15

“When seagulls follow the trawler it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea.”

Erica Cantona, former French national player

“What’s he doing, Muma?” Katy said with her nose pressed up to the kitchen window.

Those words struck fear into Abby’s heart. Had Flynn backslidden already? Were the women back? Was there going to be more noise? She caught Victoria staring at her from the corner of her eye and gave Katy a serene smile, when she felt far from serene.

“I don’t know, darling. Let me see.” It took effort not to rush to the window in an attempt to head off whatever Flynn was up to.

The sight took her breath away. Flynn in a pair of tatty shorts and an old flannel shirt was gorgeous. Flynn in a tailored suit was devastating. Abby experienced weakness in her knees and a mouth-watering need to pet the man.

“What’s happening?” Katy tugged at Abby’s arm, snapping her from the Flynn daze.

Abby cleared her throat. “It looks like he’s being asked questions for a TV show, sweetie.”

Lawrence came up to stand beside them. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he spotted Abby’s flushed cheeks.

“He cleans up well,” Lawrence said.

“Yes. I’m sure he does. I hadn’t really noticed.” Abby’s lie made her cheeks burn more ferociously.

Lawrence grinned knowingly.

“Can we go watch?” Katy bounced in place. Today’s ensemble included pink jeans worn under a pink tutu, sparkling yellow play shoes, a red scarf tied around her waist and a faux-fur shrug—in luminous purple. Her face was makeup free. Her hair had three rainbow-coloured bows stuck in it randomly. “Can we? I want to. Can we?”

“I don’t think so. This looks like a very serious interview. I’m sure he doesn’t want anyone watching, or distracting him.” Abby looked down at her hyperactive daughter. “They don’t let people make any noise, baby. I’m not sure you can be quiet.”

“I can. I really can. Can we go? Can we?”

Lawrence rubbed his perfectly smooth chin. “I wouldn’t mind hearing what he’s saying either. I don’t see where the harm would be. We can stand well back. I’m sure we wouldn’t be a distraction. Katy will promise to be quiet, won’t you, little one?”

Katy made a zipping action at her lips. Yeah, like Abby believed that.

She chewed her bottom lip as she looked over at Flynn. He seemed to be acting as a magnet, pulling her in his direction. “I don’t know.”

“This is a fabulous idea.” Victoria’s words dripped sarcasm. “Why don’t we all go stand in a field to hear what pearls of wisdom Mr Boyle is sharing with the world? I’m sure he has much to teach all of us.”

The condescending smile on Victoria’s face made up Abby’s mind for her.

“You’re right, Victoria.” She smiled brightly. “This is too good an opportunity to miss. Who knows what we might learn. Let’s go hear what Flynn is saying.”

Victoria started to protest, but Katy was already squealing and running for the door, followed closely by a beaming Lawrence.

“Abby, surely you realise these sort of decisions can’t help your cause.”

She sighed as she looked at her sister. “I don’t know what happened to you, Victoria. I’m really sorry you changed. I miss the Victoria I remember from my childhood. The one who told the best bedtime stories and laughed easily. I want my sister back.”

Victoria’s face paled. “I’m not your sister,” she said before walking away.

Pain sliced through Abby, cutting her in a way she didn’t think was still possible when it came to her family. She blinked back tears and went to stand with her daughter. Victoria was right. Abby had lost her sister a long time ago. And there was no sign she was ever coming back.

Abby walked over to the fence she shared with Flynn. The summer sun was hidden behind a blanket of wispy white cloud. It was warm and peaceful, a perfect summer’s day. As she neared the fence, Katy waved at her from her perch on top of it, held in place by Lawrence. She was so happy, so oblivious to the problems swirling around her, and if Abby had to sell her soul to achieve it, Katy would stay that way.

Burying the stress of dealing with Victoria, Abby turned her attention to Flynn. He was sitting on a tall chair, surrounded by lights and reflecting discs, yet he seemed laidback, at ease and totally in control. His slightly overgrown golden hair was back from his face. It sat in place, but still managed to look a little tousled—not much, just enough to make a woman’s mouth water. He’d shaven, but left a sprinkling of designer stubble. He wore a three-piece navy suit with a fine grey pinstripe. His shirt was a crisp white, open at the neck, hinting at the chest Abby had seen many times. She wanted to flick those buttons open and follow the gap they made with her tongue.

