Blindsided Read online

  The wind beneath my sails has ceased, and my huffy, defensive attitude from moments ago has been completely washed away by this sweet ginger giant standing in my kitchen. I set my mug on the counter and pull out of his embrace to gaze up at him curiously. “Did you say ‘best mate’?”

  He shrugs. “Aye, you have been nearly since the second we met, which is why I want my teammates to know you. You’re my wee treasure, and I’m right proud of you.”

  A tender smile lifts my cheeks. Mac and I don’t talk about our friendship often. Honestly, we’re usually too busy bickering to be sweet to each other, so hearing him call me his wee treasure makes my heart practically explode inside of my chest. Who would have put the two of us together as mates in any type of situation? Certainly not me. That’s why the closer we became, the more secluded I wanted our friendship to be. I can only imagine what the headlines would say if we ended up photographed in one of those online blogs you always see footballers tagged in.

  Scottish footballer has found himself a stalker who looks like a plus-sized Anne of Green Gables.

  Wankers!

  At least my fashion sense is a touch better than Anne of Green Gables, who honestly could have been a lot more progressive with the Victorian Era. My stint in design school certainly helped with that, so, well done me.

  Sadly, there’s not much that can be done for my sizeable curves or my Little Mermaid red hair that I’ve tried to dye countless times to no avail. And my freckles are so defined, I quit wearing concealer full stop because all it did was make me look like I was covering up leprosy. Is leprosy still a thing? Could that be a headline?

  Stay focused, Freya.

  The point is, Mac is an attractive athlete who can eat an entire Big Mac and burn it off in one quick run. Bleddy hell, even his ankles are fit. I didn’t know ankles could be fit until I saw his very large bare feet propped up on my sofa table for the first time. The veins that run up his calves are immense!

  Then there is me. I’m someone who mindfully chooses to eat wine gums instead of celery stalks even though I know it’ll take me days to burn them off. Not only do I like wine gums, but there’s just something about the word “stalk” that makes me think it doesn’t belong in my mouth.

  All this means is that Mac and I are very different people, so the thought of him parading me in front of his team is terrifying, especially since I’m crap with men.

  I grew up as a freckled, chubby redhead with an obsessive affection for knitting furry pink jumpers with kitten faces on them—an act that really didn’t bring all the boys to the yard. And because of my horrible experiences with the select boys I did try to date, I can barely string together a declarative sentence around a bloke whom I think I may have a chance with. I really don’t want Mac to know that side of me.

  “Hellooo, Freya…Earth to Freya.” Mac’s voice snaps me back to reality, and I realise my mind was having one of those outbursts Mac mentioned.

  “What?” I ask and blink to regain my focus on him.

  “Did you hear me? I said I think it’d be good for you to come with me to the party on Friday night. You’re not old enough to be cooped up like a wee old lady.”

  His words are a punch in the gut, even if he didn’t mean them to be cruel. I have secluded myself quite a bit this past year. All my friends are married or are about to be married, so my social life has taken a nosedive. If it weren’t for Mac, I’d be well on my way to becoming a proper spinster.

  “What kind of party is it exactly?” I ask as I turn to heft myself up onto the kitchen counter, fretting over the idea of making a complete fool of myself in front of my apparent best mate.

  Mac’s face lights up as he hoists himself up beside me. God, he made that look so easy while I looked like a child trying to crawl into Papa Bear’s chair. He nudges me with his shoulder. “It’s called a No Bloody Kids Do at Tanner and Belle Harris’ flat. The entire Harris family got sitters, so they’ll all be there. Plus Roan and Allie, of course, and some other of my teammates.”

  All couples, I think to myself as I bite my lip nervously. Just like it will be at Allie and Roan’s wedding. At least I’m somewhat familiar with this crowd. Allie is a cousin to the Harris family, and my colleague Sloan is married to the eldest Harris Brother, so I’ll certainly be amongst friends. And in the back of my mind, I’ve known that I need to find a date for the wedding or I’ll be the sad bridesmaid wearing a puffy pink dress and sitting at a table drinking champagne alone while all the other couples are dancing.

