Page 2 of Kick Out of It

“It’s not like that. They dated over a decade ago, and we’re just friends. She interviewed me when I played for Ireland in the World Cup and we kept in touch. She’s smart, fucking beautiful…” Vicky gives me a knowing look at the curse. I blow out a long breath. “In the last month we’ve been…flirting?At least I am. She’s coming to Ireland in a few weeks for work. What should I do?”

Vicky smiles and offers, “You could ask her on a date when she’s there after discussing it with your friend? But as far as relationships are concerned, I’d highly recommend that anypotential partners you gentlemen court are privy to the fact that you’re attending therapy. Don’t wait until eight months into the relationship to discuss your mental health.”

“I don’t have mental health issues,” Russ insists, folding his arms over his chest.

“We know,” Will, Lucas, and I say in unison.

“I say go for it,” Lucas suggests with a beaming grin. “What’s the worst that can happen? Single mums are hot.”

Hot doesn’t even begin to describe Nora, but I’ll let it slide.

CHAPTER 1

NORA

“You’re almost forty,” Elle reminds me. “Tick-tock, motherfucker!” There’s nothing wrong with the big four-zero; I’m more concerned with my son, Leo, turning eleven later this year.Thatmakes me feel old.

I toss a chip at her chest, making her giggle. “For the last time, I have three years! And I’m done having kids. My biological clock can tick all it wants.”

“I know you don’t want a relationship, but don’t you miss sex?” she asks wistfully. “The feeling of a strong, growly man wrapping you in his arms, calling you his good fucking?—”

“Elle! Someone might hear you,” I hiss and throw another chip at her.

She grabs the chip, takes an exaggerated bite of it, then gestures to my plate. “Damn, these are good. If you’re not going to eat your orgasmic fries, I’ll happily finish them for you.”

“You know, when you come visit me, you’ll need to call them by their proper name,” I tease and she rolls her eyes.

Lunch with Elle is always the highlight of my week. After a break up with an Irish footballer twelve years ago that shattered my soul—not that anyone is counting—I moved from Ireland to America, far away from Keith Murphy. Elle was my first friend here, and I’m going to miss her dearly when I start my new reporting job covering the Cork football club. English reporters won’t touch it, and American journalists know nothing about football—insisting it’s soccer.

“When is your flight to Scotland?”

“Ireland,” I correct. “Monday night, but I’mthisclose to quitting and finding another job here. I miss covering baseball. Maybe there's a media relations opening somewhere?” I love sports journalism, but loathe dealing with the PR reps for teams; they make it harder for me to do my job reporting on players. I’m not sure I could do what Elle does though. She’s brilliant at managing the Cougar’s PR, but I sense a change coming on for her if things don’t let up for her. From what I’ve heard from her, their new quarterback is a fucking twat.

I shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of staying, no matter how much I’ll miss her. I’m leaving for my dream job—even with my ex, Keith, being the Cork goalkeeper. Despite spending most of my life in England, my father is Irish and has taken me to Cork matches since I was in nappies; the team holds a special place in my heart and always will. With them now in the newly established premier league, they’re getting more attention, which is why I’ve been brought on by a local network to cover them. My only issue is they’ve rebranded with a hare as a mascot and I’m worried I won’t be able to say Cork Hares without laughing.

Elle shrugs. “Maybe. I can ask around, but I really only know contacts in football, and a few in rugby. The Cougars aren’thiring, but even if they were, you’d hate it. Will, the new quarterback I told you about, is a fucking nightmare. I don’t care how many rings he has, there’s no excuse for being a twat waffle to the people who make him look good.”

I snort a laugh. “But,fuck,doeshe look good. It’s not as if he needs media help. I don’t care if the underwear advertisements are touched up by a computer. That chest!” I hum a groan. “Don’t tell me you haven’t fantasised about him,” I taunt, dramatically sipping my lemon water. “He’s strong and growly, emotionally unavailable; just how you like them.”

I withhold the fact I also enjoy men with extra muscle. It’s been ages since I’ve been with an athlete—since Keith, actually. Not that I haven’t been tempted but it would be unprofessional and unethical for me to date a player I’m covering. It’s why I’ve held my friend, Ronan, at arm’s length. Sure, we flirt, but it’s innocent banter. Except how each match he strips off his kit the moment it’s over. A shirtless Will has nothing on Ronan.

“Will Darling isnotstrong and growly.”

“Are you serious, Elle? He absolutely is.”

“It doesn’t matter, there’s a no fraternisation rule. Even if he wasn’t a little bitch, I couldn’t hook up with him. If you want him, he’sall yours, but I highly recommend running far away from that train wreck. Oooh, maybe you’ll find a sexy soccer player while you’re in England? What about Ronan? He’s totally into you.”

I ignore her mentioning the wrong country again; it’s her coping mechanism for me leaving. “You know it’sfootballback home. And Ronan and I are friendly. That’s all.” My son is obsessed with him, which is partly why I cannot entertain the idea ofbeing anything more than friends. Ronan is also the reason Leo wanted to be a forward in the recreation league here in New York. It adds an extra layer to this lasagna of “no’s.”

“Whatever.” Elle waves a dismissive hand. “Fuck a differentfootballer. Or a rugby player? Oof, those thighs!” She swoons, cartoon hearts practically springing from her eyes. “Plus, the accent! Maybe I should move overseas. I think Scottish is my favourite. My panties would melt if someone called me a ‘wee spitfire.’ No. I should move to Australia or New Zealand! Rugby is hot right now.”

“Have fun with tree trunk thighs. Personally, I prefer men who are built leaner. My ex plays for the club I’ll be covering. So, unfortunately, I don’t see a football fling happening any time soon.”

“What?” she shrieks.

“I told you about Keith. He’s a goalkeeper for Cork.”

Elle folds her arms over her chest. “No, you failed to mention that he plays for the team you’re covering! Shit, Nor, has our entire friendship been a lie?” She laughs and wiggles her eyebrows. “Does he have friends though?”

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