“Holy guacamole.” Jena’s whisper broke into Abby’s thoughts. She turned to find her friend standing beside her, flanked by Matt, who was in full police uniform. “What happened to the hobo?”

Abby shrugged her answer. She was thinking the same thing.

“This is his professional mode,” Matt murmured to them. “Don’t be fooled—he might act like an idiot, but my cousin is far from stupid. He knows how to do his job. And part of the job is dealing with the media.”

“I thought his job was running up and down a soccer pitch?” Abby said.

Matt gawked at her. “Do you know nothing about the sport?”

She assumed it was a rhetorical question, and turned her eyes back to Flynn. He gave an easy smile in the direction of the camera as he answered the questions the pinched-looking producer threw at him. His voice was deep and self-assured in a way that sent shivers running along Abby’s spine.

“Every footballer—every professional athlete—knows their career comes with a best-before stamp on it. I was lucky I had the run I did. There are players who injury out in their first season. I had a great career and have stored up a lot of good memories along the way.”

Abby’s jaw dropped. She shared an astonished look with Jena. Matt smothered a chuckle. “Told you,” he whispered. “Not dumb.”

“But he usually talks like he didn’t even finish high school and doesn’t care about it,” Abby whispered.

Matt’s eyes sparkled. “Flynn has an honours degree in Natural Sciences. It’s not something he broadcasts, but he doesn’t hide it either. He studied with Open University, distance learning while he played.”

“You’re pulling my leg. He’s famous for his playboy ways. He’s always in the press. When would he have time to study?”

“He’s twenty-nine, Abby. He’s had plenty of time to study. He only acts out when he’s bored. He doesn’t do it all the time.” Matt gave a wry smile. “Although when he does act out, he tends to really make it count.”

Abby turned her stunned face to her best friend. “Did you know any of this?”

Jena shook her head as she frowned. “No, but Matt and I are gonna have us a little chat about keeping secrets.”

The producer’s sharp voice cut through their whispered conversation.

“Are you trying to tell us you aren’t bothered at all that your career is over? You were cut down in your prime by an illegal tackle. Exactly the kind of play that would make your head blow off if it’d happened to one of your teammates. Yet you’re sitting there calmly telling me you’re fine with how things turned out.”

Abby swallowed at the steel in Flynn’s eyes. “Now, there wouldn’t be much point in losing my temper, would there? It won’t undo the damage to my leg. The player who tackled me was dealt with by FIFA. As I said, players know their time in the game comes with an expiry date. Mine just arrived a few years sooner than I expected.”

“So there are no hard feelings towards the player or his club?” The producer’s tone said he wouldn’t believe any answer Flynn gave.

Flynn looked straight into the camera. “None.” He exuded sincerity. “These things happen. It’s the risk you take when you play the game. It’s why I was paid the big bucks. That and the fact I was damn good at the game.”

The little man shifted in his seat. Each movement sharp and angry.

“What will you do with your time now? Any plans for the future?”

“There’s always TV work,” Flynn said with a wide smile. “I hear documentaries are easy to make. You don’t need much skill to pull it off.”

Jena slapped a hand over her mouth to smother her laugh.

“I beg to differ,” the producer said. “Still, there’s little chance any TV station would risk employing you. You don’t have any experience and you’re known for your unfiltered comments. Not exactly presenter material, wouldn’t you say?”

Abby pursed her lips. Was he intentionally rude?

“But my sexy good looks more than make up for my runaway mouth. I’m sure the ratings would go up just having me on screen—even if all I did was sit silently and looked pretty.”

Abby smiled widely at him, and for a second she could have sworn his eyes flickered in her direction.

The producer started to say something, but Flynn held up his hand to stop the man. Ignoring the producer, he stared into the camera. He’d clearly run out of patience with the interview.

“Let’s not beat about the bush. Everyone knows I’m a public relations nightmare.” Flynn ran his fingers through his hair, making it seem even more sexily rumpled. “I’m too bad-tempered and impatient to go into coaching or management. I’m too much of a risk for TV. As you kindly pointed out, I don’t have any outside interests, other than the sort of hobbies that make headlines.” He gave a self-deprecating grin. “Last time I checked you couldn’t make a career out of getting drunk, sleeping around and acting like an ass. So I’m left with a dilemma. What will I do with my life? And the answer is I don’t know. I’ve been out of the game for six months now. My leg is still healing and I need to concentrate on recovery, rather than worrying about what I’ll be doing in five years’ time.”

