by Avery Wilde
The ominous answer: ‘You know what you did. I really thought you were different after the other night. But you’re the same ‘bad boy’ version of Liam Croft that I always thought you were.’
Was it possible that she knew about my conversation with Brian, and that I’d inadvertently put her job at risk? Shit. That didn’t seem likely, as only Brian knew, and it wasn’t in his interest to say anything to her about it.
I texted once more: ‘I really don’t. I’m so sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you. Part of the job. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to, though. I did. Really.’
‘Right. Sure. I heard that Paris girl of yours talking to her friend. Did you have fun?’
Well, that at least narrowed the sphere of inquiry but it also raised more questions. Who the hell was ‘Paris girl’? There’d been many girls at the event, the bulk of them models who may have been to Paris at some point, and it was possible that among them were some I’d ‘known’ previously—I was embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t have said for certain. But Allison knew I had a rather sordid past, so surely that wasn’t enough to upset her. Besides, her text message, curt though it was, definitely seemed to hint at something that had happened at tonight’s event, and the only thing that had ‘happened’ was that one of the models had come up to me after my speech and propositioned me.
Was it possible that Allison had seen that? I guess it wasn’t impossible, but even if she had, so what? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d rebuffed the woman repeatedly and in no uncertain terms. Of course, to an observer who couldn’t hear what was being said, then it might’ve looked a bit more familiar than that, especially when the girl had grabbed my crotch. Could Allison have seen that and read more into it? Again, it was possible, but her text suggested something else; something she’d overheard.
Something about Paris…
Suddenly I remembered something that the model had said, about her bragging to her friend that she and I had had sex on top of the Eiffel Tower and that I wanted a rematch. The rematch. That was it—that was what Allison had overheard! It had sounded as if I was trying to hook up with this model while I was at the car show with Allison.
Goddammit. No wonder she left in such a damned hurry.
I swiftly texted back: ‘Think I know what happened. All a misunderstanding. Please let me explain!’
It felt like a very long time before I felt my phone buzz again, although it was in fact not much more than a minute. My heart leapt: it wasn’t a text, Allison was calling me. With shaky hands I answered, and once again, that struck me as odd for a guy like me. My hands had never trembled for any woman before, but Allison Flores had that effect on me.
“Allison?”
“Uh-huh,” she said. Her voice was hard, but I also thought that it sounded like she’d been crying. “So let’s hear it. And if I think you’re lying to me, I’m hanging up.”
“Okay. Fair enough.” I struggled to put my thoughts into order—I’d only get one chance at this. My brother’s earlier words echoed in my head: ‘Don’t screw this up’. “You’re probably wondering why I was behaving a bit weirdly at the event tonight. Maybe it seemed like I didn’t want to be seen with you…”
“I’m not wondering about that,” Allison interrupted harshly. “I already know why. You wanted to appear nice and available for your model friends, like your little blonde buddy from Paris!”
“No. Not at all.”
I could practically hear her rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. “Really?”
I sighed. “I should’ve told you the truth from the start, but I didn’t want you to know that I…well, that I might’ve maybe—inadvertently—endangered your career.”
“What? How?”
“Look, here’s what happened.”
Omitting no detail for fear of being called out for lying, I recounted my earlier phone call with Brian. I brought up his suspicions, and how thanks to my careless stupidity, I might have placed her job and future career in jeopardy. I explained how I’d been so worried about revealing my idiotic mistake to her that I’d decided not to tell her. I explained that if I’d done the obvious thing and simply not invited her to the show, then Brian would’ve become even more suspicious, and the situation might’ve been made worse.
“Okay,” she said. Her voice had taken on a tone of grudging but still suspicious acceptance. “That might—might—explain why you wouldn’t go near me all evening. But it doesn’t explain what that model said, does it?”
“No,” I said. “Okay, so now, I can only guess what you overheard that model say—and I think I know the girl you mean: tall, blonde hair, skinny…
“That describes all of them,” Allison pointed out. “I’m talking about that really plastic-looking one with the fish pout.”
I shrugged. That sounded about right. “I think we’re probably talking about the same girl. Anyway, like I said, I can only guess at what you overheard her saying to her friend, but based on what she said to me later…”
“So you do know her?”
“Allison, is there any chance you could let me finish a sentence?”
There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line, and then a deep sigh. “Sorry. You’re right. Go on.”
I picked up the thread of what I’d been saying. “I’ll tell you what happened to me, then I’ll tell you what I guess you overheard her saying. And then…well, to be honest, I’m not sure if I can prove any of it, but we’ll take it from there.”
As close to word for word as I could remember, I told Allison about my grabby encounter with the model, stressing how I’d turned her down but admitting that the pictures in the papers tomorrow would do little to back that up, thanks to Brian’s untimely intervention with the camera crew.
