The Sports Star at The Chatsfield

My stomach dropped like it had been kicked off the roof of The Chatsfield. ‘Kick’ being a pertinent word considering I had just realised who the blue-eyed man was. Angus Knight, the newly appointed captain of the Yeatswood United Football team. International playboy extraordinaire. He had so many followers on Twitter he made the Pied Piper look like a recluse. I hadn’t recognised him with his clothes on. Erm, I mean his street clothes. I was used to seeing him darting around a football field in shorts and a team shirt with the number seven on it. Did I happen to mention seven is my lucky number?

‘Ma’am?’

I blinked at the waiter who was still waiting for my answer. ‘I’ll have a soda water. Thank you.’

‘Would you like me to ask him to autograph one of The Chatsfield’s coasters for you?’ the waiter said. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.’

‘No!’ I felt my face flush as my voice came out like a squeaky toy. ‘I mean, thank you, but I’m not an autograph hunter.’

I have no time for groupies. What are they thinking trailing after sports stars as if they’re some sort of royalty? So what if Angus Knight can kick a football? So what if he earns millions of pounds every year and has done since the age of seventeen when he was plucked out of obscurity from a council estate and thrown onto the world’s stage?

Fame has a bad effect on most people; even the most level headed ones. They nearly always end up with a sense of entitlement. They expect special treatment wherever they go. They don’t have time for ordinary people. They surround themselves with sycophants and status seekers and yes-men and women who worship them like a craven image.

I’m way too sensible for that sort of nonsense. Whenever I feel the slightest bit intimidated by someone who’s famous I think of them in their underwear.

But right then when Angus Knight turned and looked at me that tactic didn’t have quite the same effect. A vision came into my head of him in nothing but a pair of close-fitting briefs with every contour of his hard, toned body spectacularly outlined…

I was so shocked at my X-rated thoughts I jerked back in my chair so forcefully it almost toppled over backwards. I gripped the arms to rebalance myself, my heart rate soaring, my cheeks furnace-hot at the thought of everyone in the bar seeing what I was wearing under my off the peg little black dress. I said I was sensible but that doesn’t mean I don’t like sexy underwear. Mind you, I guess there’s not a lot that’s sensible about a hot pink thong, but I hate VPL (visible panty line) so I always wear a thong under this particular dress.

Angus left his mates to saunter over again. I didn’t care for the lazy smile that curled his lips upwards. It was as if he knew where my mind was straying. I could see it in the sparkle of his deep blue eyes as they meshed with mine. ‘Your date stood you up?’