  Mac hits me with a dazzling smile like he knows I’m faltering. “Come for me, Cookie. Please?”

  I exhale heavily because he is seriously impossible to say no to when he smiles like that. He gives me the same look when he begs for Chinese takeaway instead of Indian, and we always end up getting Chinese.

  I suppose the fact that I didn’t even know what Netflix and chill meant is proof that I need to get out more. “You are a proper pain in my arse, Mac. Do you know that?”

  He beams happily. “It’s a good thing you have a great arse then.”

  “I’m coming into the house! I hope no one is wearing their birthday suits inside!”

  “Ag, shut up, you idiot!” my roommate, Roan, shouts down the steps in his thick South African accent. “We’re decent.”

  With a wry grin, I take the steps two at a time up to the main level of the Georgian townhouse I live in with my teammate and best mate, Roan DeWalt. I find him sacked out on the sofa with his fiancée, Allie. She’s lying on his lap, her blond hair spread out over his legs as he toys with her strands like they’re woven from pure gold.

  They have been engaged for over a year and still can’t keep their hands off each other. It wouldn’t bother me if it didn’t take place inside my flat all the damn time, but I know they don’t have any other choice. Allie still lives with her cousin, Camden Harris, and his wife, Indie, who is our team doctor. They have a wee bairn who’s just turned one, so I’m sure Allie wants to stay out of their way until after the wedding, when she and Roan plan to move into a flat of their own. Regardless, their infatuation with each other is why I find myself at Freya’s more often than not.

  Just to be clear, I am happy for them. Their love could make a lad jealous if that’s what a lad wanted. Thankfully, I do not, so their googly eyes and lovesick murmurs have no effect on me. Life is too full of adventure to get tied down at my age. I know I’m over thirty now, and my mum is always asking when I’m going to bring a lass back to Dundonald. But I have no interest in being committed to a woman because I have no clue where my career will end up. My contract with Bethnal Green F.C. ends next year, and my agent and I will begin talks soon about getting it renewed, God willing. I like the club and training staff, not to mention my teammates, but the truth is, I’m getting older. My sore knees can attest to that. And I know I can’t play football forever, so I have to give it my all while I still have my all to give.

  “What are you two lovebirds up to?” I ask, propping myself on the armrest of the sofa and glancing at the telly.

  “Just Netflix and chilling,” Roan says with a smirk, his white teeth practically glowing against his dark skin.

  I shake my head knowingly. “I just came from Freya’s, and she didn’t have a clue what that phrase meant.”

  Allie’s eyes widen as she sits up off Roan’s lap and pins me with a hopeful expression. “Did you talk to her about the party Friday night?” she asks in her American accent.

  I nod. “Aye, she’s coming.”

  “Yes!” Allie squeals. “I knew if you asked her, she couldn’t say no.”

  I purse my lips because it sounds deceitful when she says it like that. “Just don’t tell her you asked me to ask her. I don’t want her thinking it wasn’t my idea.”

  Allie mock zips her lips. “I would never, Mac. I’m just excited for her to come out with us. I’ve been so tied up with wedding planning and work at the boutique that I haven’t taken her out for drinks in ages.”

/>   I nod knowingly. Allie used to be our PR rep for the team, but she was sacked after some pretty intense drama between her and Roan. It seems like it all worked out for the best, though, because she was offered a job in marketing at the Kindred Spirits Boutique where Freya works. The two of them became best mates almost instantly.

  “Drinks would be good.” I grip the back of my neck, rubbing at a knot that’s been there since my run this morning. “I think her upcoming thirtieth birthday is getting her all twisted up in her mind.”

  Allie nods in agreement. “That’s why she needs to get out of her flat and live a little. Maybe she’ll meet a hot footballer at the party and make some bad decisions.”

