Page 34 of The Game

The skin of his face sagged as if he no longer had the energy to hold it up. "Of course you do. Listen, Lyssa, I've spent all weekend trying to save that boy's skin. But the board are furious, a contract is a contract, and both he and Emma broke it."

I slumped on the spare leather seat across the desk from his. "I wished I'd never asked the cheerleaders to come to the drinks now." The blood drained from my face when I realised it was my invite that had led to this.

Waller glanced at me. "This isn't your fault. The cheerleaders are part of the team and should be treated like that. You didn't ask them to shag where a reporter could find them. Fredericks needs his dick cut off."

I couldn't argue with that. I did have a question though. "Do I have the same clauses in my contract?" The question had bubbled up inside me unexpectedly and I didn’t even know what to make of it. When Gemma had mentioned the cheerleaders contracts I hadn’t put two and two together and I was loathed to admit that I hadn’t read the fine print. I’d just been so damn pleased that someone had offered me a job I’d merrily signed on the dotted line.

Waller balked and narrowed his eyes at me. "Why? Please tell me you don't plan to shag someone against a wall."

"What! No!" I cringed back into the visitor chair. Why did I ask that question?

He grinned. "Of course you don't, Lyssa, you're a good girl."

I stood and brushed at imaginary creases in my clothes just so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. I wasn't sure whether to be offended or pleased that I was labelled as a virtuous good girl. It was true though, my past was squeaky clean.

"I'll go round the guys up; you know this is going to kill the morale we worked so hard to build." A nasty lump was forming in my throat when I considered the team going back a step, again.

He nodded, his face ashen. "Oh, Lyssa," My hand was opening the door. "It is in your contract too. And management really doesn't take kindly to rule breakers."

I nodded and left the room.

Fredericks was missed. Even I missed the brilliant glow of his flame red hair, and the girls in my locker room were unnervingly quiet. Gemma hadn't had much to say about losing one of her troupe, she'd just said what she'd told me before we even went to the bar that night, that it was in their contract and that was it.

As I predicted the team were reeling. A heavy cloud hung in all the player’s areas and the journalists were having a field day outside, calling down players every morning trying to get gossip, or work out who was going to fall to the clutches of tabloid exposure next.

I hardened my heart and got on with the job.

The Lion didn't talk to me at all, nothing. Not one word at a practice and not one word at the Friday night game, even though he was driving the team hard, spurning them on with constant comments and calls. We won eventually, but only by a small margin.

He didn't talk to me until the Saturday morning when he rung on the doorbell, cricket bat in one hand, recycle shopping bags in the other. "I've got my own bags this time," he said and stepped right through into the hallway.

"But what are you doing here?" I stumbled after him as he walked to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. The little guy was watching teenage mutant ninja turtles and hadn't heard the doorbell. That was good. It meant I could be the only one about to break out into mass hysteria.

He filled my kitchen. I was sure his height and breadth blocked the light from the patio doors, and pitched the room into shadow. It was hard to reconcile the face that was miserable and never smiled in training, to the man who was on the posters on the wall upstairs, to the man in the kitchen. I didn't know who the real Jase Willis was.

And in truth, I didn't know what he was doing at my house uninvited.

Rooting through the clean dishwasher, he found some mugs and began to make coffee, clanging the canisters about as he spooned granules into a mug.

For a moment, I stood there pulling random unattractive faces as I tried to work out what to do or say. His lip twitched with that tick again when I started chewing on my bottom lip.

As casually as I could manage I asked, "Willis, what's going on? You haven't spoken to me all week.” His darted glance made me think he might wonder if I was upset by his silence so I bumbled on witless. “And now you are pitching up to make coffee and go to the shops?"

"It's been a difficult week." His words were soft, softer than I ever heard within the Red Cat’s complex and his eyes when they met mine glinted with unspoken words. He poured water from the kettle into the mugs and gave a stir with a teaspoon he'd grabbed out of the drawer like he knew his way around my kitchen from just one visit.

"Yes, I know that. I was there." I sounded very like Scarlett right there and then. "But you haven't said one single word."

He turned and handed me a mug. "I didn't know you were so sensitive. Normally you just call me a prick or an arsehole or something." He shot me a twisted smile.

I was about to call him both of those when the little guy realised there was a visitor and came padding into the kitchen, skidding along the tiled floor in his socks. He was munching his third banana and looked to be seeking his fourth. That was begging for constipation if ever I heard of it. "Hey, Jase," he looked at his idol but kept his cool together better than the previous Saturday.

"Hey, Sammy." The Lion responded and sipped his coffee.

"Are we playing catch again?" Sammy asked, not bothering to ask me what was happening.

"I thought I could bowl to you today if you like."

That was it. Sammy lost his cool and jumped about before I sent him a look which made him settle and search out his next yellow snack.