c46: Your Boyfriend?
You looked at me, I looked at you, and Vardy and Anne couldn't help but burst into laughter.
"I think I just caught the scent of... abandonment lingering in the air," Anne said with mock seriousness, her eyes sparkling. "If the paparazzi snapped a photo just now, our new superstar might've had a tabloid scandal by morning!"
Vardy chuckled and gestured for Anne to follow him into the living room. He sank into the sofa, arms sprawled lazily across the backrest, and said nonchalantly, "The eyes are easily deceived. What you see might not be the truth at all."
He had no interest in recounting the embarrassing Alyssa incident or the mess of his earlier days. No need to make Anne question his past choices or worse, his taste in women.
"My brilliant star," Anne said, folding her arms with an amused smile, "you're officially the top new talent in English football. Some pundits even claim you're better than Rooney. What do you think?"
It might've sounded like casual banter, but Vardy could sense the professional undertone. Anne was a reporter by training, after all and old habits die hard.
Vardy rolled his eyes, unsure how to respond without sounding arrogant or falsely modest.
He knew deep down that the comparison was premature. Rooney had debuted for Everton at just 16 and famously scored that rocket against Arsenal to end their 30-match unbeaten run. In his debut Premier League season, Rooney netted six goals. Vardy, on the other hand, had already scored four goals in three gamesna phenomenal stat line, especially for someone who had just broken into the senior squad.
But Vardy also remembered how, in his past life, Rooney's career plateaued. Despite being lauded as more talented than both Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi early on, Rooney never quite reached their heights. Analysts later said he peaked at 18 and simply coasted on natural ability afterward.
Vardy, however, had something different a system that made his progress exponential, with no defined ceiling. His trajectory was nothing like Rooney's.
Still, none of that was worth explaining.
"This whole Rooney-vs-Vardy thing?" he said with a grin. "Just media hype. Best not to buy into it. Oh, right you're part of the media. My bad!" he added with a wink.
Anne gave him a playful eye-roll, clearly not offended, but visibly entertained.
As the laughter died down, an awkward silence lingered. When a man and a woman sit alone in a room, especially two young singles, the air naturally shifts subtle tension, unspoken curiosity.
Vardy rubbed his hands awkwardly, trying to think of a smooth transition. Anne, poised and confident, didn't seem the least bit affected or maybe she was just better at hiding it.
"Well," Vardy said hesitantly, "how about… we go see a movie?"
He asked the question casually, but his tone betrayed the nervous anticipation underneath. It wasn't just a date suggestion it was a test.
If Anne said yes, it meant he had a shot. If she declined, well… it simply meant he'd have to step up his game.
Anne tilted her head and gave him a teasing look, clearly seeing through his intention. Her eyes danced with amusement, and Vardy instinctively looked away, suddenly shy.
"Okay, but can I bring a friend along?" Annie finally replied with a smile, amid Vardy's rising internal panic.
It felt like a rollercoaster. One moment he soared with excitement when she agreed, and the next, his heart plummeted. Bringing a friend? That could mean anything. Was this her way of subtly turning him down? Had she seen through his intentions and was now politely deflecting him just like she'd helped him deal with Alyssa earlier?
Or… did Annie already have a boyfriend?
Right now, Vardy's heart was pounding faster than it had when he scored the winning goal against Sheffield Wednesday.
Feigning indifference, he forced a casual smile. "Your boyfriend?"
Deep down, he dreaded hearing her say yes.
"No," Annie answered brightly, "It's my girlfriend."
Vardy blinked, caught completely off guard.
"This joke is so funny!" he said, laughing nervously and exhaling in relief. His palms were sweaty. That moment had aged him a year.
Liverpool at night is two cities in one quiet suburbs resting under calm skies, while the city center thrums like a war zone, men and women locked in a chaotic, flashing dance of nightlife.
Vardy and Annie were waiting at the entrance of the Odeon cinema. Annie had called her friend to join them, and while Vardy had nodded politely, inside, he'd been praying for her to decline. When the friend agreed, Vardy nearly rolled his eyes. A third wheel? Really?
But the moment her friend arrived, Vardy's complaints vanished.
She had a sharp, androgynous style. Short, jaw-length hair framed a face that could've belonged to a model in a high-end fashion mag. Her slim jeans accentuated a striking figure. Pale skin, a subtle hint of perfume, an unapproachable kind of beauty. There was something captivating commanding about her.
Suddenly, Vardy found himself thinking that "handsome" was the best word to describe Annie's friend.
"Grace, you're so slow!" Annie called out, rushing to hug her. There was warmth in her voice, and even a touch of playfulness.
Watching them embrace, Vardy felt a twinge of jealousy. He hadn't even shaken Annie's hand before, let alone hugged her.
Annie pulled Grace closer. "Jamie, this is my best friend Grace. Grace, meet Jamie Vardy the hottest rising star in English football!"
Vardy extended a hand politely. But Grace just looked at him blankly, not moving, not even acknowledging the gesture. He was left standing there like a fool in the glow of the cinema lights.
Vardy's expression twitched. Was that hostility in Grace's eyes?
Seriously?
You crash his date and then act like he's the problem?
Vardy's pride flared. He wasn't the type to suck up. If someone gave him attitude, they could take a hike. So he simply retracted his hand and ignored her. Two could play that game.
The trio bought popcorn and drinks and headed into the theater. The film was Constantine, starring Keanu Reeves stylish and mysterious. But Vardy couldn't focus at all.
Since Grace arrived, she had clung to Annie's side like a bodyguard. No private moment, no shared glance nothing. Every time Vardy leaned in to speak to Annie, Grace inserted herself. It was enough to ruin the evening.
Slouched in his seat, arms crossed, Vardy stared at the screen, but the flickering images were just noise. This was not how he imagined the night would go.
Maybe sensing his frustration, Annie gave him a quiet, apologetic smile in the dark. Just like that, Vardy's frustration melted. She had noticed and that was enough, for now.
He made a mental note: next time he asked her out, he'd make sure Grace wasn't invited.
Still, something about the closeness between Annie and Grace bugged him. They weren't just good friends. The way they laughed, leaned into each other, whispered it seemed… deeper.
Well, maybe it was just how some friendships looked. He wasn't going to overthink it.
As they parted ways after the movie, Grace took Annie aside. In a voice just loud enough for Vardy to hear, she hissed, "Annie, you really shouldn't be hanging around muscle-brained footballers. Most of them only think about two things sex and scoring goals. And not always in that order."
Vardy stopped mid-step. His fists clenched. The nerve.
What did I do to deserve that? Just exist?
He bit his tongue, but the fury bubbled inside. If this were a match, Grace would be getting a red card for unsportsmanlike conduct.
All he wanted to do was grab her, toss her into the Mersey, and walk away like nothing happened.
But instead, he inhaled sharply, turned away, and muttered under his breath.
This wasn't over.
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