  She giggles at the prospect, and my brow furrows reflexively because I know damn well there are some lads on my team who do a fine job of making bad decisions with women. I’m no saint myself, but I definitely don’t fit the typical stereotype for footballers who whore their way around London. Roan’s much the same. We both have sisters, and we were both raised by strong, fearsome mothers who didn’t let us treat women like they are disposable. As a result, we never got the bad reputations many of our teammates acquired throughout their careers. And if any of those arseholes try to mess about with Freya, I’m not going to be okay with it.

  The knot in my neck twitches again, so I reach up to squeeze the ache.

  “What’s the matter, Mac?” Allie asks, her eyes narrowing on me speculatively.

  “Nothing. My neck is stiff, that’s all. I have a massage with the team therapist booked for tomorrow.”

  Allie cocks her head. “You’re not tense because the idea of Freya with one of your teammates bothers you, right?”

  I scoff because she’s clearly reaching. “No, Allie. Cookie and I are just pals. I’ve told you that a million times.”

  “You’re pals with adorable pet names for each other who bicker like an old married couple,” she retorts, and I see Roan squeeze her shoulder in silent warning.

  I roll my eyes. “Since when does bickering make for a solid love connection?”

  Allie’s eyes flicker knowingly. “Bickering means there’s passion.”

  I plug my ears like a wee child. “This topic is not up for discussion. Freya is a mate and nothing more. I’m picking her up for the party Friday night, and that’s all, okay?”

  “Okay, okay,” Allie adds with a smirk and lies back down on Roan’s lap. She smiles up at him happily and nestles in, giving me my cue to leave.

  I stand up from the armrest. “I’ll let you two get back to your Netflix and chilling.”

  Roan tips his head in thanks, and I retreat to my bedroom to give them space. Is it too soon to go back to Freya’s?

  The hum of the sewing machine is music to my ears as I work on taking in the inseam of a pair of trousers that Sloan designed for some famous political figure in London.

  I’m currently tucked up in the loft area that overlooks Kindred Spirits Boutique. The shop is a red brick building located on iconic Redchurch Street in Shoreditch—a really lovely nook in London away from the tourists. Our clients range from normal everyday people to famous athletes and affluent residents. Last month, we had a pretty popular movie star stop in and tweet about the shop, so business has exploded even more than usual.

  Kindred Spirits carries both menswear and womenswear, custom and one-of-a-kind pieces from up-and-coming designers. Sloan heads up the menswear department, and her business partner, Leslie Clarke, designs for women.

  I met Sloan back in Manchester when she hired me away from a bridal shop where I was working crazy hours. It was the job I accepted right after design school, and I kind of got stuck there, so I was happy to work for a new American stylist who was developing quite a reputation for herself.

  Then, when Sloan’s personal life imploded and she divorced her husband, I ended up moving in with her and her daughter, Sophia. Sloan had a rough go of it for a long while until she met our seriously famous client, a Man U footballer named Gareth Harris. After a few bumps in the road, it was a fast track to happily ever after for both her and her daughter.

  When Gareth retired from Man U and they started talking about moving to London, Sloan decided it was the perfect opportunity to open her own boutique with Leslie. They are both fashion design transports from America and felt kindred when they met, hence the name Kindred Spirits Boutique.

  I was thrilled when they begged me to come on board to help, because they are lovely to work with. The boutique itself has transformed into a melting pot for all sorts of clothing, art, and accessories. All it’s missing is furry pink jumpers for my cat, and it’d be perfect!

  “Freya! Do you have that Naomi Sharp gown finished yet?” Sloan’s voice calls up the staircase, and I lift the pedal on my sewing machine to hear the last bit of her request.

  “It’s on the form up here!” I call down, glancing over the railing to see her standing at the bottom of the steps.

  “Thank God!” Sloan says as she hustles up the stairs and into my giant loft office that is covered in items at various stages of the process. Sloan’s brown hair is piled on top of her head in a frenzied mess as she exhales the weight of her stress. “You would think chasing after a teenager and a toddler would have me in better shape.”

  “I’d think being married to a seriously sexy footballer would have you in better shape.” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively and rev my sewing machine.

