Get all the feels in this steamy, feel-good standalone romantic comedy about falling in love and finding happily ever after despite the odds.
The goal… Find Erik Nilsen, young star of England’s hottest football club, a nice girl.
The coach… International football superstar Jamie MacNiven. Over thirteen years with women using his money and his fame have left him more than jaded—it’s left him numb. But Jamie knows he can train Erik to win in his personal life as much as he wins on the field.
The drive… For Jamie it’s simple: Erik still believes in love. Naïve? Maybe, but the thought of the kid losing that faith twists a part of his heart he thought was long dead.
The playing field… Well, it certainly isn’t Europe, where everyone knows their faces and the amount of money in their bank accounts. No—there’s one obvious choice where to find a nice girl for the kid: Chicago.
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His mum claimed a photo was worth more than a thousand words, but as Jamie watched the Chicago streets out the taxi’s window, he only heard one word: FREEDOM.
He took out his mobile and snapped a few shots. It was midmorning, and the best light would be around seven o’clock, he figured, but his mum always said the best photos were ones that were spontaneous rather than planned. These would be especially great because they captured this moment of liberty.
In Chicago, he wouldn’t be Jamie MacNiven, star forward of Italy’s number one football club and one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors. He wouldn’t be son of legendary football player Ian MacNiven and heir to one of Scotland’s nest boutique whiskey brands. He wouldn’t be the son of Titania Summerhill, one of the world’s most renowned photographers. For the next three weeks, he’d be some anonymous bloke in town with his two mates.
Three weeks of anonymity, of being able to stroll without being stopped every few feet by paparazzi or to take a selfie with a fan. Three weeks to be behind the camera instead of in front of it. Three weeks without women throwing themselves at him because of his fame and fortune.
Three weeks of peace.
It was also three weeks to figure out what he was going to do about his life because his current trajectory wasn’t working for him.
The car jolted over a rough patch of road. Lowering his mobile, he held on to the handle on his side of the door. Didier, his friend and former teammate who sat next to him, muttered a curse in his native French. “Les anglais conduisent mieux que ce mec.”
Jamie smiled despite the slur against his countrymen. “Nous arriverons.”
“Encore vivant, j’éspère.” Shaking his head, Didier went back to his own silent contemplation of the passing scenery, the practice ball he traveled with settled loosely on his lap.
He’d been surprised when Didier had unexpectedly shown up and said he was tagging along on this trip. Didier Pascal wasn’t the baddest boy in football, but he was up there. A talented and disciplined player, he was one of Manchester United’s stars, but being half French, half Moroccan, Didier had exotic good looks that the media gushed over as much as they did about his skill.
Meaning he scored a lot—both on the field and off.
Quite frankly, they all did. Being an international football superstar meant you had plenty of money and plenty of women who had their eyes on that money.
Hence this trip to Chicago.
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