The Beautiful Game (Man of the Match Book 1)

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Books by A Meredith Walters

  About The Beautiful Game

  Dedication

  Note to Readers

  Preface

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright Notice

  Butterfly Dreams

  The Contradiction of Solitude

  Reclaiming the Sand Series

  Reclaiming the Sand

  Chasing the Tide

  Twisted Love Series

  Lead Me Not

  Follow Me Back

  Find You in the Dark Series

  Find You in the Dark

  Light in the Shadows

  Cloud Walking (A Find You in the Dark novella)

  Warmth in Ice (A Find You in the Dark novella)

  Bad Rep Series

  Bad Rep

  Perfect Regret

  Seductive Chaos

  Desperate Chances

  The Missing

  Volume I: Illusions

  Volume II: Lies

  Lucas Bradley enjoys many things.

  The roar of the crowd.

  Scoring a goal.

  Being worshipped and adored by a growing legion of rabid, football obsessed fans.

  But gaining a reputation as English football's newest bad boy—not so much.

  Morgan Carter is a fish out of water.

  Having moved from America to the United Kingdom, she had hoped for a great adventure.

  Instead she's floundering in a job she doesn't like and a country she doesn't understand.

  And she finds herself more than ready to leave the land of hot accents behind.

  Until a drunken kiss at the local pub changes everything.

  Passions ignite. Tempers flare. And what starts as a temporary distraction turns into something deeper.

  Yet sleeping with a man on the cusp of full-blown fame comes with a price—one that Morgan isn't sure she's willing to pay. And Lucas, forced into the spotlight, finds his world turned upside down.

  Love is a game.

  But are Lucas and Morgan ready to play?

  And can they learn the rules before they run out of time?

  For Ian.

  And for Gwyn.

  Who else would it be for?

  This book is about an English football player in the English Premier League.

  I have used a combination of real and fictional teams as well as entirely made up stadium names.

  There is no Chester Athletics.

  And sadly, no Lucas Bradley either.

  Lucas

  I used to believe there was nothing like the roar of the crowd. I could feel it deep in my bones. It was a high unlike anything I had ever experienced before in my life.

  I was young. Arrogant. Stupid and naïve.

  I lived for the flashes of greatness. Sweat dripping in my eyes. Heart hammering in my chest. Calves burning from running hard for forty-five minutes without stopping. Muscles would seize and my lungs were on fire. I never felt more alive.

  I couldn’t stop.

  Not until the whistle was blown.

  I would race towards the goal, the ball gliding effortlessly between my feet. I knew that there were guys behind me shadowing my every move, waiting for me to mess up. Waiting for their chance. Their moment.

  Only that moment would never come.

  This was all mine.

  I could see the goal in front of me. I would pause just long enough to take a deep breath. Relish the instant when I would be king.

  Then I would kick the ball.

  Everything would go silent. The roar of the crowd. The wild staccato of my heart. None of it mattered. There was only me. And the ball. And the goal that I knew would come.

  Seconds felt like hours. The goalkeeper extending his arms. Fingers outstretched.

  Reaching.

  Reaching.

  Missing.

  The stadium would erupt into chaos. I would run towards the sidelines, pumping my fists into the air. My teammates collided into me. There would be yelling. Lots of cheers.

  Just like that I was a hero.

  Just like that I was loved.

  I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of that feeling. Craving the adulation. Addicted to the praise.

  I was a fool.

  Because exaltation was finite. It didn’t last forever. And a hero one day could be the villain the next.

  And I would learn the hard way that there were things—there were people—in life that were worth more than the worship of a fickle crowd.

  This is a story of blood and sweat.

  A story of heartbreak.

  This is a story of what happens when fame and fortune aren’t enough to keep you from destroying everything.

  Morgan

  “Do you fancy a cuppa?” Hayley asked, popping her head into my office.

  I looked up from the computer screen and blinked bleary eyes.

  “A whata?”

  Hayley smirked and shook her head. “A cup of tea. Would you like one?”

  I rubbed my temple, wishing the headache that had been my constant companion since moving to the United Kingdom two weeks ago, would go away.

  “Oh yeah, sure. That sounds great.” I tried to give my co-worker a weak smile. She was obviously too polite to comment on how miserably I failed.

  That was the wonderful thing about the Brits; they were all so damn well mannered.

  “Milk and sugar?” Hayley went on.

  What? Were we still talking about tea? Or a cuppa as she called it?

  Hayley, noting my bewilderment, took pity on me. “In your tea. Do you like milk and sugar in it?”

  “Uh, I guess—?”

  Hayley snorted and shook her head “Bloody American,” she said with what I hoped was affection before walking away.

  I let out a sigh and rolled my chair back away from my desk, stretching my arms above my head, trying to stifle the yawn that came out anyway. It was taking me a long time to get over my jetlag. I wasn’t adjusting to the five-hour time difference between my hometown of Greenport, Virginia and my new home in Chester, England.

