Scoring With Sir

by Judy Jarvie

“Why are you telling me all this?”

  “To say I came here for work but I fell for the place, and for you. And I had genuine reasons for my issues when we met—I had major surgery for testicular cancer. It left me shell-shocked. Freaked out and trying to get my life back. When I met you, I knew I was meant to come here.”

  “Oh.” My mouth forms an ‘o’ of surprise. “Sorry. About the cancer.”

  “We never got to a point where I could explain—so I will now. The surgery was successful in stopping the disease. But it left me having problems in the sex department. I came out of it alive and vital and wanting to go back and do my job and live again. And you treated me like an out and out arsehole rather than a patient on the edge. All I could think about was shagging your brains out.”

  “Shit. You make me sound like a night with Fanny Fish Market at Lonely Man’s Quay bordello.”

  “Gimme her number—I might look her up.” His forehead wrinkles. “If you’ll let me finish,” he states forcefully. “I met you and I realized you were the most exciting, daft, infuriating, passionate and wonderful woman I’ve ever met. And now I’m certain I love you.”

  “I don’t need to know anything. You’re out of here, aren’t you? I’m sorry about your cancer but it’s none of my business anyway. You’re a copper and you were just here doing your job.”

  “I did a degree in criminology when I was at Spurs, Iz. I’m not the moron footballer womanizer you think I am. And if you really think what happened with us was just the job, you’re a bigger fool than I’ve realized. I thought we connected, Izzy.”

  “And what about Tessa? She wasn’t a cleaner—she was a copper too. Why did she warn me off?”

  Will moves to me, staring hard. “She thought I was ballsing up the case. She called me out that I was getting too close. She knows my job means everything and kept warning that if you knew the truth, you were the kind of honest person who’d spill the beans to Dibian. Didn’t we count? I’m not shagging Tessa—she doesn’t do blokes and I don’t do women who can beat me at arm-wrestling. Have you seen the guns on her? She may wear wildcat heels by day but at night she’s a gym-a-holic with a weights and protein drinks habit.”

  I don’t need all this info. I really don’t. I need to sum up and move on as I risk getting entangled with Will all over again. “Look, you and me was a nice diversion. A thrill ride. Like a dark-covered, tantalizing erotic paperback. Overpromised under the covers. Ended up hyperbole masked as substance.”

  “Spoken like an English teacher.”

  “Most of the time I’m a good one. In plain old English, didn’t meet expectations. Read the book, bin it.”

  Will moves to open the fire door from Jack’s lair, the one that says ‘Push In Emergency Only’. I know damn well that going out that way will cause the sirens to go off. Maybe even the fire brigade auto summons—is that such a good idea? He always was the kind of guy to go for the big action scene, not giving a shit about consequences or danger.

  And ain’t that secretly why I loved him to bits and let him have full access to every private scared piece of my heart?

  I can feel the tears well in my eyes at the realization.

  “Will. You shouldn’t have come. It’s over. Plain and simple over.”

  I put my hands on his and push the door.

  And I run out, stopping only at reception to say that it’s a false alarm and we opened the door in error. Mistake but well and truly concluded.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I have to go back to my class for my stuff, then collect my bag and coat from the staffroom. By the time I get out of school, Will is waiting at my car. Leaning on my car bonnet, to be more precise, and inspecting the damage I’ve done to it.

  “Is this legal?” he asks when I reach him.

  “Don’t tell me. You’re going to report me to traffic division.”

  “No. Well, maybe later. Look, can we talk?”

  “We did and I don’t honestly have time.”

  “Make time. I made time for you when you were sick. It may not be cool to call in past favors, but I’m prepared to grab anything I can. I need to explain things.”

  I gulp. “I don’t want to fight with you, Batman. My Joker suit’s in the wash.”

  “There’s every need for you to know the gaps in what happened to detonate our chaos. Even if you have given up on me, you need to know about someone in your circle who isn’t what they seem.”

  “Yeah. Dibian. I did get the point of the meeting. Well done, et cetera. Hope you get an honorable mention. Can I go now?”