“So that’s what actually happened between her and me,” I finished. “I’m guessing you overheard her telling this friend about her and me up the Eiffel Tower—I’ve never even been to the bloody Paris Fashion Week, by the way—and that I’d been in touch with her this evening saying I wanted a ‘rematch’. Which I didn’t. And it wouldn’t have been a rematch anyway because I’d never fucking met her in my life before tonight, let alone anything else.”
There was silence at the other end of the line, but I knew Allison was still there, so I continued. “And even if I had met her before, I wouldn’t have wanted her because I was there with you! You were all that mattered to me tonight. And I know it can’t have seemed that way because of the way I was acting, and then you overheard her saying that stuff…look, believe me, I know how this all sounds and how this all looks, and I’m not sure I would believe me if I were in your position. But you’ve got to believe me. I mean, I guess you don’t have to believe me but I really hope you do because I like you a lot and…well, that’s it, I guess.”
I was babbling like a twelve-year-old boy who was having his first conversation with a girl, but I didn’t give a shit. Everything I’d just said was true, and Allison needed to hear it.
She finally spoke, quite calmly. “When is Paris Fashion Week?” she asked.
“What? I don’t know. Not the sort of thing I know anything about. Like I said, I’ve never been.”
“Give me a second. I’ll call you back.”
She hung up abruptly, leaving me unsure as to what I was supposed to do next. I settled for sitting down outside and staring at my motorbike, which I found to be an oddly calming pastime.
A few minutes later the phone rang. Allison again.
“I just Googled the dates of Paris Fashion Week. You weren’t there,” she said after I answered.
“I know I wasn’t, but how do you know?”
“I know your playing schedule,” she said. “I was following your team all last year and, even with the Eurostar, there’s no way you kept up with that schedule and found time to pop across to Paris for a few days to do skanky models up on the Eiffel Tower. And I guess if that part of her story isn’t true, it does cast the rest of it int
o doubt as well.”
“So you believe me?”
There was a pause, and then she finally replied. “Yes. Sorry for assuming the worst,” she said. “I’ve been acting like one of those crazy jealous girlfriends, haven’t I? I should’ve checked first instead of racing off, but I just…I don’t know. I’m really sorry.”
My heart leapt as I realized she’d almost described herself as being a ‘girlfriend’ of mine, even though I knew she only meant it in a general sense.
“It’s totally understandable. And I can’t believe you just know all that stuff about my schedule. You’re so smart,” I said. “Or maybe a stalker,” I added for some much-needed comic relief.
She let out a small chuckle. “Ha. You wish.”
“I kinda do.”
“So why didn’t you just tell me about Brian?” she asked. “I mean, I don’t think it’s your fault that he’s acting this way, and honestly, it’d be my fault if I got fired. I was the one who decided to be unprofessional and sleep with you. It’s on me, one-hundred percent.”
“I guess I was just worried. I thought you might hate me for making a total arse of things.”
“Well, you certainly made a total ‘arse’ of things at the car show tonight,” Allison pointed out, “but does it seem like I hate you?”
“Hard to tell at this point.”
The amusement faded from her voice, and I heard her sigh again. She might have believed me, but all was clearly not well in her mind.
“It’s all so damn complicated now.”
“Let me make it up to you,” I said, eager to make amends. “Let me take you out tomorrow.”
“I don’t know…”
“But you said you believed me.”
“I do, but with your job, your image, with Brian…I just don’t see how this is going to work. That’s what I meant when I said it’s all so complicated now.”
She sounded genuinely sad now, disenchanted. The fairytale that life had seemed to present to her earlier had just been punctured by hard reality.
“Look, I get that. But please give it one more chance,” I said. “Hey, here’s an idea. I’d really love to show you where I grew up. You in?”
Perhaps I was manipulating her a little bit. The reporter’s instincts in Allison would surely perk up at such an offer; any journalist would love to see where I grew up. I could almost hear her interest down the phone…but would it be enough to allow her to ignore all the other stuff going on?
“Um…okay. That sounds nice.”
My heart leapt again.
“But just one more date,” Allison went on. “And not even a date, really. Just two people hanging out. Just reporter and subject doing some background research.”
She did seem anxious to avoid the word date, but that wasn’t going to stop me from pursuing her.
“Sounds good. Maybe one day you’ll let me take you on something you can actually call a date. One that isn’t the stadium, that is,” I said.
I hoped my lighthearted words might lighten the tone between us, but Allison’s response still seemed downbeat. “Let’s just see how things go tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
I understood perfectly. She’d only just met me a few days ago, so even though she liked me, she was worried about wrecking my media image, and she was worried about possibly losing her job. After all, any sane person would be worried about that given what had happened with Brian’s threats, and only an insane person would be willing to throw caution to the wind and give up their job for the sake of a person they’d only just met. I suppose I was lucky she’d even said yes to coming with me to see where I grew up.
I gave her details of where and when to meet me the following afternoon. “And dress casually,” I added.
“Are we playing football again?”
Was there a hint of playfulness to her tone now? The mention of casual clothes reignited memories of our first ‘date’—a happier time that now seemed almost an age ago.