  “You need to exercise. And eat better. All that greasy fish and chips stuff you’re eating can’t be good for you,” my mother scolded over Skype after pointing out how tired I seemed.

  “I’m not eating fish and chips all the time, Mom,” I assured her.

  I wasn’t sure she believed me. Because she seemed to ascribe to the idea that the only foods available in England were fish and chips and crumpets. To say that she was uncultured would be an understatement.

  But I was missing her. And the tiny three stop light town I had left behind in search for a great adventure.

  I had applied, on a whim, for a project manager job with a CFL, UK based IT firm. They were looking for “global talent” to work on a new platform they were developing. I had always wanted to travel and thought, why not.

  I had only graduated from
college a year ago so though my chances of landing such an amazing job would be slim to none. I didn’t even mention it to my mother thinking it was a shot in the dark.

  Then came the request for a phone interview. Then an offer to fly me to England to meet with the Head of Infrastructure and Development.

  Now here I was, six short weeks after applying for that no-chance-in-hell job. And I was questioning why I had been so eager to leave good ol’ US of A.

  Because living in England was weird.

  On paper we spoke the same language, but half the time I had no idea what people were talking about.

  I had no idea why I’d need a jumper if it were cold or an arial to watch TV without paying for cable. And what the hell was a sarnie and why was I asked if I’d like one if I was feeling peckish?

  I loved the city. I was a bit of a history buff, so I appreciated the old buildings and the beautiful cathedral. I enjoyed wandering through the grocery stores and trying foods with funny names like frazzles and pasties.

  But I was lonely.

  I wasn’t a very outgoing sort of person. Making friends wasn’t easy for me and the few I had held on to over the years were thousands of miles away.

  The British were polite to a fault but I felt like an outsider and I wasn’t sure how to make a place for myself in this new world I now called home.

  And I missed my mom. Though I would never admit that out loud.

  She had raised me as a single mother after my father left when I was three. She worked hard to make sure I never went without. I could admit I took her for granted.

  It wasn’t until I couldn’t see her every day that I realized how integral to my life she really was.

  I had thought myself a bonafide adult. I had graduated from college with a degree in Information Technology. I had no plans to spend my life in Greenport. I was better than that. I had greater aspirations.

  I was going to travel the world and experience all sorts of new and interesting things.

  Yet my first plunge into the waters of new and interesting had me wanting to tuck my tail between my legs and hurry home to Mommy.

  Maybe it had to do with my overpriced apartment—sorry, flat— with the leaky roof and mildewed carpet. Or it could have something to do with Thad, my lecherous neighbor, who liked to hang around in the hallway until I came out in the morning.

  Or it could be that as hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop feeling like a stranger.

  “Here you go.” Hayley walked back to my tiny desk shoved into the corner of the large community working space and handed me a steaming mug.

  “Thanks for the cuppa,” I said awkwardly, trying out the vernacular in the most American way possible. I sounded like a moron.

  Hayley grinned. “You’ll get the hang of all of our quirky sayings. And if not, we’ll tut under our collective breaths and silently judge you.” We both laughed and I felt a little lighter.

  I took a sip of my tea and instantly scalded my tongue. “Damn, that’s hot. I think I lost the top layer of skin in my mouth.”

  “Amateur,” Hayley teased, carefully sipping her beverage. “Have you started on the report for the QA meeting on Monday? We have to have everything together by end of business. I’m procrastinating per usual.”

  “I’m almost done. These graphs look like crap though.” I clicked on my screen, showing her the work I had been agonizing over all week.

  “Not bad,” Hayley said after a few minutes. I glanced up at her, noting her expression didn’t quite match her words.

  “It sucks. I can tell by your face, you’re just too nice to say anything,” I groaned, minimizing the chart.

  “Well, I think you’re just struggling with the format we need to submit. I’m sure it will be fine.” Her polite insincerity belied her statement.

  I blew out a noisy breath and chanced another scalding drink of tea. “I’ll tweak it a bit. Thanks.”

  Hayley hesitated before leaving my office. “A bunch of us are planning to piss off early this afternoon and head to the pub? Would you like to come?”

  I brightened. This was the first time I had been asked to tag along. I knew that a lot of the people in the office went to the pub after work, but I had yet to be invited. I hadn’t been allowed into that inner social circle.

  “Yeah, that sounds great. But can we do that?” I asked.

  Hayley frowned. “Can we do what?”

  “Leave early? The office doesn’t close until five.”

  Hayley shrugged. “It’s Friday. The bosses leave before we do,” she chuckled.

  I think that was one English tradition I could get on board with.

  I WAS SHOVED into the back corner of a too small booth. Someone handed me a pint of beer that I hadn’t asked for, but I took dutifully.

