Page 5 of King of Hearts

“No, dickhead, I’m meeting with some journalist. Just want it done.” I said.

Jack laughed. “Hasn’t stopped you from making them wait before.”

Ignoring him, I turned a sharp left down the corridor lined with images of the greats of this club. Men who came before us and gave their blood, sweat and tears to ensure victory at the end of the season for the Hearts. I too aspired to one day hold that trophy like so many of them had before, victorious elation clear in their triumphant smiles. It was why I reluctantly agreed to all the bullshit which came with my contract and what we played for each week.

“Try to play nice, aye?” Jack’s voice carried from where he still stood. I stuck my middle finger up and his laughter followed me to the showers. He was a nice kid and if it were anyone else, I would have told them to go fuck themselves, but I took him under my wing when he started a couple of seasons ago and spent a fair bit of time showing him what it took to play elite. He always arrived early and eager and that was more than I could say for some of the rookies who came through the ranks each year. Not to mention his innate ability to read the play was fast placing him as one of the best midfielders in the league. Before he started with the Hearts and took the time to get to know me, he too bought into the persona that the media portrayed of me. Amplified by the little information I volunteered, it wasn’t a very positive one, but they only had themselves to blame for that. When you try to bulldoze someone into doing something, the results are never as clean or transparent as they could be.

Yet Jack was one of the few, who despite his constant sledges, went out of his way to learn about me, even on days when I was not the most forthcoming. A small token not many chose to afford, even within the team environment. I knew the boys all respected me as captain, but many kept me at arm’s length, thinking they otherwise might be painted with the same brush I was. Everyone was constantly reminding me to play nice, but the media ate the bad boy image up like it was nobody’s business. This was what they wanted. It was what sold papers. It was no secret in the industry that I hated them. Despised their tactics and everything they stood for – but the reason behind that was not so well known. And I definitely didn’t owe them anything, including an explanation.

When I finally walked into the office where the interview was to take place, I was surprised to find it already occupied. A woman sitting with a laptop open in front of her and a long amber braid slung over her shoulder. She turned around at the sound of the door and a strange feeling washed over me.

“Andy, hi. It’s so nice to see you again.” She stood, a warm smile spreading across her face as she thrust her hand out towards me.

I took her hand in mine but didn’t move to sit down.

“Felicity. I didn’t expect to see you. You weren’t available last time.” My unexpected irritation at seeing her rather than who I was expecting sent a feeling of unease through me.Maybe it was betterif Flick was here considering this was my reaction.

“No.” She giggled nervously before correcting herself. “Sorry about that. I was unwell. My colleague Arnabelle filled in for me, however, I understand a conversation didn’t eventuate. We are so glad to be able to meet again though and especially excited you chose us for the feature.”

She remained in her seat, likely hoping I would do the same, but it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to do this with her. The only reason I pursued Urban Pulse was because part of me hoped I would get to spend some time with the firebomb who left me speechless. With her verbosity and aloofness all I had wanted to do was take her in, which I recalled with a sick pleasure, only fuelled her anger. Something I ruthlessly enjoyed.

But today, Felicity was here. And while I wanted to get this over with and then stay as far away from these people as I could, the agitation and apprehension simmered. I looked back towards the door quietly estimating just how pissed Pup would be if I walked out. I knew I should start and forget about the woman who had clearly cast a spell over me. This was a stipulation, part of the job, and something I could easily push through.

I tilted my head and looked at the woman before me. Felicity seemed nice and she was attractive in her own way I guess, but she wasn’t who I wanted. Even thinking that, I wanted to punch myself in the face for forgetting how they were all scum.

I was glad no one could read my thoughts because it would no doubt earn me the spot as number one laughing stock in the team. Why would I – or should I – care about who interviewed me. Dating was not even remotely close to something I was interested in doing, although the random hook ups over the last few months felt even more meaningless and unfulfilling than normal. I no longer sought out the monotony of another nameless woman who were all cut from the same cloth. With me only for the five seconds of fame and everything I wished didn’t come with my job. There was no challenge, no excitement, no push and pull of banter, something I was starting to realise was more important than I used to think.

And ultimately, these interviews were bad enough and the disappointment that the thing I thought was going to get me through this one, wasn’t here, was the deciding factor.

“I won’t be able to chat today. I’ll have the interview rescheduled. The feature is still with Urban Pulse.” I said, providing no other explanation. I didn’t owe that industry any more than they had already taken from me. I would do the article, because I had no choice, but it was going to be on my terms. And that meant a perfect little blonde with eyes the colour of an iceberg would be asking the questions while I thought of new ways to see how far I could push her before she broke.

Arna

“There is absolutely no chance I am getting up on that stage. This bar does not have enough tequila.” Despite downing my third shot of the night, I shook my head to reinforce that tonight I wouldn’t be entertaining a room full of people.

I was wallowing.

“Come onnnn,” Marlee whined. “You actually have such a good voice and the crowd always loves you and your absolutely outrageous dedication to Whitney Houston.”

“Babe, I am literally six months into a dry spell, Barbara is covered in cobwebs and I am considering joining Tinder. Karaoke is not an option.”

Marlee cackled. “One - you are the most dramatic person I’ve ever met. Two - it is putrid you call your vagina Barbara.” She snorted, evidently needing to take a breath before continuing. “And three - you are the hottest bitch in this place. You could go home with literally any guy here. It’s been over a year since your last relationship with – what’s his face.”

“Oh my god. Remember him? He was a ten but he called his parents mummy and daddy.”

Marlee laughed at the memory. “Definite ick. But seriously, it’s time to move on, Arns.”

Her eyebrows were raised as she stared straight at me, refusing to let me worm my way out of this conversation. She knew better than anyone that these topics made me squirm and keeping things light was her go to when getting me to see reason.

“What about you, anyone new in your life?” I asked, swaying to the music of the latest daredevil who was destroying an INXS classic.

“Deflection.” She uttered, rolling her eyes in what was a signature facial of hers. “Fine, no karaoke, got it. But let’s talk about B-Barbara.” She emulated gagging as she spoke and I belted out another laugh.

“I’m not looking for anything serious, Marls. I mean, I am twenty-seven and could consider the possibility of commitment, but really, I just want someone to make my toes curl because I’m developing RSI at this point with how often I have to sort myself out.” I rolled my wrist in a circular motion for emphasis. “I wasn’t kidding. I almost downloaded Tinder. But I don’t think I want to sleep with a stranger. It’s not me. I need someone with some fucking substance.” I took a sip of my drink and sighed. Looking around the bar, there were plenty of attractive men. Some who had looked our way more than once, but none of them ignited any kind of spark. I needed someone who was going to galvanise my libido.

“Is it too much to ask to find someone who I’m attracted to, has a brain in their head and is not living in their parent’s basement? Oh, and showers regularly and smells good. Personal hygiene seems to be a commodity these days.”

“Arna, that was one guy. I’m sure they don’t all live with their parents.” She gestured around the bar before discreetly nodding her head at the table next to us holding four guys who looked as though they came from work. I glanced over and one of them winked at me, his tie loosened and his business shirt untucked, while he took a sip of his drink. Awedding bandfirmly planted on his finger.

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