Private Lives, Public Property

By Jessie L. Star

"You said you didn't know me," I said, my voice coming out a lot gruffer than I'd intended. "Lucas Goodspeed," I stuck out my hand and, after a moment's hesitation, she took it, her hand small and soft against my rough palm. "23 years old, Full Forward for the Coastal Crocs, and your new one true love." I tried to inject a bit of humour into the last bit, but to be honest, I think it just came out sounding morose.

She smiled slightly nevertheless and didn't pull away from me, instead choosing to follow my lead.

"Isobel Saunders, 21 years old, waitress at Crumbs Café, although since I didn't turn up this morning, I've probably been fired." She took a deep breath, glanced at Gary as if to convince herself there really was no other way, and finished all in a rush, "and your new one true love."

It's not easy to pretend you're in love for the sake of teenagers and housewives across the country, but top footballer Lucas Goodspeed and shy, romantic Isobel Saunders soon discover that convincing themselves that they're not in love might be even harder...

Please note this story contains some mature language and content.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessie L. Star
• Release date: Feb 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311078384

Jessie L. Star

Jessie L. Star hails from a family of voracious readers and talkers who all relish in a good story and a well-crafted squabble. She was born in a small town in rural Australia and so learnt early the value of making her own entertainment—in her case, writing stories. This remains her favorite form of entertainment, along with reading too late into the night, having her heart broken on a regular basis by her football team, and pestering her long-suffering friends into watching the numerous TV shows she’s addicted to. Jessie started writing online as a teenager and developed her style with the aid of a cohort of brilliant readers who provided a lot of helpful and encouraging feedback. She won six awards on Some Kind of Wonderful (SKoW)—an original romance awards site—and was inducted into the Hall of Fame. Her first completed original story, So Much to Learn, has over 1.3 million views on Fictionpress.com. Jessie writes romance stories full of snark, banter, a smidgeon of heartache, and people, ultimately, falling in love. She lives in Tasmania.

Book preview

Private Lives, Public Property

Jessie L. Star

Copyright © 2009 Jessie L. Star

Smashwords Edition

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover art photo: Paparazzi © Konstantin Yuganov. Licensed from Dreamstime.

Cover art design by the incredibly talented Master Ning.

Please note this novel is written in Australian English and was originally published under the penname star123.

Dedicated to the awe-inspiring, continually amazing, Gab, for being the first to say that I could and should.

Contents

Chapter 1- It's a Party (and I'll go if I have to)

Chapter 2- Two Seconds With You

Chapter 3- Putting the Press in Pressure

Chapter 4- Introducing Your New One True Love

Chapter 5- Goodspeed's Good Girl

Chapter 6- G-Rated Bottom Wiggling

Chapter 7- Dripping Curls and Crying Girls

Chapter 8- The Good News

Chapter 9- Let's All Have a Moment

Chapter 10- Happy Anniversary, Mr Badslow

Chapter 11- Game On

Chapter 12- Part of the Family

Chapter 13- Floodgates Opened

Chapter 14 - A Carla, Not a Zarah

Chapter 15- Girl Power

Chapter 16- The Point

Chapter 17- Sorting the Men from the Boys

Chapter 18- The Bad News

Chapter 19- Dignity of Risk

Chapter 20- Living a Lucas-less Life

Epilogue – All Good

Chapter 1- It's a Party (and I'll go if I have to)

ISOBEL

Isobel!

I shook my head slightly at the tortured shriek. Experience told me it was probably completely uncalled for, but I took a deep breath and set my book aside obligingly, even though it felt like I was doing so for about the hundredth time that hour.

Yes, Bridget? I asked, keeping my voice polite and low even though my cousin's squeals were beginning to hurt my brain.

Bridget bounded out of her tiny bedroom and into the lounge room, tossing her long mane of fire-engine red (or so the packet had said) hair over her shoulder as she came.

This outfit! She posed flamboyantly, showing off her itsy-bitsy denim miniskirt and black top that looked like it had been shrink-wrapped onto her. Do you think it says 'I'm totally up for sleeping with you tonight,' or 'I'm totally up for sleeping with you not only tonight but for all the nights to come for the rest of our lives as we smother each other with our undying love'?

I bit back a smile at her theatrics and tilted my head to one side as I considered her clothes, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make me sound prudish. Um, you might want to consider a jacket, if you were after the second option, I said diplomatically and Bridget snorted.

No jacket it is then! She laughed her deep, gravely laugh and added, God, look at your disapproving face.

I’m sorry, I said quickly. I’m not trying to be judgey, I know sex is fun and everything, I just don't understand why you won't let some guy sweep you off your feet.

As this is coming from someone who’s currently camped on my couch in the aftermath of a truly hideous break-up, you’ll understand why I’m not setting too much store on your opinion. Bridget began to dig around in her little sparkly handbag for something, missing the little wince her words had elicited from me.

Robert wasn't trying to sweep me off my feet, I agreed wryly after a moment, more like sweep me under the carpet.