  I couldn’t believe how packed the pub was for four in the afternoon. Our group took up a place at the only available booth in the back of the bar. Seven of us squeezed around the tiny table and I struggled to shrug out of my coat.

  I took a sip of the beer and tried not to make a face.

  “Let me guess, the yank is a Cosmo kind of girl,” the man sat across from me laughed. Mark Bates worked as a project manager. Our interactions so far had consisted of emails and half smiles in the breakroom. He appeared a bit older than me, with teeth that didn’t quite fit inside his mouth and ears too big for his head. He was someone who never seemed to know what to do with his hands.

  “Yeah, I’m not big into beer. But you know what they say, when in Rome.” I took another drink and was proud of myself when I didn’t gag.

  Hayley laughed and nudged the good-looking man beside her with her elbow. “Get Morgan a mixed drink. Don’t force this swill on her.”

  Phil Wickenham got to his feet. “Of course. What does the lady prefer?” he asked with a grin. Phil was that special sort of guy who was good looking and knew he was good looking. And he wanted everyone else around him to be aware of it as well. He wore his shirts too tight, his hair too slicked. His smiles were practiced and his laugh a little insincere.

  But gauging by the women around the table, it worked for him.

  “I’ll have a strawberry daiquiri. But I can get it,” I told him, trying to get to my feet. It was difficult considering I was wedged between the wall and Hayley. Phil held his hand out and shook his head with a laugh.

  “You’ll do no such thing. What sort of man would I be if I allowed a pretty woman to buy her own drinks?” He gave me a wink and I refrained from rolling my eyes.

  “Well this pretty lady is capable of buying her own shit,” I mumbled, but Phil either didn’t hear me or pretended he didn’t.

  “God that man has such a great ass,” Hayley sighed after headed to the bar.

  She was joined in a chorus of agreement from Clara and Libby, who worked in marketing.

  “He just broke up with Becky last week,” Libby shared, glancing back at the man in question, who was still waiting to get my drink.

  “That was quick. What happened?” Hayley asked, having to shout to be heard over the noise of the pub.

  “I’m not sure, Becky’s not talking about it. I bet it had to do with the whole Carrie thing from last month,” Clara replied knowingly.

  I had no idea who Becky and Carrie were and I didn’t really care. I had liked gossip. I had been on the receiving end of nasty rumors more times than I could count. High school hadn’t been a pleasant experience for me. College was better only in that I had learned to keep my nose to the ground and to avoid any and all attention.

  “Yeah, well it seems Phil is ready to move on,” Libby giggled, giving me a wide-eyed look.

  “What?” I asked in confusion, not understanding what she was alluding to.

  “They’re telling you in their catty, female way, that Phil is looking to jump into your knickers,” Andrew said. Andrew was a scrawny guy with too much facial hair and not enough on top of his head. He was a network engineer like me and out of everyone at the table, the one I had t
he most interaction with at the office.

  “Um, I’m not looking for anyone to get in my knickers.” My face flamed hot in embarrassment at the turn of the conversation.

  Libby, Clara, and Hayley shared a look that wasn’t entirely nice. “Oh, don’t worry about it. You’re the shiny new toy.” Libby patted my hand, giving me a smile that I couldn’t decide if it was friendly or not.

  I had always struggled with female friendships. Growing up I never had a group of girls I hung out with. I never had a best friend. Most the time I had played with the boys, which as I grew older, became the source of a lot of my issues.

  “Here you go, Morgan.” Phil had reappeared and put the drink down on the table in front of me. I noted the way his eyes lingered on my chest and I wished I had left my coat on. He was the kind of man I hated. The ones that thought they could get whatever they wanted. And seeing the way Libby and Clara vied for his attention, it was obvious that was what Phil Wickenham was used to.

  “So, Morgan, how are you liking the UK?” Hayley asked, grabbing a handful of nuts and popping them into her mouth.

  “It’s taking some getting used to,” I admitted. I sipped on my daiquiri. It was good. Too good. These could be dangerous for me if I wasn’t careful.

  “Like what?” Charlie, an older man with an unfortunate goatee, asked. I knew that Charlie worked in sales and he dressed the part, complete with shiny pants and bad comb over. But he seemed like a nice guy, if a little out of touch in the dressing himself department.

  “Like why I can’t find paper towels when I do my online shopping. What the hell do you call them? And why there aren’t any outlets in the bathroom? And lets talk about how there’s hardly any water in your toilets, it’s unsettling. And why there are hours upon hours of television devoted to darts and pool?”

  “I think you mean snooker,” Andrew piped up.

  “Fine, snooker,” I conceded.

  “Well, we don’t put outlets in the bathroom because we’re all about not electrocuting ourselves. As for the water in the toilet, we care about water conservation in this part of the world,” Charlie stated after taking a long drink of beer that left foam on his upper lip.