Tommy let me inside, where Miguel was lounging on his bed flicking through the television channels.
“Hey,” he said. “How’s the headache?”
“Better. I just needed something to eat and a cup of coffee. Actually, I could use several more cups before work.”
“I think I can arrange that. Come and sit down.”
My British upbringing told me I should perch daintily on the edge of the bed instead of launching myself at him for a kiss, which was what I really wanted to do. It didn’t help that Tommy was still watching us, smirking.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna head out.”
“See you later,” Miguel answered, giving him a wave.
“Have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he added, winking before he stepped outside.
“He’s clearly from the Radleigh McCoy school of subtlety,” I said dryly.
McCoy hadn’t crossed my mind since I saw him dancing with Taylor at the club. In fact, I couldn’t recall seeing him again afterwards. He’d most likely hooked up with one
of the other scantily clad youngsters who were drooling over him and disappeared back to her place for another night of debauchery.
Miguel smiled and patted the space on the bed beside him. “I don’t bite.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said, kicking off my trainers and sliding across the bed to sit closer to him. I nestled under his arm as his lips sought out mine in a kiss that already seemed so familiar.
“Now I know I didn’t imagine last night,” Miguel said, stroking my cheek.
“I know what you mean. I felt sure I’d wake up at home in L.A and find none of this really happened. Which would have been disappointing.”
“It sure would.”
The two of us stayed curled up together until we absolutely had to get up for work. It didn’t matter that we didn’t speak much. Being wrapped in his arms, doing something as simple as watching television was heaven. I felt safe with him, and I hadn’t experienced that with a man in a long while.
****
Training only lasted for two hours on match days. Just as well, because after our night out, nobody was functioning properly. We weren’t supposed to drink the night before a match but over half the team had spectacularly broken that rule. Freya and Will did a stellar job of hiding their hangovers, but the moment we were free to leave we all went straight back to the hotel to nap for a few hours before we had to be at the stadium again.
The afternoon’s rest made all the difference to the Warriors, and when they showed up for work again, they were refreshed and raring to go. Half an hour after they arrived, the players were out on the pitch doing some gentle exercises and I was in my designated treatment room, waiting for Jude so I could strap up his knee before the game. He’d been complaining about pain earlier, possibly caused by him busting moves after several beers at the club, and worsened during training. Keeping the joint well protected for the match was critical but I intended to send him to the hospital for a check-up when we got home.
I filled the waiting time by thinking about Miguel. God, I’d turned into a complete sap, and I hadn’t even known him for a full twenty-four hours. We intended to meet Freya and Will in the hotel bar for a quiet, alcohol-free drink after the match. The idea of playing things down while we worked out how much we liked each other had long gone. It vanished sometime between me arriving at his room that morning, and him kissing me.
A sharp rap on the door startled me, but it wasn’t Collinson who appeared. Instead, Richard stepped into the room.
“Leah, have you seen Radleigh?”
Oh sure, he’s always with me because, you know, we get on like a house on fire.
“No,” I answered. “Why?”
“He hasn’t shown up yet.
There was no mistaking the stress on Richard’s face, and this wasn’t the first occasion I’d seen him in a McCoy-induced tizzy because of his lateness.
“Well, if I see him I’ll tell him to hurry up,” I said.
“I need you to do more than that. I gotta get back on the field with the guys, so can you call him and tell him to get his ass in gear?”
“Me? But … why? Why not Will or Freya, or … anyone?”