Page 16 of Playing the Field
‘And what makes you such an expert?’ I snap, spinning round to face him. And I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced the sensation where it feels like all your hair follicles have been sprayed with deep freeze, but that’s how my body reacts when I realise it’s not, as I’m expecting, an opinionated former Hamcott Park fan or even one of the academy staff standing next to me and sharing their unwanted point of view. It’s disgraced Millford City footballer Ben Pryce. Here. At Upper Hamcott Academy. At least I think it is.
He has a cap pulled down low over his face, so I peer a little harder. Yes, it’s definitely him. On a second glance, there’s no mistaking those dusty blonde curls or his tall, lean body. But what on earth is he doing here?
A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he tells me he may have had a bit of experience of training with a football team and I’m momentarily lost for words. I should probably mention at this point that Ben could be a catwalk model if he wasn’t a footballer. He’s impossibly good-looking– even more so than in the photos I’ve seen of him online and in the papers. No wonder he gets pictured with a different girl every other week.
‘You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here,’ he adds, as if he can read my mind. ‘My brother’s on your team, but I’m guessing he probably hasn’t told you that. He’d hate anyone to think he got his place because of who he is, not what he can do.’
Of course. Bailey Pryce, with a y. It never occurred to me they have the same surname.
‘He told me spectators are welcome,’ Ben continues, ‘and I’ve got a fair bit of time on my hands at the moment, so I thought I’d swing by to see how he’s getting on. Unless he was wrong about the spectator part, that is?’
‘Not at all, and thank you for your observations,’ I finally manage, hoping he can’t tell how rattled I am, even if my cheeks are clearly on fire. ‘But it’s day one, so we’re not expecting the team to be perfect yet.’
‘Can you tell me anything about them as individuals?’ he asks. ‘You know, from what you’ve seen so far.’
And a small part of me wants to say it’s none of his business, but another part of me wants to carry on talking so I’ve got an excuse to sneak another look at him. Plus it’s not like I’ve got anything bad to say about anyone, so what harm could it do?
‘Well, we’ve got Jamie over there– he’s been chasing balls around since before he could walk. He’ll be playing up front,’ I tell him, resisting the urge to fan my face. I don’t want to draw attention to how flushed it is. ‘And Nico, in the green top there, is such a ball of energy. He’s unbelievably competitive, but we think that will fire the others up when we get to playing matches.’
Ben nods and waits for me to continue, so I plough on, inexplicably feeling the need to prove to him that I’m well acquainted with all our players, even if it’s not entirely true yet.
‘Aaron, on the left there, he’s used to playing five-a-side, so we need to work on his fitness a bit. And I’d say we’ve got some work to do with Scott on his confidence, but overall we’re very happy with our choices. We have faith in everybody on the team.’
‘Including my brother?’
‘Absolutely.’ But then I hesitate.
‘Tell me,’ Ben says, and I debate how honest to be. In the end I decide to go with the truth.
‘It’s nothing to do with his ball skills– that’s clearly something that runs in the family. But I do worry that when he comes up against some of the bigger opponents in a tackle, they’re going to send him flying. He’s fast enough to be able to dodge the majority, but when they see what a threat he is in the midfield there’s always the risk the opposition might start targeting him.’
Ben nods again, but doesn’t agree or disagree. Instead he changes the subject entirely and asks, ‘So how do you think your coach is going to cope surrounded by all that testosterone?’
Which instantly makes me bristle as it occurs to me that this bad boy of football, with a somewhat shady reputation with the ladies, might really just be here because his brother’s told him there’s a hot female coach. Well, he’ll be disappointed if that’s the case. Cassie would never leave her fiancé, no matter how tempting the proposition might be.
‘You don’t need to worry about her,’ I reply tersely. ‘She’s no wallflower.’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt it.’ He holds his hands up to mollify me. ‘But I was wondering, all the same, if perhaps I could offer her some assistance.’
‘Because you’re a man, so you think you know better than her?’ I snap, still on the defensive.
‘Because three years in the Premier League has taught me a few things,’ he counters. ‘And I’d be happy to share what I know with the team.’
I eye him suspiciously, with no idea what to make of him. I still want to put this down to arrogance, and yet it doesn’t come across that way. ‘Why?’ I ask sharply.
‘Why don’t we discuss that over a drink?’ he suggests, so casually I think I must have misheard him.
‘A drink,’ I repeat, ignoring the fluttering sensation this sets off in my stomach. ‘With you?’
He chuckles. ‘You’re not scared it would tarnish your reputation, are you?’
Well yes, of course I am. I’m not about to join his list of conquests.
‘Pity,’ he says. ‘I didn’t have you figured for a wallflower either.’
‘I’m not!’ I protest, increasingly flummoxed by this turn in the conversation. ‘But I’d rather be tackled by Roy Keane than be seen out with you!’
‘Roy sends his apologies but he’s got other plans this evening,’ he fires back, with an infuriating grin. ‘So I guess I’ll have to do.’