As all men eventually try to do. Bridget brandished the lip-gloss she'd just unearthed to punctuate her statement. I'm just cutting out the middle man. We can't all be romantics like you, Bella. The world would collapse into gooey mushiness. There need to be cold bitches like me around to hold everything up.

She flounced over to the ornate gold mirror hanging on the wall, proceeding to apply a thick sheen of cherry red gloss to her pout while I considered whether I should be offended that she'd basically just called me a wet blanket. As always, I decided against it. It was pointless trying to be offended at anything Bridget said, she'd just shoot you one of her cheeky grins and you couldn't help forgiving her.

Mwah! She blew herself a kiss in the mirror and then looked back at me in the reflection. What do you think?

I appreciated that she at least made it sound like she partly cared about my response.

It looks like you've just dipped your lips into a big vat of red goo, I informed her truthfully and she winked outrageously.

Thank you, darling, she said sarcastically. That was, in fact, exactly the look I was going for.

As she swept back off to her bedroom, muttering something about matching earrings, I picked my book up once more, although I didn't hold out much hope for getting very far before being interrupted again.

It wasn't as if I could begrudge Bridget the way she flung herself around her small flat, seemingly everywhere at once and with her voice permanently set on high volume. It was, after all, her flat and she'd been so unbelievably kind to let me stay here after my boyfriend of five years had informed me that my presence in his life was no longer necessary.

I stared unseeingly at the words on the page before me as I unwillingly felt my mind stray back to that afternoon two weeks ago when my beautifully created, structured world just sort of went 'bleh' and fell apart.

'You're holding me back,' Robert had said, admiring his reflection in the restaurant windows for moment before focusing back on me. 'You must realise that. My sport is so important, Isobel, I can't let anything get in the way.'

By 'anything' he'd meant me. Apparently, unnoticeable, adoring, obedient little me had been standing between him and the thousands of scouts who were desperately on the hunt for the hidden genius that was his fancy footwork on the field. I hadn’t pointed out to him that, at the age of 22, he was getting a bit old for draft selection, and that if no one had found his football skills indispensable to their team yet, it was unlikely they ever would. I'm not catty like that and, anyway, maybe he was right. Maybe nobody in our small town really could appreciate his talent, and one day someone from the city would fall to their knees and beg him to sign up with their club.

‘You don't have to move out or anything,’ he’d continued smoothly. ‘You can keep on living with me if you like, pottering about and doing all those things you like to do.’ By which he’d meant cleaning up after him and doing his laundry which, for the record, I didn't particularly like doing, I just didn't like living in a pigsty either.

‘But I don't think we should be together as much as we are. What I’m trying to say,’ and he’d reached across the table at this point to clasp my hand in his, ‘is that I’m not in love with you anymore.’

It had been the pitying, condescending way that he’d looked at me then that had seen me nod, stand up, and quietly make my exit from the restaurant. Robert had come running after me, of course, visions of having to do his own vacuuming no doubt dancing through his head.

‘I said you didn't have to move out,’ he’d reiterated as he reached me. ‘You'd just, you know, have to make yourself scarce when I invited girls around. I wouldn’t want it to be awkward for them.’

My teeth had clenched together as I continued across the restaurant's car park, the clacking of my heels echoing loudly in the quiet evening. Rob followed along after me.

‘Are you angry?’ He’d asked as I kept my silence. For a moment I'd considered screaming at him that of course I was angry! I was furious that my boyfriend of five years, my first and only boyfriend in fact, had so unceremoniously dumped me. Like I had done so many times before, however, I had swallowed the hurt and shook my head.

‘No, of course not,’ I’d said brightly, glad that the street lights weren't bright enough to illuminate the glossy look of unshed tears in my eyes. ‘I understand how important footy is to you, but I'll move out tomorrow. Thanks, anyway.’

‘Do you want help moving back into your parents' place?’ He’d asked, overly graciously and, in that moment, a sudden, mad, impulse had overtaken me.

I didn't want to go back to my parents' house. I didn't want to live in that staid, boring environment ever again. Getting out of that house had been one of the major reasons I had moved in with Robert in the first place, and there was no way I was going back. So, no, I hadn't wanted help moving back into their place. I wanted something new, something a bit daring, something nobody would ever expect Isobel Saunders to do.

‘Actually, I think I'll go and stay with Bridget,’ I'd declared rashly, secretly enjoying the look of complete astonishment Robert shot me.

Bridget was something of a legend in our little town. She was the daughter of my father's brother, but she was about as far removed from the rest of my family as it was possible to be. While the rest of the Saunders were quiet and content with their lot in life, Bridget was loud, brash and determined to seek out bigger and better things beyond our small town's limits. At seventeen she had announced that she was quitting high school and going to the city to see what she could find. What she'd found, as far as anyone could tell, was numerous sexual partners and a party every night.

I'd always adored Bridget, even though we were so different, and had been heartbroken when the gloriously colourful butterfly that she was flitted off to another flower. My, then, sixteen-year-old self had coped with this loss by seeking some excitement and comradeship in Robert's arms, a terrible idea as it’d turned out five years later.

