The Beautiful Game (Man of the Match Book 1)

by A. Meredith Walters

  “Uh. It’s…uh…my name’s Ray,” he stuttered.

  “Nice to meet you, Ray.” I shook his dad’s hand and then turned to the other fans that were waiting.

  Twenty minutes later I was in the back of the cab and headed towards Morgan.

  “I WAS BEGINNING to think I was being stood up again,” Morgan chuckled a little nervously when she answered the hotel room door.

  I followed her into the room, dropping the bag onto the floor. “I got held up. But I’m here now.”

  We stood there, neither of us moving. Should I grab her and kiss her like I wanted to?

  I was a bundle of pent up sexual frustration. I had been wanking to the memory of her naked beneath me for over a week. I was almost jittery with need.

  It didn’t help that she had changed into tiny shorts and a cut off T-shirt that showed the smooth skin of her stomach. Her dark hair was all over the place. Like she had been taking a nap and I woke her up. She was fucking gorgeous.

  “That’s cool,” she remarked, chewing on her thumbnail like an anxious kid.

  “Yeah, cool,” I parroted. I glanced around the hotel room. I had Anna book a suite. It was nice and modern. Lots of space. “You like the room?” I asked her.

  Morgan dropped her hand from her mouth and walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back. “It’s lovely. Check out the park down there.”

  I followed her and looked outside. The hotel sat on a pretty green. It was nice. Not that I cared about that sort of thing. I turned my head, my nose brushing the thick strands of her hair. I could hear her quick intake of breath.

  She smelled like vanilla. Good enough to eat. “I’m glad you came,” I murmured close to her ear.

  I saw her swallow. She chuckled. It sounded strained and uncomfortable. “I wasn’t going to miss out on a trip to London.” She winced. “That sounded rude. I didn’t mean it to sound like I didn’t want to see you. I do. But I’ve wanted to come to London for years.”

  “I get it. No worries,” I laughed.

  “Okay good. Because sometimes I find it hard to say what I mean. Especially here. Even though I speak the language, I think a lot gets lost in translation.” She started chewing on her thumbnail again. I was beginning to realize that she did that when she was nervous. It was cute.

  “Not everything gets lost in translation,” I teased, finally doing what I had thought of doing for the past week. I pulled her close, my lips finding the sensitive skin below her ear. She tasted like she smelled.

  Fucking delicious.

  “No, I guess that’s true.” She stood stiff against me. I could feel the flutter of her pulse beneath my tongue as I traced a line along the side of her neck, nipping at her collarbone. She jolted at the feel of my teeth.

  “Relax, baby. You’re too tense,” I whispered, my words hot on her skin. I wanted her to turn around. To face me. To kiss me back. To act like she wanted to be there.

  What was wrong with her?

  “Morgan,” I said softly, running my hand up her back. Up into her hair.

  “Your game was great. You were awesome. I never really liked soccer. I mean football. That’s what you call it right? In America football involves lots of padding and helmets and guys that look like they’re on steroids. You probably know that though. Have you ever watched American football? Your football is a lot better.”

  She was talking so fast I could barely keep up. What was her problem? She was still standing rigid. No matter how much I tried to kiss her or how I attempted to pull her close, she wouldn’t budge.

  I wasn’t used to having to work so hard to get a woman to relax around me. Usually by this point I’d have tits in my face and knickers on the floor.

  Why was she talking so much?

  “Morgan,” I said her name again. A little louder. A little firmer. I stopped kissing her shoulder and pulled away slightly. She was looking out the window, words still coming out of her mouth.

  “So what’s the plan? Are you hungry? Should we order room service? I bet you’re tired after the game. That was a lot of running. I would be passed out by now if it were me. So if you’re tired, that’s okay. We don’t have to go out and do anything—”

  “Can you stop talking?” I asked, walking over to the couch and sitting down. Normally I had more tact but her endless run on sentences were putting me on edge.

