For the first time since I got on this godforsaken plane, I actually feel a sliver of fear shoot through my chest. When Kennedy has made a final decision about something, usually it was not to my benefit. Well, it was always to my benefit, I just didn’t like it.
I pretend I feel nothing—I’m actually rather good at that. “And what decision would that be, your Royal Highness?”
Kennedy clears her throat and takes a sip of her coffee. “Well, it’s the reason we are on this plane. I think you need to lay low for a while.” The feeling of dread gets thicker, more potent. “I made a few phone calls. We’re headed to Maine. Lilac Harbor to be exact.”
Maine? As in the United States? They are dragging me across the ocean in order to hide? Also—isn’t it fucking fall in Maine? Why couldn’t they drag me somewhere warm and tropical? You know, where I could get a rub-down and a drink in a coconut. I’m not going to say any of these things out loud right now because the way Kennedy is looking at me, I’m afraid she’s going to go full Bobbit on me right about now. Instead, I go the safer route.
“What’s in Maine?” I stupidly ask.
“My best friend, Elodie, owns a B&B there. It’s quiet, secluded and you have zero chance of being papped or getting laid.” Her eyes are pointed at me.
“Yah, I don’t think so,” I flippantly respond.
“You have NO choice.” Kennedy punctuates her words with anger. “None. You are going.” She points her finger at me. “I need you to hide while I attempt to make this go away. While I work with Dean to make sure you keep your fucking job.”
“They’ll keep me, I’m too damn good not to keep. Who else will score goals for them?” I’m one of the best strikers in the league—this is just a fact.
“You may be one hell of a striker, but you are one massive liability. You are supposed to be a leader, Ryan. The captain. Coach is already making waves with Alana.” The mention of the owner of my team makes my stomach roll. Or maybe it’s the whiskey. Probably both.
The pounding in my head intensifies. So I partied a little too hard last night. Drank some whiskey, got a blowjob from some cleat chaser and there happened to be blow in the room. I didn’t invite the reporter from the DailyMail to the party, so I don’t really know why this is my fault.
“I’m not going to Maine. Just take me back to England, I’ll lay low in my flat and this will all blow over. We have a match on Saturday—I need to be there.”
“You’ve been suspended, Ryan.” Kennedy looks at me for the first time with some softness in her face. “Indefinitely.”
The pounding in my head becomes an overwhelming beat that I can’t shut off. That rolling in my stomach intensifies further and I feel like I can’t get any air. My lungs are heavy. Suspended.
“That’s why you are going to the B&B. You need some time to get out of the public eye. No one will find you there,” Kennedy continues on. She’s leaving me no choice. “We are already on our way, and you will not leave that town. Go ahead, go to the local store. No one will care. But heaven help me, Ryan, I find out you left that B&B and I will gut you, personally. Not to mention if you so much as breathe wrong in Elodie’s direction. She’s the best kind of person, Ryan. Do not fuck that up.”
Kennedy sounds serious. I’ve never heard her this angry before and she’s cleaned up a lot of my messes. She turns her head back down as she opens her laptop. I hear her fingers begin clicking away at the keyboard.
I lean my head back on the seat. Maine. What the fuck am I going to do in Maine?
Chapter Two
Ryan
The limo winds through the back roads of what I’m assuming is somewhere in East Bumblefuck Maine. All I can see for miles is trees. Fucking trees. There’s not a pub or even so much as a house for miles. Kennedy sits across the limo from me and types away on her laptop. Her fingers fly over the keyboard and provide an almost melodic clicking noise. She’s coming along to get me settled into the B&B apparently. Like a very overpriced jailer.
“You know I do know how to check myself into a hotel.” I turn my focus to Kennedy. Her fingers still and her eyes meet mine over the top of her laptop.
“I barely trust you to buy your own coffee, let alone check into my best friend’s B&B.”
“How much longer until we are there? I need to get out of this car.” My body is like a live wire—I feel like I could burst at any moment. This is the type of energy I typically burn off playing footie but that’s not an option in this limo.
“Simmer down, cowboy. We are almost there.” Kennedy tips her face back down to whatever she is typing away at.
My eyes drift out the window, and I start to see some semblance of civilization. A cafe, a hardware store, and some other small buildings line the street. This place looks exactly out of one of those stereotypical American paintings. People are riding bikes and laughing on the sidewalks.
I instantly hate it. Give me my packed streets of Londoners and pubs that serve real beer.
The limo makes a turn down a graveled drive that’s lined with large oak trees. The leaves have all started turning colors and it looks as if everything is on fire. I can grudgingly admit to myself that it’s nice looking. Across from me, Kennedy slams closed her laptop and starts packing it up into her bag.
“You’ve paid an exorbitant amount to have the B&B to yourself for the next two weeks. Elodie lives on the property, as do her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Stewart are getting on in years so I expect you to be helpful and do whatever you can to be a pleasant human being.”
I look at her.
“Fake it, Ryan.”
“Oh, I don’t fake anything ever, Kennedy.”
“Your shit doesn’t work on me. Save it for someone else.” Her face gets really serious. “Especially Elodie. She won’t put up with that shit for two seconds.”
“This bird a looker?” I’m purposely pushing every button of Kennedy’s I can. She’s going to lock me up in Maine somewhere, and I’m going to make her life a living hell.
“I’m not kidding, Ryan. Elodie isn’t a toy to play with while you are here. Keep your dick in your pants for once.”
I shrug. “He doesn’t like being in pants, Kenn. He likes to play.” She growls at me. Her eyes narrow into slits, and I know I’ve gone one step too far.
“In. Your. Damn. Pants. Evans.”
The limo comes to a stop and I shift my vision away from Kennedy and her angry face.
We’ve pulled up to a huge old white house with a massive wrap-around porch. The bright red door is flanked by two huge iron lamps. The large oak trees continue from the drive and go all the way to the front. Beyond, I can just see the sparkling glint of the expansive ocean.
“It really is a beautiful place,” Kennedy practically whispers next to me. “Every time I come here, it just keeps getting better.”
I grunt at her and open the door. I don’t have time to wax poetic. The sooner I get my time done here and get back on the pitch, the better off I’ll be. I stretch my legs and get out of the limo. Kennedy is right, it really is a beautiful place. If I have to be locked up, at least it’s not a hellhole. The driver places my bags at my feet and I turn to thank him. A warm, wet nose surprises me by pressing into my bare calf. I look down to find a very large, very fluffy dog.