Striker. Michelle Betham

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СКАЧАТЬ going after something that was only going to kick you in the balls, metaphorically speaking, of course. Why bother with all that shit when he had Ellen ready and waiting for him to just click his fingers whenever he wanted her? Not to mention all the potential conquests that would doubtless be lining up to meet the newest addition to North-East football when he hit the town later. Some of his team-mates were taking him into the city centre for a bit of a ‘welcome to the club’ night out, and even though it was a Wednesday, and probably not the kind of night that was going to throw up the biggest choice in women, Ryan was absolutely certain there wouldn’t be a shortage. It was almost as if these girls could sniff out a footballer at fifty paces, and before you knew it you were surrounded by a barrage of them all trying to ‘get to know you’. Ryan couldn’t fucking wait!

      ‘Okay you lot, back on the pitch, come on!’

      Ryan pulled himself up off the ground, glugging back one last mouthful of water. He had no intention of ignoring Colin Bailey. The man was a legendary football coach who, along with Jim Allen, the charismatic, American-born ex-player-turned-manager, had joined the club in the hope that they could bring Newcastle Red Star the success that had eluded them for far too long. Bailey had a reputation as a stern but fair coach, and it was a reputation that had gained him the respect of any player who’d trained under him. But he could also put the fear of God into you if he thought you were slacking in any way. Ryan, however, intended to start as he meant to go on – getting on the good side of his new coach.

      ‘Over here, Fisher!’ Colin yelled in his tough Glaswegian accent. An accent that only solidified his no-nonsense attitude. ‘A quick kick-about to end the session, okay? But let’s not treat this like a piss around in the park, alright? I’m watching the lot of you. Especially you, Fisher. We need to know exactly what to do with you on Saturday.’

      Ryan ran back out onto the pitch, ready to give not just the coach but also the gathering crowd of press and TV that had been allowed access into today’s training session something to really look at. Ryan Fisher was one of the greatest strikers out there right now, and he was in the process of showing them just what it was this club had paid millions for.

      Fifteen minutes later and all he had to do was talk to a couple of journalists, give a handful of quick interviews to camera, and he was done for the day. But Ryan didn’t intend to waste the afternoon playing golf or spending money on some ridiculously overpriced shirt to wear tonight; he had enough of those already. No, he intended to give Ellen a ring, see if she could get away for an hour or so. He was going to spend the afternoon getting some practice in for his night on the town. Ellen was the warm-up act, but Ryan was definitely on the lookout for a different main performance.

      ‘You ready, then?’ Max asked, sauntering over to Ryan, his mobile phone attached firmly to his ear.

      Ryan rubbed a towel along the back of his neck, looking over towards the throng of assorted journalists and reporters who were across the other side of the pitch talking to some of his teammates. ‘Yeah. I’m ready.’

      ‘Great. Hang on a second; I’ll just take this call. Don’t wander off, okay?’

      Ryan sometimes wondered if Max actually knew how old he was, because, at times, he still treat him like the nineteen-year-old kid he’d been when Max had first started representing him. Or maybe he just knew him too well.

      Looking over once again at the crowd of reporters, Ryan squinted slightly as a familiar figure stepped back from the crowd. Was that Ronnie White? What was he doing here? Hang on; was he with that reporter from yesterday? What was her name again…? Amber. That was it! Amber Sullivan. Daughter of Freddie Sullivan, apparently. So Max had told him. Pity she hadn’t inherited any of her father’s charm. Shit! She looked even sexier with that new hair colour. Red suited her. Ryan guessed it matched her temperament, which probably meant she was shit-hot in the bedroom – Jesus; he had to quit thinking like that. It wasn’t easy, though. This was one tough girl with attitude that Ryan was suddenly pretty desperate to get closer to. Even if it meant enduring a few more kicks in the teeth. Maybe that’s what she got off on.

      ‘What’re you smirking at?’ Max asked, sliding his mobile phone back into his jacket pocket.

      ‘Nothing.’

      Max followed Ryan’s gaze. ‘Right,’ he sighed. ‘Best leave well alone there, kiddo. She’ll eat you for breakfast.’

      ‘Yeah,’ Ryan grinned. ‘That’s what I’m hoping for.’

      ‘For fuck’s sake…’ Max sighed again, rolling his eyes. ‘Come on. Focus for at least five minutes, then you’re out of here. Although, Christ knows I’d feel more comfortable if you were being chaperoned twenty-four hours a day.’

      ‘If they looked like that…’ Ryan smirked, indicating Amber as she laughed at something Ronnie White said to her, ‘… they can chaperone me all they like.’

      ‘I thought it was hate at first sight with you two,’ Max said, guiding Ryan towards another local sports reporter who wanted a quick word.

      ‘Hey, I never said I hated her. I hated being ignored by her. That’s different.’

      ‘You hate being ignored, full stop. Now, turn on the charm and do what you’re here to do. The sooner we get this out of the way, the sooner we can all go home.’

      Amber smiled and waved at a fellow sports reporter she knew from a local radio station as he made his way out of the training ground. He’d had his five minutes with Ryan Fisher, whereas Amber had yet to approach him. It just wasn’t something she was particularly keen to do, even though it was the reason she was there. She’d spoken to a couple of the other players to see how they felt about their new team-mate, but so far she hadn’t set foot near the man himself.

      ‘I think I know why you don’t want to go near him,’ Ronnie said, leaning nonchalantly against a wall, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his more-than-likely stupidly expensive designer jeans. He was a footballer, after all.

      ‘Do enlighten me with your theory, then,’ Amber sighed, watching from across the other side of the pitch as Ryan Fisher charmed the pants off another female reporter. It was quite a sight to see. He almost had it down to an art form.

      ‘You fancy the arse off him.’

      Amber swung round and fixed Ronnie with a stare that would kill, given half a chance. ‘Sorry? Did you just accuse me of fancying the arse off Ryan Fisher?’

      Ronnie shrugged. ‘It’s obvious.’

      ‘Oh, is it? Care to fill me in on how you came to that conclusion?’

      ‘How many footballers have you been around, Amber?’

      She said nothing for a second, aware that she still had to talk to Ryan at some point before he disappeared off to do whatever it was footballers did for the rest of their days once training was finished, otherwise Kevin would doubtless have something to say.

      ‘Loads,’ Amber replied, checking her watch before looking over at Alec.

      ‘Okay. So, how many of them have you deliberately avoided talking to? For any reason.’

      She looked at Ronnie again, narrowing her eyes. ‘None. And what the hell are you talking about?’

      ‘You fancy him. Come on, Amber. You said yourself you avoid relationships with footballers, but you’ve СКАЧАТЬ