My cousin and I had stayed in touch with emails and phone calls, but I was long overdue for a visit. And, after my break-up, I’d wanted to experience for myself the wonders of the big city, to see what they’d done for Bridget, and, maybe, what they could do for me. When I’d turned up on her doorstep a couple of weeks ago, homeless and heartbroken, she had been fantastic about it, immediately inviting me to stay as long as I liked.

A shrill ringing jerked me out of my reverie and I looked up from my book in time to see Bridget fly out of her bedroom once more and snatch up her snazzy little phone.

Bridget Saunders, a guaranteed good time, she purred seductively and I shook my head, hoping fervently that she knew the other person on the line. There was a gap presumably as the other person spoke and then, the purr suddenly gone from her voice, Bridget snapped, "What?"

I looked up in surprise, wondering what had ruined her pre party buzz, and saw that she’d started to pace around her small lounge-room.

No, no, no. She waved her free hand back and forth, adding emphasis to her words. "You can't back out now. I'm dressed up like a scrumptious piece of football candy; I can't not go to this party. There was a short pause and then she yelled, Did you not hear me a second ago? Scrumptious pieces of football candy do not go out alone after dark. They get… she stopped and looked at me before adding slowly …disrespected."

I raised my eyebrows slightly at her attempt to protect me from the reality of her life. It was a fairly futile gesture, I knew she was a football groupie, and I’d seen enough movies and TV to get the gist of what that entailed.

There was another pause and then she rolled her heavily made up eyes dramatically. And who exactly am I going to find to go out with me at this late stage? What kind of loser would just be sitting at home on a Friday night without anything pla-?

Bridget stopped abruptly, and then slowly turned to face me. She gave my pink polka-dotted pyjamas, messy hair and unmade face a once over and a calculating smile spread across her lips in a way that made me highly nervous.

Actually, never mind, she said, her voice becoming quite chipper. I think I've just found myself another escort. She clicked her phone shut and advanced upon me in all her toothy, predatory glory. I shrank back against the couch.

Isobel, you know how you're my favourite cousin? Her sing-song tone did nothing to fool me; there was an edge behind her words.

"I'm your only cousin," I said in a pathetic attempt to find myself a loophole for what I knew she was going to ask me.

Yes, and therefore, obviously, my favourite. How would you feel about doing your stunning, fabulous cousin a massive favour and introducing yourself to the exciting ways of the city all in one go?

Slightly sick to the stomach, I replied honestly.

Oh, come on. She flopped down beside me and took my hands in hers. "It's a pre-season party for all the young, super-hot footballers and it's going to be fantastic. It's in the swanky new part of town that’s so swanky it’s still derelict. There’ll be models and TV stars and all sorts of really cool people there and apparently the champagne is going to be free for the women so that we'll lose our inhibitions faster. She considered this for a moment and then added, Not that the girls who are going to be there are going to have much trouble losing their inhibitions anyway, but I guess it doesn't hurt to make extra sure."

Bridget's smile fell slightly as she saw my slightly horrified expression and realised she'd been selling the wrong version of the night to me.

OK, fine! She huffed. "How about this? I'll stick by your side to make sure that no guy fondles you or girl claws your eyes out because you're prettier than she is. I'll be on my best behaviour and, if you're not having fun by the time the late bus swings by that area, then we'll go home together, safe and sound. Now will you please come with me?"

I didn't want to go, I really, truly didn't, but Bridget had been so kind letting me stay with her rent-free and on no notice, and I’d always been terrible at denying her. It was for these reasons that I found myself swallowing my insecurities and nodding. OK, I'll go with you.

As she squealed loudly and threw her arms around my neck I added, "But only if you promise that if I want to leave you'll let me without making a huge scene."

As you wish, Cinders. She jumped to her feet and, grabbing my hands again, hauled me to mine. Now, she said, suddenly back on task, What are you going to wear?

I felt my nerves multiply tenfold at the slightly crazed look in her eyes. Nothing that says 'I'll sleep with you tonight,' I begged, as she dragged me into her bedroom. As always, everything in her room was covered in a mountain of clothes as if a cyclone had hit her wardrobe.

But, darling! She objected, holding what looked like a handkerchief up to my chest, I don't own anything that says 'nice to meet you, I'll be catching the bus home in a couple of hours,' and I'm fresh out of nun habits as well so you’re just going to have to trust me.

In answer I sank down onto her bed and bit my lip anxiously, wondering what on earth I’d let myself in for.

LUCAS

"This is a disaster! This is the bloody meltdown situation! This is where someone presses the big, red button that says SELF DESTRUCT and all the little scientists in their white coats run for cover! Don't just sit there with that smug little look on your face! That evil cow set you up and now you're public enemy number one! You're hated, reviled! Children will start to cry when they see you on the streets! Housewives will chase after you with brooms! Teenage girls across the country will rip down their posters of you and cast them into the fire!"

