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The team gathered in one of the meeting rooms on the training ground. My eyes burned with exhaustion and my stomach ached and grumbled. I’d hardly slept. Hardly eaten. Still, I had to carry on as normal. No one in this room needed to know that my life had imploded. This year was too important.
Everything hinged on the last three games. Three wins and this was in our hands. It didn’t matter what any of the other teams in the table did, we’d be promoted from the Championship League to the Women’s Super League, the top league in England. We were so close to victory I could almost taste it. If the team lost faith in the captain, then we were screwed. No matter how my guts churned or how my heart ached, I had to inspire confidence. I didn’t feel confident. Not one bit. Thankfully, I’d always been good at faking.
Gabe entered, followed by a tall, dark-haired man. Black thick-framed glasses shielded the man’s dark eyes and a perfect swoosh curl fell across his forehead. A smart tweed blazer wrapped around his broad shoulders. He looked the type to be found tucked away in the corner of a bookshop with a cappuccino and a notepad. His eyes met mine briefly as he scanned the room, and my stomach gave a curious lurch.
Gabe clapped his hands to get our attention. “This is Dr. Reece Forster. He’s our new team psychologist. We’ve brought him in to help with mindset. I know this has been a stressful season, and we’ve got a lot riding on moving up to the next league. Reece is going to run sessions to get our heads in gear. I trust you’ll all give him a warm welcome.”
A team psychologist? Well, wasn’t that fancy? Gabe was sparing no expense. A luxury like a team psychologist would have been unthinkable a year ago. Until Gabe arrived, we hadn’t even had our own gym. I couldn’t stop my eyes from roving over the new guy—very nice if you liked that kind of thing and you didn’t hate all men in general since they were all lying, cheating scumbags.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see another missed call from Sean. Speak of the lying, cheating scumbag devil. I’d told him I needed space, but he didn’t understand the concept. My thumb hovered over the delete key. At least he hadn’t bothered me at work. The last thing I wanted was him turning up and causing a scene in front of the girls. Our paths usually crossed in the gym when the women’s training sessions overlapped with the men’s, but I’d skipped out on gym sessions this week. It couldn’t go on like this forever. I’d have to talk to him. We’d have to make a joint statement for social media. The press had styled us into the golden couple of English football. They were going to relish every moment of our downfall. My guts churned.
Lana leaned in next to me, her breath warm against my ear. “I’m calling dibs on the hot doctor.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What?”
She cocked her head to appraise him. “It’s the glasses.” Her lips curved in an unconscious smile. “I’ve always liked a man that looks like he knows his way around a spreadsheet.”
“But he looks so… straitlaced, like a librarian.”
“Right?” she whispered under her breath. “A smoking hot librarian. I’m into it.”
Lana’s chuckle raked through me. If she had her sights on him, he didn’t stand a chance. She’d screwed her way around most of the men’s team and half of the women’s. She wasn’t shy about going after what she wanted. Not that I judged her for that of course. Just because I’d been with Sean since school, didn’t mean I begrudged other people having fun. Anyway, what did it matter to me? If Lana wanted the new guy, she was welcome to go after him.
Lana smirked and leaned in again. “I might see if any of the other girls are up for a bet on who can score with Doctor Straitlace first.”
A snap of irritation made my jaw clench. “What? No. He’s a professional here to do a job.”
Lana snorted. “Don’t spoil our fun just because you’re wifed up.”
Wifed up.
My stomach dropped. Not anymore. I loved this team, but sometimes they were a bunch of messy bitches, and a sniff of the news about me and Sean would send them wild. They’d want to know all the details, but worse, they’d worry about me. If they sensed weakness or lost faith in the captain, we’d all be in trouble. I needed to keep a lid on it until we got through this season and got promoted.
The team is all that matters.
Lana smoothed a hand over her gleaming auburn ponytail and leaned in again. “Yeah. We could do with a bit of fun to lighten the mood around here. We’ll each put twenty quid in the pot. First to score with the doctor takes the prize.”
I put a finger to my lips. “Sh. We’re supposed to be listening.”
Slowly, Dr. Forster slipped off his tweed jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. He rolled his crisp white shirt sleeves up to the elbows. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Every movement was so measured and elegant. So controlled. Silence swirled in the room. The girls never paid this much attention to me when I did a team talk. They never paid this much attention to anyone.
Dr. Forster stepped forward. “Thanks, Gabe. It’s good to be here, and I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone better. I’m also offering one to one coaching sessions.”
His low, considered voice was as level and soothing as the rain that tapped against the window. My whole body leaned in, listening.
“We can work on mindset, confidence on the pitch, or any worries you might have that affect performance. I don’t know how much interest there would be in that kind of thing. Could I get a show of hands to see if it’s worthwhile?”
I watched as every arm in the room shot skyward. I kept my hands pinned in my lap. The last thing I needed was to spill my guts to a shrink.
His steady gaze flicked to me for the briefest of moments and, for some strange reason, my heart pounded. His expression and tone remained level. “That looks like most of you… great.”
Lana surveyed the room and leaned into me again. “I’m not the only one who fancies a one to one with the new guy.” She rubbed her hands together and rose a mischievous eyebrow. “This is going to be a good prize fund.”
A snap of irritation stiffened my spine. Lana was my best friend, but she’d always been a handful. The press called her the “bad girl” of women’s football. I had no doubt that she enjoyed that moniker. If she had herself set on something, I wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it. She was an amazing friend—the life and soul of every party and loyal to a tee. Still, she was also the only person I knew who was more stubborn than me. With Lana, you had to choose your battles carefully.
“Do what you want, but if Claire and Gabe find out about this, then you’re on your own,” I said.
A small smirk lit Lana’s face. “Fine. Let the games begin.”
