you sleep with him, then?’
Amber almost choked on her lager. ‘Jesus Christ, Ronnie! How the hell do you know I’ve slept with Ryan Fisher?’
‘I didn’t,’ Ronnie said, leaning back against the bar again. ‘But you’ve just admitted it now.’
‘Shit! I hate you, do you know that?’ She took a long drink of lager. ‘Thursday night, if you must know.’
‘And you haven’t spoken to him since?’
‘Only when I grabbed a few words with him seconds after the match for News North East. Professional capacity only. In front of the camera wasn’t really the right time to discuss our sex life.’
‘So, you’ve got one, then?’
‘Got what?’ Amber asked, still somewhat distracted.
‘A sex life. Me on Wednesday night, Ryan Fisher on Thursday…’
‘You’re making me sound like some kind of slapper. It wasn’t like that.’
‘Well,’ Ronnie sighed. ‘I don’t want to say I told you so, kiddo…’
‘Then don’t. Because it was me who sent him packing, if you must know.’
Ronnie looked at her, frowning slightly. ‘Huh?’
‘He came to see me at work, I invited him round to my place, he looked hot – he looked really hot, actually – we had sex, then I told him to go. Simple as that.’
‘Why?’ Ronnie asked, wanting to ask so many questions but thinking better of it. She didn’t look as though she was in the mood for the Spanish Inquisition.
Amber looked over towards the door again, not caring that she was making it obvious now. ‘I got scared. I let my guard down, and I let it down in front of Ryan fucking Fisher, of all people.’ She took another drink of lager and slammed her glass down on the bar, putting her head in her hands. ‘Jesus, Ronnie. What have I done? I slept with one of the most notoriously arrogant, self-centred footballers there’s ever been, he’s probably told God knows how many people, and now my “no footballers” rule is tarnished forever.’
‘Wasn’t it tarnished the second you slept with me?’
‘You don’t count, Ronnie.’
‘Gee, thanks, Amber,’ Ronnie replied, a touch sarcastically.
‘You know what I mean,’ Amber sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. If the truth be told, she hadn’t really wanted to come to the match today, but she’d had to work, and she was nothing if not professional. Any personal feelings towards Ryan Fisher that she may be experiencing right now had to be pushed aside. She was just having a bit of trouble managing that.
‘Look, Amber, sweetheart. This ridiculous “no footballers” rule that you gave yourself was pointless anyway.’
‘Was it?’ Amber asked, looking up at him sharply. ‘How’s that, then?’
‘Because you’re around them all the time. The law of averages says you’re probably going to end up becoming involved with one at some point in your life.’
‘Well, thank you, Gypsy Rose Ronnie.’
Ronnie pulled a face and Amber poked her tongue out at him, her head turning to check out the door once more in a reaction that was almost reflex-driven by some kind of sixth sense, because just as she turned her head, he walked in. Tall, tanned, handsome and hot. Ryan Fisher. And practically every female in the room stopped what they were doing to stare at him. He had that kind of aura about him. But his eyes had locked straight onto hers, staring at her, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. A mouth that had been covering her breasts and sending her to heaven only a couple of nights ago. And just the thought of that made her shiver, made her want to turn away and try and forget what she was feeling, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do it.
‘I’d better go grab a few words with him,’ Amber swallowed, keeping her eyes on Ryan in case he disappeared into a crowd that was quite obviously very pleased to see him. Despite it being called the Players’ Lounge, it wasn’t all that often that any players actually came in there, so when they did they always attracted attention. And Ryan Fisher was hot property today. Hotter than usual, if that was actually possible. ‘On a professional level, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Ronnie said, arching an eyebrow before turning his attention to a fellow pundit who’d just arrived in the lounge.
Amber quickly weaved her way through the growing crowd of people now amassing in the small but comfortable Players’ Lounge, over towards Ryan, who was talking to his new boss. Her heart raced as she tried to adopt her professional stance and forget all about Thursday evening, after all, he probably had. There was no doubt that he’d be moving onto the next conquest at some point tonight when he did the usual footballer’s thing of celebrating a home win with a stupidly expensive night out. And the women, of course, would be queuing up. Shit! Why did that actually bother her?
As she approached Ryan, she accidentally caught the eye of Red Star’s new manager, Jim Allen. He’d come over to the UK from Washington DC over twenty years ago, a young and extremely talented soccer player who’d been lucky enough to play for some of the biggest clubs in the world in his time – including Newcastle Red Star, where he’d spent the final few years of his professional playing career. But he hadn’t just played in England; he’d also spent time in Spain and Germany, not to mention numerous international appearances for his country. He loved the game, and he’d been a great player in his day, but now he was making a name for himself as a pretty successful manager. And to say the Red Star fans had been over the moon when he’d been appointed as the new man in charge of their club was an understatement. Not only had they acquired Ryan Fisher, one of the greatest players around right now, they’d also managed to steal Jim Allen away from one of the biggest, most successful London clubs.
Jim Allen had come into management fairly young – at the age of thirty-five – but he’d already confirmed he was a force to be reckoned with over his thirteen or so years as a manager. Football was in his blood. He’d been a great player, and now he was proving to be an accomplished and well-respected manager; a natural people person, a savvy businessman. And it also didn’t hurt that Red Star had recently been bought out by a large, New York-based consortium who were more than happy to have a fellow American at the helm.
Amber had known Jim a long time, due to the close relationship he had with her father, but he almost always made her feel slightly uncomfortable every time she was around him. And she didn’t really want to be around him right now.
She looked away quickly as he smiled at her, staring down at her feet, her hands in her pockets. ‘Could I have a quick word with Ryan, please? For News North East?’
‘He’s all yours, honey,’ Jim Allen winked, giving her his best smile, and Amber looked away again, this time pretending to root around in her bag for some imaginary object. ‘How’s your old man, by the way? I hear he’s doing okay over there at Bracken Town.’
‘He’s fine,’ Amber replied, still rooting around in her bag, aware that Ryan’s eyes were on her. She could almost feel them boring into the back of her neck.
‘Well, tell him to give me a call, okay? It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper catch-up.’ His eyes met hers again. ‘Yeah… It’s been a long time.’ He turned his attention back to Ryan, leaving him with a friendly slap on the shoulder. ‘Proud of you today, kiddo. Be nice to Amber, okay? She’s a good friend of mine.’ He looked at her again. ‘A very good friend.’
Amber watched Jim leave, almost breathing an inner sigh of relief, before slowly turning round to face Ryan.
‘Not one word since Thursday?’ he asked, his comment, not to mention his tone of voice, taking her completely by surprise. She had no idea it would even have bothered him. She’d given him what he’d wanted, hadn’t she?