As my manager continued to rant and rave, I amused myself by imagining lots of little exclamation marks popping up in the air around his head like they would if he was in a cartoon. He would make a fantastic cartoon character, I thought. All red and puffed up like an angry tomato. Yes, Gary was definitely a tomato, one that has just passed its prime so that, unless you have a really sharp knife it is almost impossible to slice because it just bends and slides away from your blade.

Are you even listening to me, Goodspeed?

His voice was so loud on my name that even my high threshold for ignoring him was broken through. I looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. To be honest with you, no, I replied flatly, because you're not telling me anything that I don't already know.

Gary deflated slightly, but I knew better than to know that he was backing down.

Now take a deep breath, for God's sake, I added. Your wife'll kill me if you have a heart attack. Your yelling I can take, Maureen’s a whole other matter.

Gary wiped away the sweat beads that had formed across his brow with the back of his hand and then threw the huge wad of tabloid newspapers and magazines he'd been holding down onto his desk. The desk was huge, one of those enormous, gleaming, mahogany numbers that have to be assembled on site because no way would it fit through the door. If desk-size were indicative of penis size in the way I suspected some businessmen thought they were, Gary sure seemed to think he was phallic-ly blessed.

This gets any worse, Gary was continuing, thankfully unaware of my musings, and you won’t have to worry about Maureen anymore because I'll quit. It might take me a while to find myself a new useless pretty boy footballer to represent, but I'll be sure to pick one who isn't so much Goddamn trouble.

I laughed and popped a grape from Gary's fruit bowl into my mouth. Did you just call me pretty?

This is nothing to joke about! Gary pushed the remaining grapes out of my reach and folded his arms across his barrel chest. What the hell did you do to our darling Miss Jones to make her say all this crap?

Unwillingly, I flicked my eyes down to the stack of papers on his desk and read the top headline as it blared out at me. Goodspeed Goodbye: Our beloved Zarah Jones tells all in this exclusive interview. The lying, the cheating, the emotional abuse – how Zarah suffered at the hands of top footballer, Lucas Goodspeed.

It couldn't have been that exclusive, I thought objectively, if all these tabloids were running the same story. I could just catch a couple of words from the other headlines and they were pretty much the same. ‘Scumbag’ featured a couple of times, along with ‘Love Rat’ which at least made me smile slightly. Zarah and her team had done their work well; there wasn't a trashy publication in the country that hadn't vilified me. Just call me 'Mr Popular'.

I didn't do anything, I sighed. She obviously just decided that the benefits of our relationship no longer outweighed the benefits she could get if she sold a story like this to the press.

Well, Jesus, Goodspeed! Gary exploded. "I have a copy of the Kama Sutra you could’ve borrowed if you needed to give Zarah some benefit."

I was glad that his office door flew open at that moment to distract me from following the line of thought that questioned why my hideous manager would ever have need for a copy of the Kama Sutra. Julia, Gary's normally mild-mannered secretary, stomped in through the open door and banged down a tea and biscuit tray before shooting me a filthy look and storming out again.

I raised my eyebrows questioningly at Gary as the door slammed behind her so violently the mugs rattled on the tray, and he shrugged. Looks like Julia's a Zarah Jones fan.

I rolled my eyes. What did I care if people like Julia had turned against me? Maybe, this way, I would finally get some peace.

I know what you're thinking, Gary said, collecting the plate of biscuits and one of the mugs and seating himself in his big, plush leather chair. "And you should care. The whole point of dating Zarah was to draw media attention away from you and your family and onto you and her as a couple. You think these vultures, he gestured to the papers on the desk, are going to back off now? You think they're going to say, 'oh he just broke up with his girlfriend, we should give him some space'? He snorted, spraying some of his milky tea onto his shirt. Come on, one thing you've never been is naïve. They’re going to go to any lengths, pay any price, pry into the lives of anyone close to you to get a better story. You know what happened the last time the media whipped themselves up into this kind of frenzy."

I'm hardly likely to forget, I said coldly, feeling the familiar swell of guilt and anger as I thought back to the last time I had unwittingly created a media furore. To cover the awkward moment, I reached for the other tea, but thought better of it when I remembered Julia's furious expression.

Well, then. Gary took a deep slurp of his tea and regarded me through his bushy eyebrows. I guess you'd better get rid of that attitude and pay attention to me, as I'm the only one who can get you through this without another full-scale PR disaster.

Point taken. And how I hated admitting he was right. What exactly do you want me to do?

Gary seemed to relax minutely and a small smile played around his lips. Yeah, he knew he'd won our little battle of the wits, and he wanted to savour my retreat.

First things first, he said when he'd apparently got over his little power trip. The pre-season party tonight, you should go.

When I opened my mouth to protest that there was no way in hell I was attending that hotbed of angst, drama and sex, Gary held up one hand to forestall me.

You have to show that you're not hiding away from this. Go out with your teammates, have fun, drink, laugh, just, for God's sake, don't sleep with anyone.