  “Excuse me?” Morgan frowned, clearly offended.

  “You’re talking a lot. It’s doing my head in.” I rubbed my temple. I didn’t get headaches. But Morgan’s nervous energy was bringing one on.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Well excuse me, but I’m not sure how the hell I’m supposed to act here. I’ve never been whisked away for a weekend of casual sex.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything casual about what we do,” I snorted. The adrenaline that had sustained me for most of the day was finally starting to leave my system. I realized I was hungry and bone tired. I was also starting to get cranky. Anna always gave me shit about how moody I became when I was hungry or tired.

  “You’re like a toddler who needs a snack,” my sister would say.

  Normally I’d sleep for a solid three or more hours after a match, then I’d be ready to go. My body wasn’t aware that it needed to stay awake. I was dangerously close to crashing. And crashing hard.

  I needed to do something to keep myself awake. And it was becoming obvious that my first choice wasn’t going to happen. “Come on, let’s go do something. It’s a nice day out. It’s not supposed to rain all weekend—”

  “I know why you invited me here, Lucas. And it’s not to talk about the weather,” Morgan snipped. “So why don’t we get down to what you expect from me. What everyone expects from me.”

  She started to unbutton her shorts, shoving them down around her hips. She kicked them off almost aggressively.

  “What the hell, Morgan?” I barked.

  “Come on Lucas. You came her for some tits and ass. Well here they are!” She pulled her T-shirt over her head. She stood in front of me in nothing but a bra and tiny, tiny knickers.

  Goddamn, she was hot.

  I held my hands up. “Chill out, Morgan. I’m not sure why you’re so mad.”

  We stared at each for what felt like forever. I could tell she was breathing heavily and it took everything in me not to touch her. Because lord I wanted to. Especially with her standing there practically naked.

  But I wouldn’t. Not until I knew what had caused that reaction from her.

  “What brought on all this?” I dared to ask her.

  “I thought I was just giving you what you wanted,” she answered, sounding strangely defeated.

  I knelt down and picked up her shorts and carried them over to her. “I do want that, but not when you’re looking as if you want to slit my throat afterwards.”

  I knelt before her and held her shorts for her to step into. She hesitated but then allowed me to slide them up over her legs. I fastened them closed. I think it was the first time I had ever dressed a woman as opposed to undressing her.

  I handed her the T-shirt she had thrown off and she quickly put it back on.

  Morgan had calmed down. She looked less angry and more embarrassed. She wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  “You want to tell me what that was about?” I ran my hand up and down her arm.

  “It’s stupid. I’m being stupid. Forget it,” Morgan said, shaking her head.

  “It doesn’t sound stupid. It’s obviously gotten you upset. So tell me what’s going on. I’m not in the habit of badgering someone to talk to me, but I want us to have a good time this weekend. I don’t want any misunderstandings.” Finally she started to relax. Slowly, but I felt it.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump all over you like that.”

  I gave her a tired grin. “If you had jumped all over me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “I just don’t want you to think that I’m…well you know…that I’m…”


  “A sure thing?” I filled in with a smile, recalling the conversation we had outside her building the day I took her home from the pub.

  Morgan made a face. “Yeah, I guess.”

  I cupped her face between my hands. “Love, you are anything but a sure thing,” I assured her. “You’ve got me all in knots here.”

  And it was true. Thinking about her. Wanting her. Holding her. It was all twisted up in one big mess inside my stomach.

  While she drove me a mad with her blathering, I liked her.

  More than I thought I would.

  Morgan bit her bottom lip, lowering her lashes in a way that made my groin tighten and my palms sweat. I leaned in and sucked her lip into my mouth, kissing her, tasting her again.

  “You alright?” I asked.

  She nodded and then raised her eyebrow. She smirked. Sexy as hell. “For now,” she intoned with a hint of warning.

  “Duly noted,” I said, kissing the tip of her nose. The corner of her mouth. The hollow of her throat.

