Bad Boy (Invertary 5)

Abby shrugged her answer. She was thinking the same thing.

“This is his professional mode,” Matt murmured to them. “Don’t be fooled—he might act like an idiot, but my cousin is far from stupid. He knows how to do his job. And part of the job is dealing with the media.”

“I thought his job was running up and down a soccer pitch?” Abby said.

Matt gawked at her. “Do you know nothing about the sport?”

She assumed it was a rhetorical question, and turned her eyes back to Flynn. He gave an easy smile in the direction of the camera as he answered the questions the pinched-looking producer threw at him. His voice was deep and self-assured in a way that sent shivers running along Abby’s spine.

“Every footballer—every professional athlete—knows their career comes with a best-before stamp on it. I was lucky I had the run I did. There are players who injury out in their first season. I had a great career and have stored up a lot of good memories along the way.”

Abby’s jaw dropped. She shared an astonished look with Jena. Matt smothered a chuckle. “Told you,” he whispered. “Not dumb.”

“But he usually talks like he didn’t even finish high school and doesn’t care about it,” Abby whispered.

Matt’s eyes sparkled. “Flynn has an honours degree in Natural Sciences. It’s not something he broadcasts, but he doesn’t hide it either. He studied with Open University, distance learning while he played.”

“You’re pulling my leg. He’s famous for his playboy ways. He’s always in the press. When would he have time to study?”

“He’s twenty-nine, Abby. He’s had plenty of time to study. He only acts out when he’s bored. He doesn’t do it all the time.” Matt gave a wry smile. “Although when he does act out, he tends to really make it count.”

Abby turned her stunned face to her best friend. “Did you know any of this?”

Jena shook her head as she frowned. “No, but Matt and I are gonna have us a little chat about keeping secrets.”

The producer’s sharp voice cut through their whispered conversation.

“Are you trying to tell us you aren’t bothered at all that your career is over? You were cut down in your prime by an illegal tackle. Exactly the kind of play that would make your head blow off if it’d happened to one of your teammates. Yet you’re sitting there calmly telling me you’re fine with how things turned out.”

Abby swallowed at the steel in Flynn’s eyes. “Now, there wouldn’t be much point in losing my temper, would there? It won’t undo the damage to my leg. The player who tackled me was dealt with by FIFA. As I said, players know their time in the game comes with an expiry date. Mine just arrived a few years sooner than I expected.”

“So there are no hard feelings towards the player or his club?” The producer’s tone said he wouldn’t believe any answer F

lynn gave.

Flynn looked straight into the camera. “None.” He exuded sincerity. “These things happen. It’s the risk you take when you play the game. It’s why I was paid the big bucks. That and the fact I was damn good at the game.”

The little man shifted in his seat. Each movement sharp and angry.

“What will you do with your time now? Any plans for the future?”

“There’s always TV work,” Flynn said with a wide smile. “I hear documentaries are easy to make. You don’t need much skill to pull it off.”

Jena slapped a hand over her mouth to smother her laugh.

“I beg to differ,” the producer said. “Still, there’s little chance any TV station would risk employing you. You don’t have any experience and you’re known for your unfiltered comments. Not exactly presenter material, wouldn’t you say?”

Abby pursed her lips. Was he intentionally rude?

“But my sexy good looks more than make up for my runaway mouth. I’m sure the ratings would go up just having me on screen—even if all I did was sit silently and looked pretty.”

Abby smiled widely at him, and for a second she could have sworn his eyes flickered in her direction.

The producer started to say something, but Flynn held up his hand to stop the man. Ignoring the producer, he stared into the camera. He’d clearly run out of patience with the interview.

“Let’s not beat about the bush. Everyone knows I’m a public relations nightmare.” Flynn ran his fingers through his hair, making it seem even more sexily rumpled. “I’m too bad-tempered and impatient to go into coaching or management. I’m too much of a risk for TV. As you kindly pointed out, I don’t have any outside interests, other than the sort of hobbies that make headlines.” He gave a self-deprecating grin. “Last time I checked you couldn’t make a career out of getting drunk, sleeping around and acting like an ass. So I’m left with a dilemma. What will I do with my life? And the answer is I don’t know. I’ve been out of the game for six months now. My leg is still healing and I need to concentrate on recovery, rather than worrying about what I’ll be doing in five years’ time.”

He stared at the producer. “We both know I have enough money to let me sit on my hands for the rest of my life. I don’t need to do anything. Which puts me in the privileged position of having time to think. Time to recover. Time to reform.”