I raised my eyebrows at the last condition, but nodded to show that I understood. This easy acceptance of his terms, however, didn’t seem to be enough, and he fixed me with a hard stare.

"I mean no-one, Goodspeed. Try not to interact with any women at all, just stay the hell away from them. I'm thinking we'll go for the whole 'focusing on your sport' angle and portray you as a reformed man, but that won't work if the papers tomorrow are full of photos with you draped across two half naked girls. Do you understand me?"

Honestly, the draped across two half naked women thing had only happened once and the photo had been taken out of context anyway as I'd been too drunk that night to do anything with those women even if I'd wanted to. Still, as much as it pained me to admit it, Gary really did know his stuff and so, as I got to my feet, I leaned down and looked him squarely in the eyes.

You have my word. No women.

He held my gaze for a couple of seconds more and then nodded, apparently satisfied. Good. He stood up as well and shook my hand firmly. I’ll call you tomorrow and we'll discuss phase two.

Can’t wait.

As I left his office, sending a winning smile in reply to Julia's glare, I pulled out my mobile and called Xavier, my teammate and just plain best mate.

Well, if it isn't the cheating, scumbag, he answered cheerfully. Taking a rest from sending inappropriate text messages to hordes of girls?

Yeah, well, you know how it is, I said flatly to Xavier. Even perverts have to take a break sometimes. Hey, are you on your way to that party?

The pre-season thing? Xavier asked as I entered the lift.

That's the one, I confirmed.

Yeah, I thought I might show my face briefly. Why? You thinking of going?

Apparently I have to, I growled, pressing the button for the car park and feeling that brief weightless sensation as the carriage began to descend.

Gary riding you to start a new public image campaign? Xavier knew all about my previous run-ins with the press and was occasionally sympathetic when he wasn't laughing himself stupid over my media persona.

Isn't he always? Look I'll see you there, mate.

Righto.

I hung up and, as the lift doors opened, I stupidly let myself think for a couple of seconds that, maybe, things weren't going to be so bad this time.

Chapter 2- Two Seconds With You

ISOBEL

As we pulled up outside the party the clouds above us formed a thick, sombre layer, a nicely indicative companion to my mood. Relenting and agreeing to go with Bridget had been a big mistake.

I'd relaxed slightly as the taxi had left the inner city and ventured into the industrial outskirts. The smaller houses and less pretentious businesses had been more my thing and I'd begun to wonder if perhaps the party wasn't going to be as grand as Bridget had made it out to be. At the last moment, however, we'd turned a corner onto a road that should have been as dark and grey as the others around it and, instead, I had been left blinking as I was hit by the harsh light of lines of floodlights. The street was teeming with people and strange bright flashes kept illuminating small patches of the brick walls around us, like strobe-lights at a club.

It took me a second to realise that the flashes were coming from the cameras of twenty or so people who were being restrained by red rope and the arms of several heavily built men on the right hand side of the street. Fascinated by my first sighting of real, live paparazzi I'd pressed my face against the window and watched them tussle and push each other to get their lens out front. They were aiming their cameras towards a massive line of people which stretched all the way down the side of a large warehouse and disappeared around the corner. The people in this line were hemmed in by yet more red rope and bulky men and watching enviously as people who were presumably VIPs sauntered straight past them and inside to the party.

There was so much to see as we drove down the street that I forgot that I was about to be an active participant in all the mayhem. I was dragged back to reality, however, by the taxi driver slamming on his brakes and ordering us out. The wall of noise that hit me as I opened the door was enough to almost forcibly knock me back into the taxi and, truth be told, it was only Bridget pushing me in the back that convinced me to step out.

The flashes from the cameras were blinding and the chattering and squealing from the hordes of girls in the line rang in my ears. All was chaos and confusion and I hated it. Feeling my shyness rising within me, like some sort of virus, I numbly went to walk to the back of the line, wondering if we'd even get in considering how many people were in front of us. Bridget grabbed my hand before I'd gone far, however, and laughingly shook her head.

Don't be daft, she yelled over all the frenzied noise. Come on!

She dragged me up to the front of the queue and presented the pair of us to one of the hulking bouncers who was built like a tank and did not look happy to see us. I could only assume the wary familiarity in his eye was due to Bridget because I'd never seen him before and I'm sure I would have remembered a walking boulder.

Franky boy! Bridget exclaimed, grabbing his black leather clad arm. I didn't realise you were working the door tonight, if I'd known I'd have come earlier so I'd have more time to chat to you. How're things going with Rosa? That’s her name, right? Only I asked Robbie and he said that he'd heard that you thought she was the one. She sounds great, I hope I can meet her sometime. This is my cousin, Isobel, by the way, she's new to the city and I'm showing her around. I'm sure she wouldn't mind, however, if we stood here on this street all night as I babbled away about your personal life. You wouldn't believe the titbits I've picked up recently like how you dated Rosa's sister before you decided to go with her. I bet that didn't go down very well with her family. Not to mention yours. That reminds me, how's Billy? I heard from Katie he's working down the docks now and-

The bouncer, who was presumably called Frank and whose life Bridget knew an inordinate amount about, abruptly unclipped the red rope which had previously barred our entrance and hustled us through.

