CHAPTER ONE : Mr. Popular and Mr. Not so Popular

Christian

My life is over.

My sixteen years soccer career has come to an end.

And it's all because of the infuriating jerk in front of me.

The annoyance coursing through my veins struggles to stand still when those chocolate brown eyes meet mine.

"Irresistible, Charming, & Downright sexy."

Those are the words the tabloids use to describe him.

"What do you say then, Thompson? Wanna get into this relationship with me?"

The way the formal words roll out of his sensual lips tighten my briefs, and I bite my lips in annoyance.

Why does he have to be so hot?

His eyes follow the movement, and a sexy smile stretches out his lips.

It's like he's speaking in an innuendo only both of us can understand.

"Only for the tabloids, Ryder." I manage to reply gruffly, taking his smooth smaller hands into my firmer ones.

They fit so perfectly.

"Anything for you, Thompson."

I want to laugh at this situation because if there's one thing I expect from life, it's that it always fucks me over.

Only this time, I'm truly screwed, because I've just done the one thing I should never have done...

Making a deal with Ashford Ryder.

Quite possibly, the hottest man I've ever set my eyes on.

And the man I'm supposed to hate.

A relationship purely for the tabloids alone, and worst of all, not the kind of relationship I'd prefer.

I run my hands through my hair and avoid staring at his impeccably perfect face.

I guess, with all things that get screwed up this badly, it has to start from somewhere, right?

My first encounter with Ashford Ryder.

An encounter that happened 3 months ago, on a day just like any other day.

Three Months Earlier...

"What time is your game, Chris?"

The soft voice floats over the receiver of the ear pods I have awkwardly placed in my ears.

I swear, the invention of these horrible tiny speaking objects has to be the start of an apocalyptic world.

They quite literally never stay in place, and every time I try to move them, I can't hear anything anymore.

But the young kids these days surprisingly love these.

And as my manager has said to me for the umpteenth time in the last month—“you have to come into the real world, Christian. Stop being so archaic.”

I'm not some ancient man who doesn't know how to operate technology, I just rather prefer comfortable technology over this piece of crap.

"Chris? Are you still with me? Are you fidgeting with your ear pods again, old man?" Soph can barely hold her laugh as she speaks again.

I'm not old, damn it.

I grumble under my breath, and quickly disconnect my speaker from the devices, and hold my phone to my ears.

"You're just a year younger than me," I reply, with an irritated tone.

Sophia Grant, my childhood best friend of nearly two decades, and the one person who can still stand me, lets out a wild laughter at my reply.

"I'm more up-to-date than you, so it doesn't count. Just give up the damn ear pods if they're such a hassle, Chris."

I sigh and rub my temples.

She doesn't understand.

According to my manager, just being a soccer player isn't enough anymore, not even if once upon a time, I was the best striker the European league had ever seen.

Now, playing football isn't all there is to being a soccer player.

I actually have to do things like, wear brand deals, and show up to photo shoots.

Long gone is the time when scoring more goals than your opponent mattered.

My manager says I have to be hot and trending, and when he said that I couldn't tell if it was a jab to my physique, or not.

I mean, I think I look good.

I work out a lot, but I don't like to spend a lot of time at the gym either.

The men there—let's just say, a lot of people embrace nudity these days.

Still, I take care of myself a lot, and I know I'm easy on the eyes.

The issue is the trending—that seems to be the wave these days.

So I have to be hospitable.

I have to smile and laugh it off when reporters ask impersonal questions, and I have to pretend like I enjoy taking numerous photo shoots.

I'm a soccer player, not a model. But no one seems to understand this.

"You're right. That's the last I'm going to see of them. I'm throwing them out." As I reply Soph, I throw the ear pods into the waste bin outside the stadium.

Good riddance!

"As I was saying, before you got distracted, what time is your game? I'm going to be watching from England. So sorry I can't attend mon Cherie!"

I swat away invisible hands like I can see her. "It's fine. No need. Just the same old anyway. How's your new line coming up? And my game is starting my 9, I'm almost there."

The rush into the stadium is massive, and I almost regret throwing out my ear pods.

Do I have to push through this crowd to get in?

Fans can be absolutely unbelievable sometimes.

This isn't even the fan entry. It's the door for the players, yet here they are, crowding it with no decorum!

How preposterous!

"Alright then, I can hear the fans going crazy around there. Later then, best of luck in your game. Love you!"

I throw back a hasty goodbye before I steel myself to push into the little space I can see.

"Ashford, here!"

"Here, Ryder!!"

"Oh, so sexy!"

"I wanna have your babies Ashford!!!"

The last words make me turn so fast I nearly give myself a whiplash.

Who is this Ashford person they're going crazy over?

It's not surprising to see fans of the game lose their minds over their favorite players, but it's been a while since a player has had this huge an impact on fans.

I'm pretty sure my manager would be jealous of whoever this person's manager is.

I push forward and blinding light floods my vision.

For a moment, I can't see anything but the camera lights.

Before I can regain my momentum, I bump into someone and nearly lose my balance.

"Ouch," the gentle voice of the person I've just bumped into reaches my ears and I freeze.

Not because the voice is familiar or anything, but because when I look up at the person who has his arms around me, preventing me from falling I don't believe what I see.

H-how?