Free His to Win (The Alpha Soccer Saga #1) by Alison Ryan

me to London or show me around Glasgow or whatever I want to do.”
    “I’m hanging up now. I must have dialed the wrong number. Or some doppelganger has replaced my best friend. Did you give him like the best head of his life or something? You slut!”
    Ellie laughed.
    They both laughed.
    “No, it’s not like that at all. I haven’t even seen him since the airport. Meg, he’s so handsome! He has, and I counted them, twelve gray hairs on the left side of his head. It’s so sexy. And just this perfect amount of stubble on his face. And I know I told you about his eyes, but it’s just everything, the way he moves, and the way he walks . . .”

********
    “There’s something so sexy about the way she walks. It’s not even a walk, she sashays, and she swings her hips, all slow and sexy.”
    The smooth voice of Shelton Guyer laughed into the phone from his balcony overlooking the Gulf of Paria on the west coast of the island of Trinidad. “You like her backside, eh, hoss? The Mad Monk is no more! I knew you had some Trini blood in you!”
    “She definitely has a nice bum, Shelt. She has a nice everything. But it’s more than that. I can’t stop thinking about this girl,” Patrick replied.
    He’d been asleep just a few minutes when Shelton rang him up, anxious to hear how negotiations had gone with Celtic. Shelton had news of his own, his agent had a promising lead on a club in Portugal, which fit the criteria the striker was seeking—a warmer climate and plenty of Euros.
    After comparing notes regarding professional prospects for the upcoming season, Patrick dropped a bombshell on his best mate.
    Something Shelton Guyer hadn’t heard Patrick Sievert say since their days together at Furman.
    “I’ve met someone.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Wednesday was a busy day for both Ellie and Patrick.
    The extra work Ellie’s team put in on Tuesday was for naught as their workload increased after Irishman Ian took another of their associates, Helen, out to the pub after dinner. Neither showed up for work in the morning, instead dragging themselves into the conference room together nearer to noon, coffee cups in hand.
    Patrick suffered through a press conference and individual interviews in the morning, including one he prayed Ellie wouldn’t watch, hosted by a local B-list celebrity, Diana Weir.
    Diana had been a reality television “star,” part-time bikini model, occasional singer, and full-time fame whore. She was dragged out whenever sex appeal was deemed a spice necessary to the success of a dish one of the Glasgow networks had in the oven, and Scottish tabloid television had its sights set squarely on Celtic’s newest signing, the city’s newly minted most eligible bachelor.
    More than six feet tall in heels, the brunette bombshell sauntered over to Patrick practically spilling out of an obscenely low-cut cocktail dress, and the entire interview was conducted as if Diana had been sent to seduce, rather than converse with, Patrick.
    When the lewd leaning in, touching, and breathy tone of voice got to be all too much, Patrick excused himself from the proceedings. “I’m not comfortable with the direction this interview is going. I have a girlfriend, this isn’t appropriate at all.”
    Removing the microphone from his collar and rising to leave, the enormity of what he’d said stopped him in his tracks. He turned back to the clearly surprised Diana and opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. He’d said it, it had been captured on film, it was probably already on YouTube, there was no way around it.
    Once the press junket concluded, and Patrick “no-commented” his way through a series of questions aimed at gleaning the identity of his mystery girlfriend, he was able to touch base with his agent, Tom, who had good news.
    He’d arranged her flight back to be bumped back a day, to Saturday, and upgraded her ticket to first class. He’d also had her accommodations for the final two nights of her