Thank you, beautiful boy, Bridget blew a kiss at him and, ignoring the hisses of the girls who had been waiting in line for goodness knows how long, she pulled me towards the door.

Sorry, I repeatedly apologised, twisting back round to try and convey my embarrassment at simply waltzing past them.

Don't bother, Bridget scolded me, holding the door open and yanking me through. They all hate you now, but they're no great loss, the really interesting people are in here.

I was about to protest the dismissal of so many people in such a cavalier way, but my breath was stolen from me as I took in our new surroundings. My eyes watered slightly at the sudden, intense, blinding interior which was startling in itself, but doubly so when compared to what on the outside had been such a dingy, grimy lump of a building. Inside, the ceiling, floor and walls were all painted the same crisp, glossy white so it was difficult to tell where the floor ended and the wall began. It took me a couple of seconds to realise that there was a white bar along one end and several pieces of white furniture such as low coffee tables and couches in the huge open space because everything blended into the white glare.

White's the new black, Bridget informed me wryly, noticing my stunned expression and seeming to find great amusement in my astonishment. Come on, you're blocking the doorway. She took my hand and towed me further into the room, ignoring my pained squeak as my ankles rolled slightly in the ridiculously high heeled and ill-fitting boots she'd put me in. Before we'd taken more than a couple of steps, however, we were stopped by a voice from behind us.

Can I take your coats, ladies? The tone was cheeky and smiley and, turning around, I saw the owner of the voice could also be described exactly as such.

Mr Greene, fancy seeing you here. Bridget swung around delightedly and planted a big, lip-sticky kiss on the newcomer's cheek while I smiled politely and tried not to stare at his luridly coloured mohawk. He beamed back at the pair of us and made no move to wipe away the mark my cousin had left on his face.

Yes, just fancy. He had the same teasing note in his voice that Bridget had perfected and there was something about the look in his eyes that told me he was my cousin's match in both gaiety and attracting trouble. Now, hands over those coats, the cupboards here, in keeping with the rest of this place, are white and pretty much invisible.

Bridget and I took off our coats, handed them to him and watched with interest as he ran his hands along the perfectly flat wall next to us and then pushed hard in one spot. There was a little hissing sound and what had looked like just another panel in the wall swung away to reveal a rod hung with many coats.

From the new 'More Money than Sense' range, the man with the extraordinary hair remarked sardonically as he hung up our outer wear and closed the panel.

"Well you would know, or does all of your furniture come from the 'More Money than Taste' range? They're so similar I forget, Bridget said cheekily and I noticed that, although flirting for my cousin was something akin to a competitive sport, there was real affection in her voice as she teased him. This is Xavier by the way, she added turning back to me, he's a footballer for the Coastal Crocs and no-one knows his true hair colour."

It’s like my superpower, Xavier confided to me jovially as he touched his fluoro green mohawk affectionately, if someone finds out my real hair colour I'm doomed.

Yes, as we all know, with great hair dye comes great responsibility, Bridget remarked drolly. Anyway, Xavier, this is my cousin, Isobel. She's…, she trailed off as she looked me up and down, presumably trying to think of some way to describe me, my opposite.

Great! Xavier enthused, throwing a friendly arm across my shoulders. It's about time we had someone sane come to one of these parties. It's nice to meet you, Isobel.

And you. I smiled back, thinking that if everybody else at this party was going to be like Xavier I might have some fun after all.

As Xavier and Bridget started to chat away about someone I didn’t know, I looked around the room once more, taking in the inhabitants more than the furnishings this time. It didn’t take me long to be glad that Bridget had dressed me up like she had, otherwise I would have stuck out like a sore thumb. The black skirt she'd put me in, which I considered a mini, was positively matron-like compared to the extreme micro-minis being sported around the room. And, although my blue top was low cut and flimsy, it looked like I had swathed my chest in a curtain or something when compared to the wide expanses of toned, tanned flesh being exposed by most other girls around me. Not that I was judging them for their skimpy attire, possibly if I’d had the bodies they did I’d have wanted to parade around like they were.

Not long after we arrived, someone turned on some low, thumping 'doof, doof' music and the girls who had wasted no time in imbibing the free champagne began to twist and turn around the room. I watched them with a sort of horrified fascination, wondering how these girls had the confidence to dance the way they were and to just latch onto the men they fancied. I tried not to make it too obvious that it was my first time at a party like this, but I think, judging by the superior looks a few other partiers occasionally shot me, I wasn’t doing a particularly good job of it.

I stood meekly next to Bridget as the minutes ticked slowly by and tried to look interested in the yelled conversations flying before me. I knew nothing about the people they were talking about, however, except occasionally when they mentioned a name I'd seen in the papers or magazines. Also, I wasn't particularly concerned with which footballer Bridget’s friends would score with that night, so there was nothing really I could offer.