  She pulled back slightly, her cheeks flushed. Her breathing labored. I knew she wanted what I wanted. But for now, we’d have to wait. “You’re right, let’s go out and walk around for a bit. Some fresh air might do you good. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

  I leaned in and kissed her one more time. “Sounds good. I am shattered. But I don’t want to sleep. Not yet. If I get up and moving, I should be fine.”

  I took her hand. It fit into mine perfectly.

  Our fingers laced together and there was something just right about it.

  I lifted our joined hands to my mouth and held them there. She smiled. I liked the way it lit up her whole face. The way her eyes danced when something made her happy. Morgan Carter was proving to be a damn good distraction for reasons that had less to do with getting her naked.

  I gave her hand a tug and opened the door. “Let’s go.”

  Morgan

  I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when I agreed to come to London with Lucas.

  I barely knew him except for how he made me feel when he kissed me.

  He was famous. And rich. And important. I was definitely not famous. Or rich. I liked to think I was important, to my mom at least.

  I couldn’t quite understand why a man like Lucas Bradley wanted to spend time with me when he could have one of the Little Mixes, or whatever.

  Regardless I found myself on the train to London, feeling mildly ill. I was a nervous traveler. I typically spent the entire journey imagining all the ways I could get lost or end up in some strange place.

  The train was full. There were a lot of people who seemed to be going to the game too. Faces painted Chester colors. Lots of Chester T-shirts. They were all excited to see their team play.

  I wondered how the ride to London was for Lucas. I’m sure it was a lot more comfortable for him than for me. I was currently sitting beside a woman eating a tuna fish sandwich. I hated tuna. It made me want to gag. Plus she ate with her mouth open.

  Lucas had offered again to pay for first class train tickets. I had refused. Now I wished I hadn’t let my pride dictate my travel arrangements.

  “Excuse me,” I said, getting to my feet. I needed to walk around. The smell of tuna was exacerbating my nausea. The woman looked clearly put out as I pushed past her. I walked down the aisle into the next car. I noted that there were refreshments available further down the train so I headed in that direction.

  When I got there, it was packed and I stood in line. I was behind a group of women dressed to the nines in tight dresses and perfectly styled hair. They looked as if they were going to a nightclub.

  “Did you find out if we could get back into the dressing room after the game?” one of them asked.

  A woman with long, blond hair and legs for days pursed her lips. “No, Darren couldn’t do it.”

  Her friends all started complaining.

  “But that was the plan!” One with obvious hair extensions complained.

  “I hate football, meeting Lucas Bradley is the only reason I let you guys talk me into going,” a brunette whined.

  They were traveling all that way to meet Lucas? I edged closer so I could hear their conversation clearer.

  Blondie seemed annoyed. “Daddy got us these tickets and they weren’t cheap. Don’t be so rude. He assured me they were close to the bench. Look at us, ladies, who wouldn’t notice us?”

  “We could have stayed and gone to Rosie’s if we wanted to meet them,” hair extensions pouted.

  I looked at the group of women again. They certainly weren’t dressed for a football match. I glanced down at my khaki capris and green T-shirt and once again felt woefully unprepared when it came to my outfit.

  “As if Lucas Bradley would even look at us. I read this morning he’s been seeing Sandra from Hollyoaks,” the brunette went on.

  I had no idea who Sandra from Hollyoaks was, but I felt my blood boil slightly at the mention of her associated with Lucas.

  Wow, I was jealous. Really jealous.

  That wasn’t good.

  I purposefully ignored the rest of their very loud conversation and was thankful when they got their sodas and left the refreshment car.

  I ordered myself a cheese toastie and a bottle of water and headed back to my seat. Thankfully my seatmate had finished eating. I ate my food and then put in my earbuds, watching Netflix on my phone for the remaining three hours to London.

  I was worried about getting a taxi from the station to the hotel. I was worried the hotel wouldn’t let me check in under a name that wasn’t mine. I worried that the car wouldn’t show up to take me to the Barnet stadium.

