Page 182 of Off the Pitch

“You’re like forty now.”

“The cheek! I’m not even thirty-eight, and I get better with age. I’m distinguished.”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Lara said rolling her eyes. “Just promise me you won’t start getting tons of Botox or stuff like that. It wouldn’t suit you.”

“More demands? You’re such a hard-to-please niece. Stay for Christmas, save the planet, be nice to turtles, don’t get lots of fillers. What else do you want?”

“I mean, I’d still take that pony.” I snorted, and she laughed. “Seriously, Félix, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

We sat on the window seat, catching up about all the random little life things that we hadn’t squeezed into our regular messages and occasional emails, until we heard the front door slam and the sound of my brother’s voice calling out.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Lara said.

“No. Save me from another lecture. I’ve already agreed to save the turtles. That’s my level of commitment for today.”

“I mean, that’s a pretty big commitment coming from you.”

“Exactly,” I said.

“Sorry. You’re on your own.” She swung her legs off the window seat, taking the tin of biscuits with her. “Good luck.”

“Traitor,” I called, half joking, after her. I heard her chatting to my brother outside the kitchen, so I helped myself to another cup of coffee while I waited. I was starting to feel a lot more alive than I had an hour ago, which was definitely a good thing if I wanted to survive the next conversation.

It wasn’t as if I hated my brother. On the contrary, I loved him very much. He’d always been there for me, and he’d never judged me for anything I’d done, at least not openly. He’d also been the one who’d stuck up for me and helped me out when my budding football career had gone to shit when everyone at the club had found out I liked sucking dick. It had been one of the worst periods of my life, but my brother had dropped everything to help me. I’d forever be grateful to him for that.

Still, I always got the feeling he didn’t quite approve of the way I’d chosen to spend the rest of my life—doing things for fun and never being serious about anything, instead of holding down a proper, worthwhile career and finding a steady boyfriend.

Just because he was a serious person, didn’t mean I had to be.

My brother had been an excellent footballer himself, and since then he’d become an even better coach, taking Greenwich Athletic from mid-table to Champions-League-worthy in just three and a half years, and producing some of England’s top young talent in the process.

Lucas Trossero was now a name synonymous with excellent coaching. My name was more closely associated withVanity Fair’s gossip column.

“Félix?” My brother’s face appeared around the kitchen door, wearing a surprised smile. “I didn’t think we’d see you today.”

“Well, you know me. I’m full of surprises.” I held out the coffee pot. “Marina made coffee. Do you want some?”

“Please.” Lucas placed his briefcase on the counter, pulling me into a hug as soon as my hands were free. I went willingly, even though his cheek was freezing when it brushed against me. Why was everything in this country so goddamn cold?

“How was training?” I asked, sliding a cup of coffee across to him. I asked more out of politeness than anything else. I didn’t want anything to do with football anymore, but since it was my brother’s life, we rarely had anything else to talk about.

“Good, good. Although we didn’t get much done today. One of my players got married yesterday, so most of the team was very hungover.” Lucas chuckled, shaking his head before taking a sip of his coffee. “But they’re young, so they’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Did you go?” I asked, by way of making conversation. “To the wedding, I mean?”

“Yes, Marina and I went. It was lovely, but we didn’t stay late. When I left, I think most of my players were doing shots at the bar.”

“You didn’t fancy joining them?”

“No, that’s more your style.” He raised an eyebrow and grinned. I sighed, rolling my eyes.

“Is it so terrible to want to enjoy life?”

“You’re nearly forty, Félix. Don’t you want to think about settling down?”

I groaned. “Not again, please. You’ve only been here five minutes. And can people please,please, stop adding years to me. I’ll be thirty-eight in January. It’s not a big deal.”

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