  He reaches out and gently grabs my wrist. “Can we talk in the car?” He’s looking over his shoulder, and, right enough, there are kids gathered by the tennis courts staring our way.

  I unlock the car giving a long sigh. “Get in!”

  “Remember the photographer who crashed our party? He was onto the story about the fraud. The case was completely embargoed and hush hush and he nearly risked a big reveal that might have meant we’d lose the collar.”

  I nod at him but, although it’s interesting, I’m not entirely sure why Will is telling me all this.

  “Tessa came on strong with you because she thought you had loose lips. I told her you could be trusted—despite what you think of me, I trust you totally. Anyhow, I identified Flo was the root of the leak. She tipped off the papers.”

  Fuck. A Duck.

  “Flo? My flatmate Flo? You can’t be serious.”

  “She recognized me from a picture to do with another case and knew I was police. Must’ve researched it through her newspaper contacts. She hoped for a scoop on a big story. We had to do a deal—it could’ve gone badly wrong and she’s been warned off. She wanted a payoff, surprise, surprise. She’s the reason the story broke so wide today.”

  The heavy feeling in my heart gets another kick of disappointment while it’s down. “I’ve always worried about Flo. Don’t suppose we’ll stay flatmates for long. It’s water under the bridge—lease is up soon.”

  “I want you to move in with me. I was serious about it before and I still am.”

  I start shaking. I’m in a bit of a state as the enormity of what I’ve heard sinks in. I feel like a mug and it transports me with speed to the days of being bullied. Three people who’ve been close parts of my life have all been revealed as imposters or liars—Will, Dibian and Flo. It takes me right back to my fourteen-year-old nerdy self. My shoulders wobble, tears begin. Not an ideal moment for a ‘will you live with me?’ confession.

  “Can I hug you? For a minute?” Will asks.

  I nod. And I know, around me, my car’s in a total state. Five chocolate wrappers are not the svelte goddess image I’d yearned to project. But I hadn’t banked on Will carjacking me after I’d stuffed two choc flakes down my throat in fast succession at the wheel earlier. Let’s say, now that I know the full skinny on how things stand, I could well be adding a full upper tray of a Thornton’s pralines box to the melee.

  “You weren’t a teacher at all?”

  “I have trained police cadets if it counts. I knew enough to teach sport. And I don’t know if you realize but I once played a sport myself.”

  I jab at his chest with my finger but he just smiles and uses the pad of his thumb to wipe my tears.

  “Was it really your mother? When we were in the pagoda? Was that crapola too?”

  “We had a squad debrief booked—sorry for lying. I heard what you said in Assembly—Janey made a video on her phone. It took huge courage. And it made lots of sense to me. You make me proud.”

  I blink at him.

  He continues, “It’s no wonder you think I’ve deceived and hurt you. That wasn’t my intention. I couldn’t be as honest as I wanted. And I do think we have what it takes and we could be a great team—we’ve so many more uncharted sexual exploits to share it’s a crying shame to blow me out now. It’ll be the shittiest blow of my entire sex life.”

  But I can’t answer. I’m on a roll now—thinking back in
the past to try to work things out. “Who was the guy talking to you in the dinner hall the other week?”

  “Gordon Mather. Scotland Yard ops director. There’s a job at Hendon if I want it. It’s not the job that makes me think twice about staying—it’s you. And there’s another job I’ve been offered. Schools liaison and youth development—at Arsenal. They phoned me up and asked. Does your team deserve that, or will you hate me forever?”

  “Stick with police work. Or I might have to kill you.”

  He laughs and I join him. “I’m not leaving the force, even for your beloved Arsenal. It’s what I love. Well, that and you.”

  “Will, please don’t base any of your life decisions on me.”

  “Fuck, Iz. Is this how we’re going to play it? Back off, pretend we don’t matter?” His jaw flexes and his tone bites me harder than I’d anticipated. This has hit him hard. I see it in the way he looks as if he hasn’t been sleeping and the lines around his mouth.

  “We’re over, Will. Best kept that way. We had a fling but I wouldn’t want you to change your career based on anything to do with us. Be careful in what you decide.”