  And I worried that Lucas would stand me up again and I’d be left in London like an idiot.

  Euston Station was heaving when we arrived. I had to practically shove my way towards the exit. There was a line of black taxicabs lined up outside the station. I approached one, gave them the hotel name, got in the back, and that was that. Easy peasy.

  I was feeling proud of myself and my worldly traveling ways by the time we reached the hotel. I paid the cab driver and he helped me with my small suitcase.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Ta,” the cab driver replied, getting back into his car and driving off.

  I looked up at the hotel and tried not to gape. The building was huge. It looked like an old courthouse.

  I walked inside and was surprised to find the interior to be incredibly modern. With sweaty hands, I walked to the reservations desk, readying myself for difficulties.

  There was no way they’d give me a key to a room that wasn’t even under my name. That’s just crazy. Even though Lucas assured me it wouldn’t be a problem, I was expecting to have to lug my stuff to the game with me.

  “Hello, my name is Morgan Carter. I’m checking in. But the thing is, the reservation isn’t under my name.”

  The woman behind the counter looked unimpressed. “What name is the reservation under then?” she asked, sounding bored.

  “Johnny Parks,” I told her.

  She typed in the name and then I watched with some satisfaction as her eyes widened slightly, her cool, indifferent demeanor faltering. When she looked at me again, she was smiling.

  “Miss Carter, it’s wonderful having you and Mr. Parks staying with us. I do just need to see some form of ID first.”

  I handed her my passport. She looked at it, then at me, before giving it back.

  “You’re in the Rag suite. It’s on the sixth floor, which is right at the top. There are only two rooms on that floor and has a wonderful view of the city.” She gave me a key. “This is your room key. You need to use it in the lift to access the sixth floor. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.” It was amazing how different her attitude was. I guessed there was note in the booking exactly who Johnny Parks was.

  Maybe I could get used to the special treatment Lucas’ name afforded me.

  A bellboy took my bag and assured me he�
��d bring it up to the room, which left me to get onto the elevator and head up to the top floor.

  I almost lost my mind when I walked into the room. I had never stayed in a place quite like this before. The room was beautiful. The space was massive. I did a full circle, taking it all in. There were two separate areas. One had a large sectional and a flat screen TV. A bar stretched along the length of the interior wall. Separated by a fashionable half wall was a gigantic king sized bed with a wall full of windows that overlooked the city. And the bathroom—good god, the bathroom—it had a giant whirlpool bath and pedestal sinks, as well as a shower stall with the largest shower head I had ever seen.

  There was a knock at the door and I opened it to let the bellboy bring my bag inside. He put it down on a luggage rack and stood just inside the door, obviously waiting for something.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, pulling out my wallet. I found a five-pound note and handed it to him.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he replied before leaving the room.

  The phone beside the bed rang, startling me. “Hello?” I said after answering.

  “Miss Carter, your car will be here in five minutes to take you to the Barnet Stadium,” a woman’s voice told me.

  “Okay, great.” I hung up and got out my phone, messaging Lucas to let him know I got to the hotel.

  I was feeling more than a little like Pretty Woman in this swanky pad, but I wouldn’t dwell on that particular angle of my current situation.

  I was in complete awe as the car made it’s way through London. We drove past sprawling green spaces and gorgeous old buildings. Through tiny streets and along cobbled pathways. It was everything I imagined it to be and more.

  The drive took almost an hour. The car pulled up outside the stadium with only ten minutes before the game was scheduled to begin. The driver assured me that he had already been paid, but I tipped him anyway. He seemed very appreciative.

  I didn’t have to find the ticket office this time; Lucas had given me my ticket to bring with me. With some help from one of the stewards—that’s what Lucas told me the staff of the stadium were called—I found my seat, which I was surprised to see was in a recessed box in the middle of the stands. There were around a dozen seats, most of them already filled.