Page 7 of Hotshot

Ella waited to see if her psychological trick had worked.

Sloane exhaled and her shoulders relaxed. If body language was anything to go by, it had.

“You said your mum was your cheerleader? She’s not anymore?”

Ella gulped. She’d opened the door. She had to step through. She gave a slight shake of her head. “She died eight years ago. I know what it is to go through the world without your key cheerleader by your side. You can do it, but it’s harder. That’s why when I’m offered any others, I take them. Life’s tough enough.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sloane bit her lip. “And I wasn’t being dismissive. I need cheerleaders just as much as the next person.” She stared at Ella.

“Good to hear because I’m paid to be here, so I’d do it whether you like it or not.”

At last, a genuine smile.

Ella returned it. “Shall we try that question again. What do you think will be your biggest challenges?”

Sloane considered the question before answering. “Gelling with an already settled side. Getting to know my teammates off the field as well as on. Learning the patterns of play. Getting the transitions right. Staying up the field as the manager wants. But that’ll come in time.” She paused. “This week, my biggest challenge is smiling into the camera looking like I mean it at my Nike photoshoot. I always get a bit self-conscious at those things. I could never be a model. It’s harder than it looks.”

Sloane lowered her gaze to the floor, then looked back at Ella. Sloane lied: she could totally be a model. But also, her guard was down. She was finally admitting a weakness.

“And they can’t eat anything but dust. You wouldn’t catch me wanting their lives,” Ella replied.

“I’d much rather be scoring goals.”

“Me, too.” Ella winced. This never happened when she was talking to divers and hurdlers, did it?

But Sloane hadn’t missed it. “You, too? Did you play?”

Ella bit her lip. “A long time ago. But this isn’t about me. This chat is all about you.”

“What if I want to know about you? Isn’t this relationship both ways?” Sloane snagged Ella’s gaze and held it.

Ella’s insides rocked unsteadily under its heat. She’d love to share her story with Sloane. But this was not the time or place. She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Maybe one day when you’ve told me a bit more about yourself. This is a two-way conversation, but I need something to work with.”

Sloane didn’t drop her gaze. “Maybe in session two we’ll both uncover a little more. You can tell me about your soccer career. I can tell you a bit more about how I have been lonely some evenings.” She sucked on her top lip and held up a hand. “But that’s not a problem. It’s part of the job. It’s one I’m used to.”

Ella knew that was true. She almost offered to meet her for a coffee. But that would be unprofessional. Ella was here to do a job for the team, just like Sloane.

She’d get her to talk eventually.

CHAPTER5

Her thigh muscles ached, and she knew her butt would be sore tomorrow. But it was the good type of sore. The one she’d take every day. Where she knew she’d worked her body, and that her muscles were getting stronger every day. Sloane still remembered the season she’d had on the sidelines with an ankle injury that never quite healed. Two weeks had turned into four months of growing frustration, as she watched her teammates lift the title without her help. She still got a medal, but she hadn’t earned it. This season, she wanted to earn everything she got and take this team to the next level. That included her famed penalties, which she’d just finished practising.

“Thanks, Becca, you’re a star!”

Salchester’s goalkeeper gave Sloane a high five, then hurried off the field ahead of her, her ginger ponytail swaying behind her. “Can’t stop, gotta get to my mum’s for her birthday!”

Sloane shooed her off the field with her hands. “Get going, then.” Becca disappeared into the changing rooms.

“Good shooting today, Hotshot.”

Sloane smiled at Layla as she fell into step beside her. Layla had stayed out with her while she practised penalties, as Sloane did every session. Layla’s Norwegian accent was still there in the background if you listened hard enough. However, years spent outside her home country, both in the US and now the UK, meant that her accent had a mix of everything. Part Texan, part Lancashire, part Oslo.

She and Layla had played together at college, had come up against each other in the US league, and had found themselves on opposing teams in international tournaments for their country, too. Layla was a creative midfield general, her speciality unlocking defences by playing killer balls to forwards. Sloane loved those types of players. Unselfish, playing for the team. Plus, they always made someone like her look good. Strikers were always inherently selfish. It was in their DNA.

“Forty-seven out of fifty penalties. Not bad. But I think you were the hotshot in training today.” Sloane nudged Layla with her elbow as they walked.

Layla batted away her compliment with a wave of her hand.

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