  He turns fully in his seat and accuses me, “You are what I want. Jobs don’t matter. I want a try at us. I want that woman who fires me. Cancer tried to stop me and failed. Why would I let a little thing like a derailment kill us? You helped me to come again. You’ve shown me my future. I’m fighting back, Izzy. For you.”

  His words have gone deep, to a dark, private part of me. And I sigh as I suck them in and process. I make up my mind. “Then come with me. You’ve seen the crazy erotica Izzy. You need to see what lies deeper.”

  * * * *

  We end up in Highbury. At Uncle Cyril’s flat.

  We enter. Seeing the chintzy sofa chosen by Aunty Doris and paid up on installments, plus all her assorted holiday glass ornament collection, causes a formidable lump to gather in my throat. From daffodils in spun glass to poodles, she followed the theme through diligently. I find I love each piece a tad more than the last.

  “Uncle Cyril’s. He hasn’t lived here for two years now. He’s keeping it for me.” I walk to the balcony door and unlock it. We stand outside.

  “Fuck. Ah. Now I get it,” says Will.

  “I used to stand here with Dad. And Uncle Cyril. When I was little. They kept my hand tight in case I got near the edge but I was always craning to see. To see my team.”

  I don’t have the words for the hugeness of this conversation so I keep it brief. But Will sees the site that once boasted Highbury’s grandeur—Arsenal’s birthplace and home. Once the stadium of my dreams—once a living, breathing monster of a thing that I loved beyond all ken. Now slain—the East and West Stand exteriors remain but it’s mainly a site of new crazily priced housing and a garden.

  Uncle Cyril had a ringside free view of the emerald green, floodlit pitch and the red-shirted warriors of our hearts.

  “Quite a flat. Must’ve been something.”

  I nod. “It was. Still is to me.”

  “No wonder you grew up a Gooner.” He slides his arm around my shoulders and he holds me close. His lips are on my cheek and he turns me in his arms to kiss me long and deep. It’s a kiss I’ve needed for a long time—his kiss of return and welcome. How can this man have this effect? He fires me, moves me, and fills me with such comfort and joy.

  I don’t say anything. That lump in my throat is a tennis ball. I can almost feel Dad’s hand around mine—holding me against him, and the tightness of his chest as he’d forget to breathe during play.

  And I would give everything I have to be back with him and Cyril. So we could hear the roar of the match. I could always feel the excitement and see it dancing in their eyes. From that time I was hooked.

  “Dad died when I was four, just before primary school. Mum and Cyril never talked about it. For years it was a big black hole, never discussed.”

  Will is watching me. I know he can hear the jagged emotion that clogs my throat and the tangle of barbed wire emotions that keeps me fettered and chained up inside.

  “I never let my feelings out.” I flick a few tears away with my finger. “It’s the family way. I’ve always clammed up and kept it tight. Like when I was bullied—don’t tell anyone, just deal with it. But when I met you, I felt a connection and I wish I’d told you and been honest. Instead I did my Izzy thing—backed off and used comebacks. I wanted to know you better since the first day we met. You scared me witless. Wish I’d known how to play it better. I want you. I want to be with you—there I’ve said it. And it’s not about crazy sex, it’s about finding the one who makes you whole.”

  Will takes my hands in his. Mine are shaking and I don’t care that he knows.

  “I’ve wanted you since that first day. Smart sass and bad attitude. Every time we met, I saw the spark that lit the room—and the shadows. Your distance. You’re so wonderful you have no idea, but you scare me like a wild horse that’s always about to kick me in the gonads.”

  “I lost young, Will. Later I made mistakes, got beaten by bullies at school. So I’ve learned to tuck my emotions deep. You’ve given me the full package—you are like the missing link that could fix the broken bits inside me. Your potential frightens me—I’m scared I don’t deserve you.”

  He lays his head against mine and, inside, angel choruses sing. “It’s me who doesn’t deserve a single bit of your intense searing light. I’m the one with the baggage. The cancer. The dark moments. The shadow on the future.”

