"I love my thirties, it's like my twenties, but I actually have money." I joked to my manager as I sank into the chair opposite him.

The office, much like him, was disorganised to almost the point of chaos. How he kept track of anything was an absolute mystery to me. Especially given the fact the mess stacks of papers, magazines, and flyers seemed to be haphazardly dumped in the most random spots.

I popped my feet up on a stack of Daily Mails with a cheeky grin and surveyed the room as though it were a palace, not the small office in the building next to where we trained.

"That's all great Evan," Jarred said, pushing my feet off the pile on the way to his own seat, "but we both know that at thirty-four, you're not going to be getting all that money from football for much longer. I need you to start actually looking at the brand deals and other options I'm sending you."

He had been my manager for almost my entire football career and blamed the peppering of grey hairs he had on me and my antics. I was really beginning to see the signs of his ageing now I looked. When we met, we were both young, eager, and excited to take on the world. Now some of the creases in his face didn't leave, even when he stopped frowning at me.

I groaned dramatically, but I knew he was right. He had never steered me wrong before and I was already feeling the effects of playing with eighteen and nineteen-year-olds this season. Manchester City had been good to me, great even, and I had made the England team for the two world cups in a row.

The last decade had been the life I had been everything I always dreamed of, but it would be time to give it all up and move onto other things soon. Someone once told me professional football wasn't an old man's sport, and although I would never be able to see myself as old, I was finally beginning to see their point.

"Have you thought about what you want to do next? I've sent you through some options." Jarred asked, steepling his hands on the desk as he leaned towards me.

I spun my chair to face the window so I didn't have to meet his eye. "I haven't read them yet, but I will. It's just," I scrubbed a hand through my hair, "It makes it too real if I actually decide what I want to do next."

A lump rose in my throat. Football had been my life for so long that anything else seemed impossible to comprehend. For years, I had enjoyed it and all the benefits of the fame that came with it.

My parents were living in the house I bought them and so proud of me, even if mum had been harassing me to settle down like my older brother had. He and his husband had adopted two amazing kids, and I loved being the fun uncle that spoilt them.

My life was glitz and glamour and football. Parties after every game and hitting clubs most weekends, I hadn't really stopped for years.

Jarred sighed, "It's easier to get these things whilst you're still working as a footballer. Think about it, kid. But not for too long."

His use of the affectionate pet name made me smile. He was only three years older than me, but you'd think he was nearing retirement from the way he spoke. He was a good egg. When I had started to hit the big time, people had told me I needed to explore other managers and get a more experienced representative, but something about the way we worked together just felt right and I refused all attempts to move me. That loyalty had led to friendship and to where we were today. "You got it, boss. I'll look it over after the next game, promise." I gave a mocking salute.

He shook his head, mouth curving into a rare smile. "You'd better. I don't want to have to chase you down and kick your arse into making a decision."

I bounced to my feet, "Like you'd be able to catch me, old man." I teased.

Jarred rolled his eyes. "Less of the old, thank you. I prefer to be called distinguished."

I laughed out loud and headed for the door. "See you next week?"

He nodded, "Now if you could try to actually stay out of trouble until then, I might be able to actually get through my emails!"

It wasn't that I went looking for trouble, it just somehow found me. After the fiasco early in my career where an ex-girlfriend wrote a tell all in the papers about how I was a sex addicted monster, it had spiralled from there. There was no clawing back my image as anything other than a playboy, a jack the lad who people either wanted to be, or wanted to be with.

I didn't mind it. A new girl on my arm every month and the fun of flirting had been a great distraction and way to unwind between training. The media loved it and loved my lovable rogue image more than they ever did the truth.

That ex left me because I hadn't been ready to propose after a year together. Her attempt at a smear campaign in the papers could have been a career-ending death by media if it weren't for Jarred's work to mould me into something else.

The girls they saw me with now knew what they were getting into. A one night wonder and the chance to use my status to promote themselves afterwards. A mutually beneficial agreement when you thought about it. Still, it did mean that anything more long-term was completely out of reach for me. A fact I had long since accepted as an issue of my own making.

Jogging down the stairs, I made my way toward the training grounds, grinning at the team as I approached.

"Where you been, dickhead?" called Lewis from his spot, leaning against the goal post.

"Check in with my manager. Had to move it this week because of the game." I said, pulling on a fluorescent vest before joining him on the pitch.

"Jarred, not fired you yet." He laughed.

I shot him a mock affronted look. "Who me? I'm basically an angel!"

Lewis snorted a laugh. "Yeah, one who can't keep out of trouble for more than a couple of weeks at a time."

"He can't fire me anyway. We know too much about each other. Plus, I'm the one who pays him." I waved a dismissive hand.

"Yeah, I'd fire your arse if I had to work for you though."

"You don't know the meaning of work, Haywood. Pretty sure my Tesco clubcard has saved more than you have this season." I teased.

Lewis narrowed his eyes and moved into the centre of the goal, bouncing from one foot to the other. "Oh it is on like Donkey Kong, Griffin. The only time you're getting something by me is in your dreams, old man."

Ok, I kind of got what Jarred was saying. Those words stung a bit.

"Less of the old man, pipsqueak. We have a game to prep for and there's no way I'm going easy on you."