It took me some time to grasp that the niggling feeling I had in my stomach had changed from shyness to yawn-inducing boredom and, once I did, I had to bite back a smile. There I was in a room heaving with the bright stars of the football world and the future top models and actresses in the country, and all I wanted to do was curl back up on Bridget's couch and go to sleep. I started sneakily checking my watch, and despairing every time I saw that there was still a long way to go before the last bus was due.

Finally, midnight crept round and, somewhat like the Cinderella Bridget had compared me to earlier in the evening, I started getting ready to make my excuses and leave. Before I’d managed to interrupt the flow of conversation, however, there was a commotion at the door and I, like most others in the room, turned to see what was going on.

Several people seemed to have gatecrashed the party and, as I saw some recognisable flashes of light, I realised they must be paparazzi. The bouncers were hustling them back outside, but the photographers were fighting tooth and nail to stay put and take pictures of a new arrival whose profile looked strangely familiar. I was about to ask Bridget who he was and why I would recognise him when Xavier spoke up.

Ah, and Goodspeed makes his long awaited entrance. His smile was bright against his dark skin. I'd better go say hi. I'll see you later, yeah? He touched Bridget’s elbow affectionately in farewell, before loping off through the crowd.

I stared after him as my brain slowly connected the glimpse of the face and the name Xavier had just said. As it clicked into place I turned astonished eyes to Bridget and asked incredulously, "Lucas Goodspeed?"

Yeah, I would imagine so, Bridget replied disinterestedly before continuing, Hey do you think I should get with that new midfielder over there? I know he's only 19, but look at him! He's gorgeous.

I couldn't believe her nonchalance.

Why hadn't I considered the possibility that he would be here? It was a football pre-season party of course the king of football and partying would come, it was his kingdom! I was not, as some might have thought, blown away by being in the same room as Lucas Goodspeed because I was one of his sycophantic admirers. No, my heart was suddenly beating faster and my face was suddenly flushed because, since moving to the city, I’d had a lot of time to go over my failed relationship with Rob and I'd come to the conclusion that Lucas Goodspeed was a major contributing factor.

Yeah, those sycophantic admirers? I had lived with one. My ex worshipped Lucas Goodspeed above and beyond everything in his life, including me. Our lives had been ruled by him, he was the North to our compass. Robert had been so, juvenilely, sure that if he did everything like his hero he was bound to be a famous footballer just like him. So if Lucas said in an interview that he didn't like seafood it was banned from our plates, if Lucas wore a specific brand of sunglasses those were the ones that Rob spent our joint rent money going out and buying. Even the breakdown of Goodspeed’s relationship with that Zarah Jones girl had coincided with the breakdown in ours.

The realisation that I was in the same room as the man whose chiselled face had stared down at me every night from the huge poster Rob had put up in our room made me feel positively queasy.

I've always fancied dating a younger man, Bridget was continuing, apparently completely oblivious to my churning stomach. I could go to the press and sell my story about seducing a rising star in the game. Do you think I'm too young to be considered a cougar? I mean I'm only 22 and three years isn't exactly cradle-robbing, is it?

She went off on a long tangent, but I didn’t mind her ranting as it gave me some time to regain some equilibrium. As several minutes passed without her stopping to draw breath, however, I started to worry that I would miss my ride home.

Bridget, I interjected quickly, the last bus will be coming by any minute so I'll be heading off.

Oh sure, do you need me to…? Seeing the desperate plea in her eyes not to drag her away from her desired conquest, I shelved my fears at travelling in a strange city alone at night and shook my head.

No, you stay, corrupt the innocent and all that. But, just- I stopped, not wanting to sound preachy, if there was one thing Bridget hated it was being preached to. Just be careful, be safe, I finished weakly.

I always am, she promised. Hey, and use the back exit, she gestured towards a door I hadn't noticed before because it too was so blended into the white. I overheard someone saying the press don't know it's there. The bus stop’s not far from it so you won't have to run the gauntlet.

Thanks, I was relieved not only to be able to avoid the hoards of people out the front but also to not have to walk past Lucas Goodspeed. See you tomorrow? I added making the last bit sound kind of like a question, the horror stories of what happened to young women who went off with strangers at parties clamouring in my head. Bridget didn't seem to notice my concern and was already gone, sashaying towards the new midfielder who looked like he couldn't believe his luck.

It's no big deal if she doesn't come home tonight, she might decide to make a weekender out of him. One of the girls Bridget had been talking to leant over to me, her smile mocking. When I raised my eyebrows slightly in surprise she laughed meanly and brushed past me saying, God, who would’ve thought Bridget’s cousin would be such a prude?

The unkind words from a complete stranger stung, and increased both my awareness that the party wasn't meant for the likes of me, and my desire just to go back to Bridget's and get into my pyjamas.

Beginning to thread my way through the crowd I had almost reached the back exit when I remembered my coat. For a moment I wavered, wondering whether I could just text Bridget and ask her to grab it for me. I remembered the dark clouds from before, however, and re-thought leaving it behind. I couldn’t imagine Bridget being too keen to lug my coat around with her, anyway.