  Sloan laughs as she moves towards the mannequin holding the gown. “Speaking of footballers, I hear you’re coming to Tanner and Belle’s party tomorrow night? Looking for a footballer for yourself, perhaps?” She shoots me a lascivious smirk, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

  “How do you even know I’m going to the party? I just agreed to it last night.”

  She levels me with a flat look. “You forget your dear friend Allie is a Harris. There are never secrets in the Harris family.”

  “It’s a good thing Allie’s at a meeting or she’d be the subject of my withering stare right now.” I shake my head and pop up the heel of my sewing machine to twist the trousers around. “Mac thinks I should get out a bit more, and he’s a whiny toddler if he doesn’t get his way.”

  Sloan gets a strange look on her face. “Well, do you know what you’re going to wear?”

  My eyes lift to her. “No…why?”

  Sloan squeals with delight and yells over the railing, “Leslie, Freya doesn’t have her outfit picked out yet!”

  I hear a squeak of giddiness before rapid footsteps are running up the stairs. Leslie’s auburn hair comes into view first. Then I see a lush black dress in her hands. “I have been saving this for you!”

  “What is it?” I ask as she places what looks to be a gorgeous wrap dress on my workspace.

  “A dress. A perfect dress that I made with you in mind.”

  I level her with a serious look. “Why on earth did you make a dress with my body in mind?”

  Leslie waggles her brows and glances down at my chest. “‘Cause I love your shape, and I had this really fun idea for a bustline with a wrap bodice that would only work on a full-chested woman. And well—”

  My brows lift. “I certainly fit that description.”

  Leslie presses her hands on my desk. “Try it on, please? Give us a fashion show. We’ve all been working like dogs today.”

  “Yes!” Sloan adds with equal exuberance. “Fashion show!”

  I lift my hands defensively. “If you two are going to make me try on clothing, I need coffee first.”

  I step out of the shop and into the humid, warm summer air in London. Weather is so hit or miss here in the summers. The last week of May can feel like winter or bring a crazy heatwave. You never truly know what you’re going to get. Growing up in Cornwall was always mild to cool weather since it’s so close to the sea. This sweating in the middle of the day thing is not something I’m keen on.

  I make my way around the corner towards Allpress Espresso—a coffee shop located less than
fifty metres away. Squaring my shoulders, I push the door open to stride into the tiny coffee shop that always smells divine. It has a secondary school canteen vibe about it that somehow manages to be hipster at the same time.

  “Freya!” A deep voice booms my name loudly as I walk up to the counter. “Bienvenida!”

  I do my best to quell the flurry of emotions that niggle in my belly every time I see Javier—the Spanish barista who works here all the time. His accent is dreamy, and his dark eyes are always so welcoming, but I’m sure he’s like that with all of his regular customers.

  I prop my hands on the coffee counter and admire Javier’s beard. It’s dark and scraggly and looking extra beardy today, which is something I apparently fancy. My gaze drops to his white T-shirt that’s stained with coffee. You’d think a barista would wear an apron to stop from ruining his clothes, or at least wear dark colours to hide it. But Javier’s obviously very committed to his coffee craft, and I admire that for some reason.

  “Good to see you again, Freya,” Javier says, his Spanish accent like a warm blanket I want to nuzzle.

  My mind skips over his words as I imagine what I’d like to hear him say. “I love how your face shines in the morning sun.”

  “Hot day outside, isn’t it?” he adds with a pained look towards the window.

  Imaginary translation: He worries about my well-being.

  “I like the colour of your dress today.”

  He notices the little things.

  “Did you pop in yesterday for coffee? I didn’t see you.”

  He misses me when I’m not here.

  “Having the usual? Iced coffee with extra milk?”

  Our wedding photos would be magnificent.

  I shake my head to silence the voice in my mind that’s as fanciful as a telenovela and stutter out, “It’s good to see you as in the also, Javier.” My lips form a thin line, and I die a little inside over how stupid I just sounded. To try to cover up my awkwardness, I point behind me at the shop that’s filled with people. “Busy…here…around this general region.”