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“Fear of disappointing. Fear of getting hurt. Fear of being used.”
“Used by people around you?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “When you have money, fame, it’s hard to know who has good intentions. When I started, I trusted the wrong people. I lost money. I got my heart broken.”
“Crushed” is more like it. Finally, someone showed an interest in me. Finally, I felt seen. But it was for all the wrong reasons. A few months into our relationship, I overheard her on the phone bragging that she “scored” herself a footballer and that if she played her cards right, she’d “never have to worry about money again.” Turns out, she liked the spotlight and my bank account more than she liked me. The memory still ices my skin.
“Is that why you don’t date?” Roxy asks, her tone curious. It’s different from the curt, professional tone she’d been using since the interview started.
“Partly, yes. Or rather, it was.” I flash her my trademark grin, and her cheeks flush a light shade of pink that makes my heart thunder.
“Your current contract is coming to a close at the end of the season. What are your hopes for the future?” she asks, her voice resuming its professional air.
I lean back, crossing my ankle over my other knee. “I’m open to any proposition. I’ll just be happy to keep playing the sport I love. I know I’m part of the one percent, and I want to make the most of it. At twenty-eight, I’m halfway through my career already. One of my dreams is to play for an Italian or Spanish club. Even if I love playing for England, I’d like to have another club experience.”
Roxy’s eyes dart to the window, as if they’re avoiding me. Clearing her throat, she asks, “And what happens after you retire?”
“I’ve never really thought about it. Football is everything to me. I can’t really see myself not doing it. Maybe I’ll coach a team? Another side of me wants something completely different. I’d like to have a family. Live a simple life in the countryside or something.” Images of Roxy and me playing with our children in our backyard jump to my brain. She’s beautiful in a floral dress, holding the youngest in her arms and waving at me as I’m kicking a ball with our son. Then, my heart plunges to my stomach, because that dream will never come true. What we have is purely a business arrangement. I need to keep my head in the game.
“No career in fashion, then?” she jokes, breaking the tension. “You have a great sense of style.”
A laugh escapes me. “Thanks. But I’ve never really seen it like that. I do like fashion, but I don’t put much thought into my clothes. I always go for a casual look.”
“What’s your favourite piece of clothing?”
“The kit from my first game with the Regents. I still have it.”
She arches her eyebrows. “Really?”
“My life changed forever that day. I’ll never forget it.” I grin at the memory.
Roxy giggles. “Funny. I still have the shoes I wore to my interview at Fashion Warehouse—the day my career took a massive turn.” Another smile graces her face as she places her notes on the table.
“You love it, don’t you?” I ask.
“I do. As a plus-size teenager, I thought I’d never make it into the fashion world. But I did. And not because I lost some weight, but because I became more confident in myself.”
“Channelling confidence is hard. Self-acceptance too.” I speak from experience.
She pauses, her gaze drilling into me. “Does Wade Hunter know self-doubt?” Her tone is soft, full of wonder.
I cock my head. “Doesn’t everybody?”
She doesn’t answer, so I ask, “Are we done?”
“Yeah, I think so. Thanks for this. I’ll write up the article and let you review it before I submit it. As for the photo shoot, I was thinking sometime next week? Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday, whatever works for you. I saw you didn’t have any games scheduled next week.”
My heart leaps. “Looking at my schedule now, are you?”
She stares at the floor bashfully. “Well, you are my boyfriend.”
Right. If only I had the privileges that come along with it. “Let’s do Wednesday. When will you know if you won?”
“End of June, early July.”
“I hope you get the cover,” I say, getting up. “Are we doing something this weekend, or will we just see each other on Wednesday?”
“Afraid you’ll miss me until then?” she teases as she puts her stuff away. As she bends over, my gaze is instinctively drawn to the perfect curves of her hips. I force myself to look away.