“No,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling, “I struggle to go anywhere incognito, and that area most of all. Basically, if you dress up, then you stand out. And if you stand out, then I stand out, and that’s that. It’s weird not being able to visit your home neighborhood as yourself but…that’s the way it is. ”
“Oh, I see. Casual clothes it is, then.”
“Tomorrow at the tube station?”
“Tomorrow at the tube station.”
The conversation seemed to be over but I was loathe to leave matters between us— which had once been so affectionate and intimate—in this stilted state.
“Next time I take you to a car show, you’ll be on my arm. We’ll figure it out somehow, without you losing your job.”
It was possible that Allison might not have wanted to be reminded of the unpleasant events of earlier this evening, but when she spoke, there was a hint of a smile in her voice. “Well, to be honest, I don’t really like car shows. I know that probably makes me totally uncool, but there it is.”
“Nah, that’s fine. We can go to other glamorous places,” I said.
“The Eiffel Tower?” There was more than a suggestion of playful flirtation in her voice now. “I hear it can be quite fun up there.”
I grinned. “Only if you go with the right person…”
Chapter 13
Allison
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I was really doing the right thing here. Liam’s explanation of what had happened, or rather hadn’t happened, between him and the model had checked out, but the fact remained that I could only verify for sure that he hadn’t screwed her on top of the Eiffel Tower during Paris Fashion Week.
What if the model had just picked the wrong fashion event? There were enough of those in Paris for her to get confused, and most of the models at the car show had seemed as if they would be easily confused. More worryingly, the skanky model might’ve lied about her past experience with Liam to seem cool in front of her young friend, but she could’ve been telling the truth about getting a note from him that evening. I’d assumed that because she was lying about one thing, she was lying about both, but there was no absolute proof to back that theory up. For all I knew, Liam could have called me to patch things up and then gone home with the model. In fact, she could’ve been in the room even as Liam was talking to me on the phone. She could’ve been…well, anything could’ve been going on while Liam was talking to me.
Perhaps that was a little far-fetched, but then again, this was Liam Croft—if only half the stories about him were true, then talking to one girl on the phone whilst another performed some ‘act’ on him was perfectly believable.
I mentally kicked myself for having slept with him so quickly—maybe he’d lost the initial respect he’d had for me because I’d given it up so fast. Some guys were just like that, as backwards at it all seemed. Then again…why call me at all if that were the case? Why go to all that trouble if he had no real interest in me? Perhaps he wanted to have his cake and eat it too, but there were all sorts of possibilities, and in the end what it came down to was one question—did I trust Liam?
Right now that question could only be answered with a resounding ‘maybe’.
There was also the role of Brian Thomas to consider in all this mess, and what Liam had told me about Brian was very believable. Liam’s image as football’s bad boy player was intrinsic to his appeal beyond the immediate footballing world. To be popular as a footballer, all he had to do was play well, which he did, but Liam’s success was founded on the fact that people with limited interest in football were still interested in him. And the reason for that was the image which Brian Thomas had so carefully crafted, and was now striving to maintain.
Having a girlfriend would definitely get in the way of that image.
So yes, Liam’s explanation was easy to believe, but did I believe that he wasn’t complicit in it? Liam had played that role, apparently quite happily, for a long time now, and what man wouldn’t lo
ve to be given carte blanche to enjoy his life and sleep with whoever he wanted without consequences? It sounded like a dream come true, and yet he was trying to make me believe that he wanted no part of it anymore.
Did I really believe that? Or was it more likely that he’d been keen to play the field last night and had just been caught doing it? And even if it was true of last night, up to this point Liam had certainly given every impression of enjoying the playboy lifestyle—and now he was really giving it up just for me? How long would that last? What if a month with me was enough and then he decided to go back to all the lanky blonde models?
All told, I’d been a lot more certain of myself when I’d been chatting with Liam last night than I was this morning, faced with a bunch of questions to which I didn’t know the answers. And still, it all boiled down to that one thing: did I trust Liam? My answer remained the same.
Maybe.
Liam didn’t know it, but if he truly cared about me, then a great deal depended on today. Today was going to determine once and for all whether I felt I could actually trust him.
Right now, as I stood outside the tube station, I wasn’t sure that Liam was off to the best of starts in convincing me. Not because he was slightly late again (although he was), but because of the casual clothes he’d asked me to dress in. When he’d said it, I’d actually been quite pleased, because it reminded me of our first da…ahem, our first meet-up at the stadium, while our fancier night out to the car show had been a complete disaster. But then I’d started to wonder why. His explanation wasn’t wholly unreasonable, but was the great Liam Croft really that worried about being recognized in the street? I’d seen him in the news, surrounded by adoring fans and clearly having the time of his life. So what was different now?
I was with him. That was what was different.
He was fine being recognized when he was on his own or at a fancy party with a skinny blonde girl on his arm, but when going out with some rounder, darker-haired girl, he would rather not be recognized. What did that say?
