Page 30 of The Game

Scarlett nodded. "Yeah, sure he does."

"Are you okay getting home," I asked again, crisply.

"Yeah, Simon is picking me up."

"Oooh, Simon." I batted my eyes before reminding myself that I was supposed to be the grown up participating in the conversation and cleared my throat. "Does your mum know?"

She gave one of her finest eye rolls. "Yessss."

"Good. Okay, I'd better go and get some clothes on."

She grinned. "Or not."

"Ugh. I'm going to forget you said that."

I trailed up the stairs listening to the little guy blabber from down below. I couldn't hear any responses, but occasionally Sammy paused, so I guessed he was getting some return on his conversation. Either that or Jason Willis was getting an absolute earful from a six-year-old who had no concept of verbal diarrhoea.

I grinned. Maybe I would make my shower slightly more leisurely.

I walked back down the stairs, adjusting the low waistband of my cut offs and trying to get my pulse to slow to a reasonable pace and not like I’d just finished a marathon. The shower hadn't helped. Every time I calmed down I remembered that the Lancashire Lion was in my house and I started to sweat all over again. Sweating while standing underwater is never a good sign.

He was stood at the breakfast bar flicking through my team folder. I grabbed it out of his hand. "Hey, that's private." I shut it with a snap.

Those eyes flickered onto me. "I made you a coffee."

Nope. Blank brain. He did what?

Leaning forward he peered at me, his eyes glancing over my face. "Are you always this lost for words first thing in the morning?"

I fought the blush that wanted to form on my face. "No."

He raised a fair eyebrow. "That's a shame, it's much better when you're quiet."

"Hmm." I took a sip from the mug but the hot liquid had no taste as my brain failed to compute anything other than the fact it had been made by the Lion. It could have been hot poison for all I knew.

"In fact, it's much better when you don't speak."

I pulled a face, taking another sip of coffee which scorched my tongue, and his lip was attacked by that tick again.

"So what's the plan?" He asked, fiddling with a biro that I'd left on the side.

"Where's Sammy?" He was strangely silent and absent.

"Oh, he's finding his match cards."

"Oh." I could only feel sorry for the Lion. The little guy had an impressive collection of cricket cards, all of them sorted into a binder. I grinned. "Oh, that's nice."

The Lion's eyes narrowed. "So, the plan?"

I pursed my lips. "Well, my plan is Sainsbury's followed by lunch, some washing and then chilling out. It's Saturday after all."

He nodded. "Excellent."

Was he for real? I searched his face for any trace of sarcasm, but he just stared right back at me, the blues blinking and making my blood warm. In my head I re-ran the shared kiss on slow-mo with some Puccini blaring in the background. Get a grip Lyssa. "So you are going to come to Sainsbury's while I do my weekly shop?” I asked.

I was sure he had people to do his shopping for him. He probably hadn't done a shop in over a decade. Not since his career hit the stratosphere and he became the number one player in the world. I shrugged. Whatever game this was he was playing, I could play it too. "Excellent, more the merrier," I told him with a wide smile.

"Excellent," he repeated, his eyes holding mine.