Page 35 of The Game

"Sammy," I called him back as he went through to the lounge. "What's with all the banana's? You're going to get a tummy ache and then you won't be batting for anyone."

"They make you fast apparently."

I groaned and smacked my head with my hand forgetting the former England number one was watching from against the counter, his lips twitched at a smile in response to my childish actions. "Is that what this is about? Training makes you fast, I've told you this."

He gave me one of his standard boy shrugs and sloped back off to the sofa.

The Lion watched me closer, leaning forward an inch as if he wanted to read the lines on my face. I backed away. I didn’t need to be that close to a predator, even a handsome as fuck one. "Why does he want to be faster, he's a great little player?"

"His twatty coach told him he'd only ever be fast enough for local cricket." I ground out the words, a flare of annoyance prickling my skin.

The Lions face flooded with a red stain and the creases around his tanned cheeks scrunched together. "He said what?"

I sighed. "I know. As I said the man's a twat."

"What a thing to say to a child."

I glanced at him over my mug, wishing my eyes weren't so drawn to him. "I guess no one ever said that to you, hey?"

He chuckled and then looked surprised he'd made the noise. "I was told I'd never play cricket because I threw like a pansy."

I spluttered on my coffee. "Someone actually said the word pansy?"

"Yep, things weren't so politically correct back then." At his words, his face flickered a frown. Like he'd just remembered he was standing in the kitchen of someone eleven years his junior.

"It must have been hard back in the dark ages." I flashed him a grin that felt unexpectedly comfortable.

"It was, we had to play with rocks instead of cricket balls. Did you not know that's why cricket balls are so hard?"

I snorted, and he grinned, and for one long endless moment we stood staring at each other until he cleared his throat, his eyelids dropping over his gaze, hiding his eyes behind those long lashes and I splashed the rest of my coffee in the sink. "Come on, let's get the shopping done."

We were all squeezing into the car—I didn't know why we weren't using his—when I asked my question. I’d come up with a cunning plan but I needed his agreement. "You said you just want to play and practice where no one knew you is that right?"

Was it me or was the car unbearably warm, and small? I needed a bigger car. A spacious minibus maybe.

"Yes?" his glance was wary.

"What about if you could play where no one gives a shit who you are."

Buckling his belt, he nodded. "Well, that could work too."

I grinned and caught him glancing at my lips again. "I think I might have a plan."

"That’s why you are the coach, Rivers."

It was another Saturday with the Lion: shopping, lunch and then him throwing slow balls to Sammy who hit them all over the garden.

It was another surreal day with the Lion.

After he'd left and I checked on an exhausted Sammy, I clambered into my own bed.

He'd been normal. Well, as normal as he was ever going to get. And when I say normal, I mean, coffee making, oven switching on, toilet seat down kind of normal. Neither of us spoke about the kiss that still went down in history as the most random event of my life. Nor did we talk about Fredericks and what happened to him when he broke his contract.

I was beginning to drift into an uneasy sleep when my phone beeped. Glancing at the screen, it took a moment to make sense of it.

Thank you, Lyssi.

The only person who called me Lyssi was my family.