  “You’re the only man who’s made me feel secure this way. Except Dad.”

  There’s tears—horrible, messy tears—and they’re running fast down my face and proving that my mascara is a bag of shit and needs to go back to the shop.

  But Will wipes the mascara river away. He tugs me closer and envelopes me in his marvelous, reassuring embrace. “I’ll give you everything, my Izzy. All of me. If you’ll have me. If you’ll run that risk. I’m far from perfect. But I’ll try to be the man you deserve. I want to try.”

  He kisses me so fully my heart is fit to burst. He holds my face in his hands like a movies move. I feel a sudden sensation I can’t even explain. It’s like my dad’s back here. And he wanted us here. It’s as if he’s brought me here for this express reason.

  And I’m crying, but they’re good tears because the man of my dreams is holding me, kissing me and declaring his passion. How lucky am I? Really?

  “If you want to buy the flat, I’ll look into it,” Will tells me. “I have plenty of money from back in the day as a player.”

  “Uncle Cyril may be a bit infirm but he’s made the flat mine by right. I don’t want your money, Will Darby. I want your hand to hold. And the great things you do to me in bed. Do you know I even had Ben teach me how to do twenty keepy-uppies on my knee with a football? I can keep the ball going on my head like a pro.”

  Will pulls me to him, in his enveloping embrace, and I melt into his arms and chest. “Your uncle Cyril still keeps this place, even with no Highbury view? Uncle Cyril is the kind of guy I want to be. I want you to be you.” Will smiles at me. “Come on, Iz. Let’s go home. I’ve unpacking to do. We’ve argued for too long. It’s time to let it go.”

  “Unpacking? Can’t you think of anything better? Don’t you even want to see my ball skills?”

  “Somebody ruined the key to the fun room. You’ll have to settle for the vanilla monotony of a bed.”

  I smile and try for an innocent tone. “I kept a key copy. I’m not a total moron!” My hand goes to my bag. “If I can find it under all this other shit!”

  Will fakes looking pissed off but I can discern the grin that lurks beneath. “Shit, woman, my hand is itching to give you something to think about!”

  And we’re running. To the lift. To the Range Rover.

  To life. Started over. As we jump inside the vehicle I wink at the man I love and he winks right back.

  “Life with my Batman. My Secret Sir.”

  “Our love�
�s a beautiful game of two halves—you and me.” He looks down and I gasp when I see that there’s something new on his arm.

  “A tattoo? Fuck, you didn’t!” It’s a Batman logo and my name is beneath. I glance at the tattoo again. “What would you have done if I’d walked away?”

  He grins. “Used handcuffs… Since I know you like them. Besides, you’re a sensible woman—I trust your instincts.”

  We’re driving faster. “Watch the speed cams, Darby.”

  “Copy that. Handcuffs is a great suggestion.” Will growls beneath his breath, but he’s smiling behind the glare. My auto-lust button responds to his dark leashed danger.

  “Consider me under house arrest.”

  “We’ll deal with your sentence shortly.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” I answer and we both grin. “Please be punitively severe.”

  “I intend,” he says softly, “to teach you a lesson you won’t easily forget.”

  Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

  Samantha Lytton: The Dimple of Doom

  Lucy Woodhull

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Accountants should not be so sexy.

  It all started at the office Christmas party, as many terrible hangovers do.

  My palms began to sweat at the sight of The Accountant walking in my direction. His shining eyes said, I wanna spread your sheet, his masterful gait said, Damn, I’m masterful, and his tantalising smirk said, I’ve read the Kama Sutra—all the way through.

  I swallowed the lump of lust in my throat and twiddled with the tablecloth of the catered buffet table. My usual party plan involved making winsome eyes at the food, but tonight I salivated over more than just the pigs in a blanket.

  “Potato ball?” he asked. Sam Turner, aka The Accountant, held the fried offering palm up on a festive red and green paper plate.

  I had the hots for a dude named Sam. My name is Samantha. Samantha ‘n’ Sam. It was the stuff of obnoxious wedding invitations.