you just say?” My brain goes a mile a minute, trying to figure out what to panic about first. Him knowing about Freddie? Him potentially knowing who I am? Me potentially having blown my cover?
He shrugs and smiles. “Freddie,” he repeats with a slight edge to his voice. “It’s what you kept calling me when you were … fully into it.”
Fuck.
Oh my fucking god, he can’t be serious. I can’t be this stupid. This obsessed with someone who’s made it very clear that nothing will ever become of us.
I’ve slept with other men. I’ve never shouted for Freddie. Right? Panic sets in. Have I always been this pathetic and the others never mentioned it? Is everything I’ve tried to tell myself a lie?