He stared at the producer. “We both know I have enough money to let me sit on my hands for the rest of my life. I don’t need to do anything. Which puts me in the privileged position of having time to think. Time to recover. Time to reform.”

“Reform?” the moronic little man interrupted. “You’re reforming?” His laugh was sharp and bitter.

Flynn nodded, smiling at the man as though he were in on the joke. “It’s been brought to my attention recently that it’s time I grew up.”

Abby sucked in a breath. She felt Jena and Matt still beside her.

“You’re telling me there will be no more partying?” The producer was disdainful. “No more paternity suits. No more sex tapes. No more drunk driving or speeding. No more trashing hotel rooms. You’re a new man? The injury was a sort of epiphany for you and now you’re a born-again nice guy?”

Flynn’s face went blank. “No. This is what I’m saying: I’m twenty-nine, and it’s time to grow up. Time to take responsibility for my actions. I can’t change the past, but from here on in I’m going to try to live a considerate life. I’m reforming. I’m going straight. No more bad boy of British football. Now there’s just going to be Flynn Boyle. Nothing more.”

He stood from the stool, buttoned his jacket and tugged at his cuffs. “We done?” he asked, but was walking away from the camera crew before anyone could answer. As he reached the camera guy, he smiled into the lens. “For the record, there was only one sex tape, and it was a piece of art.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “This is him turning over a new leaf?” she asked Matt.

Matt chuckled. “Aye, this might be as good as it gets. So don’t go expecting great things.”

“I wonder if that tape is on the net?” Jena said.

Matt cocked an eyebrow at her.

“What?” Jena demanded.

Matt just shook his head at his wife.

They waited as Flynn limped over the uneven ground towards them. He was breathtakingly handsome in his suit. Abby had seen a meme on Facebook once where a photo of a guy in a suit was accompanied by the words “suits are to women what lingerie is to men.” The sentiment was spot on. She licked her lips as Flynn came to a stop in front of their little group.

“How’d I do?” His grin was cheeky.

“I thought you did an excellent job,” Lawrence said. “You might have been a bit hasty in your dismissal of a career in television.”

Flynn looked appalled. “That’s as long as I could control myself. I’d only be of use if the show that hired me lasted fifteen minutes tops.”

“What’s sex tape?” Katy piped up. “Is it like Sellotape? Is it good for art? Do we need some? I like making art.”

Abby felt her cheeks flush as everyone else smothered their smiles.

“It’s not for art, it’s—” Flynn started.

Abby jumped right in, shouting over him. “It’s a different kind of tape. Nothing little kids can use.”

Flynn gave her a wry look. “I was going to say it was a sport thing. Not an art thing.”

Matt turned his laughter into a cough.

“Okay.” Katy had already moved on to the next topic in her little head. “Don’t forget my bedtime story, Flynn. You can’t hide anymore. You promised you’d do it today.”

“I know.” Flynn let out a sigh. “I told you I’d be there, kid. Take a chill pill. I’ll bring the reading material. You do the sleep part.”

Abby heard an alarm go off inside her head. “What reading material?”

“Don’t worry,” Flynn said, making her worry. “I loaned my latest copy of Playboy to Matt here. I’ll have to bring something else to read.”

“Your reading material had better be age appropriate.”

“Yes, milady.” He affected a bow.

“My sister-in-law is Lady Montgomery-Clark. I’m just plain Abby.”

Flynn’s smile was wicked. “There’s nothing plain about you, Abby.”

Abby rolled her eyes at him, gathered her daughter into her arms and headed back to her house. All the while a part of her hoped Flynn would wear the suit when he came over for Katy’s bedtime story. Her cheeks were flushed by the time she made it into the house, and it wasn’t because Katy weighed a tonne. It was from the memory of the gorgeously sexy Mr Boyle.

As her eyes caught Victoria watching them from the front porch, an uneasy acknowledgement coursed through Abby. She was dancing with fire spending time with Flynn, flaunting her familiarity with her neighbour in front of her sister. She squeezed Katy tight. Now wasn’t the time to rebel. It wasn’t the time to attract any attention to areas of her life she’d rather her sister didn’t see.

She looked over her shoulder at Flynn. It definitely wasn’t the time to get involved with a bad boy. No matter how irresistible that bad boy might be.