Mindful of the time ticking away, I hurriedly scanned my eyes along the walls, trying to identify the panel Xavier had hung my coat up behind earlier. My heart sank as I realised two things at once. One, the panel I was pretty sure I needed to get to was blocked by someone lounging against it; and two, that person was Lucas Goodspeed.

I briefly considered finding Xavier and asking him if he wouldn't mind fetching my coat for me, but a quick glance over the mass of people gathered around Lucas told me that he wasn't with the Goodspeed camp anymore. Oh well, nothing for it, then. I took a deep breath. No matter how famous Lucas Goodspeed was, no matter how he had impacted upon my life simply by existing, he was still just a person and I had every right to approach him to get my coat. I squared my shoulders and strode forward through the crowd, firmly telling myself that the sooner I got my coat, the sooner I could leave the party and shake off the unsettled boredom I'd experienced all night.

Breaking into Goodspeed's inner sanctum of admirers was difficult, however, and I received my fair share of dirty looks as, apologising profusely, I wormed my way to the front of the pack. When I finally emerged in front of the most famous footballer in the country, a bit frazzled, I found myself, for the first time, fully appreciating the meaning of the word 'quelled'. There was really no other word for how I felt in that split second when Lucas Goodspeed broke off from his conversation and looked straight at me, but quelled.

I'd always thought the intense, slightly challenging look in the eyes that had watched over my former bedroom had been due to the fact that he was deliberately looking like that to make the poster more dramatic. Seeing those same piercing, light green eyes for real with the same confronting stare, however, I realised that the poster really hadn't done him justice.

I'd always acknowledged academically that Lucas Goodspeed was good looking, but perhaps because of my steadily growing negative feelings against him, I'd never really been as impressed with his features as other people seemed to be. I was mortified to realise then, though, that, as I'd taken him in fully for the first time, I'd gulped. Gulped for heaven's sake! But, honestly, bone structure like his was surely a one in a million freak occurrence; the cheekbones, the strong jaw, the straight nose, these things were surely unfair to give to just one person.

Willing myself to get my act together, and hoping against hope he hadn't noticed my gulp, I clasped my hands tightly in front of me to stop them from shaking and said clearly, Excuse me.

LUCAS

As I'd expected, the party was no different from the multitude of others I'd attended over the years. As I'd got out of my car I'd cursed Gary for forcing me to go to the stupid thing. The paparazzi almost wet themselves they were so glad to see me. With the help of a few hulking bouncers I managed to wrestle my way through them and get inside whereupon I immediately wished I was one of those pretentious knobs who wore sunglasses inside as the décor was blinding.

Once my eyes had adjusted, a quick glance around told me that all the usual suspects were there and all the usual activities were taking place. The music, in my opinion, wasn't loud enough as I was still able to hear snatches of the most inane conversations and salutations from complete strangers. I repeatedly raised my hand in a general greeting, though, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy the folks who thought they knew me because they’d seen me play a few times.

I'd barely been in the warehouse for a full three minutes before Xavier bounded over, his green mohawk looking like the fin of a shark as it sailed above most of the sea of heads in the crowd. I clapped him on the back warmly in greeting, knowing that he was one of the few people who was going to make the night bearable for me.

You took your time, he said, pointing to his watch and indicating that it was almost midnight.

Yeah, I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to exude an air of mystery about my whereabouts, but fully aware that Xavier knew as well as I did that I'd just been sitting at home trying to avoid the inevitable. Has it been any good tonight?

Same old, same old, Xavier replied carelessly although, again, we both knew that 'same old, same old' was what he lived for. Mostly been hanging out with Bridget and her cousin.

I nodded, unsurprised by his answer. I knew Bridget well and, while she wasn't exactly a calming presence on the already excitable Xavier, she was alright in her own flamboyant way and definitely my favourite regular AFL groupie. I hadn't met her cousin before, though, and had a moment of unease at the idea of two Bridgets running around.

I snagged a beer from the bar, noting as I did so the numerous empty champagne magnums in the background. It looked like it had been an open bar for the ladies again. Xavier, following my line of sight grinned and punched my arm.

Looks like you're going to have to be extra careful not to get jumped tonight. Or are you looking for some consolation sex after losing the goddess that is Zarah Jones?

I punched him right back, as male code dictated. It may come as some surprise to you, but I'm leaving here tonight alone, no matter what happens.

He snorted disbelievingly as he followed me over to a less crowded area near the entrance. "I'll believe it when I see it, mate. In fact I probably will see it tomorrow in the papers, if you manage to go home alone tonight it’ll be national news."

Yippee, I drawled sarcastically, taking a dispirited pull at my drink.

At least you're taking the fall for the rest of us. Another voice joined the conversation and I nodded in greeting at Mark Donohue, the walking, talking epitome of tall, dark and smarmy and my closest mate after Xavier. "I could drink shot after shot out