by Amy Daws
I frown over at them. “Is that for tonight’s match?”
“Yep,” she flicks her hand over the top of them.
“Jealous! You two will have a great time.”
“I’m not going with him, you daft cow,” she replies, adding a playful shimmy to her head. “I’m going with you.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Nice try…but as you can see, I’m all booked up.”
Phoebe narrows her eyes. “We’ll see about that.” She makes her way down the bar and back toward my boss’s office.
“If you are going into Hubert’s office to plead with him, it won’t work,” I call out, but she’s rounded the corner and out of earshot now.
I shake my head again because no way will Phoebe convince him to let me off. We’ll be swamped tonight because of the match. People love watching football at a pub.
Moments later, Phoebe reemerges with a victorious expression. “You’re off in thirty.” She reaches into her bag and chucks a green and white shirt at me.
“How did you manage that?” I inquire, holding out the brand-new Bethnal Green hooded jumper that she must have just bought on her way over here.
She does a twirl and a curtsey. “I am woman, hear me roar.”
“You don’t think Zander will think this is a bit desperate of me to come to one of his matches?” I ask Phoebe as we make our way through the concourses at Emirates Stadium.
It’s a huge structure that I’ve never actually visited before. We grab some food and drinks and stand at a small table in the refreshments area to have a beer and a snack before we take our seats. I keep getting nasty looks for being in the opposing team’s kit, so I pull my faux fur coat tight around my chest, hoping to blend in a bit more.
“It’s not like we’re at Tower Park!” Phoebe exclaims before taking a large sip of her beer. “And besides, he can’t begrudge you for free footy tickets to a FA Cup game. Now, hurry up and finish. The bloke at the ticket counter said our gate was just over there, and I’m dying to see our seats.”
We glug down our drinks and toss them in the bin as we maneuver through the masses of people toward our section entrance. When we emerge out into the light, I take a moment to breathe it all in. We’re dead center on the pitch, and the stands are nearly full to the brim. There really is nothing better than a packed football stadium. Even if it is Emirates.
I frown when I see that Phoebe is going down the steps, not up. “My God, these must be good seats,” I say as I continue heading down. The longer we go, the farther my jaw falls to the floor. “Phoebe!”
“What?” Her black ponytail flicks me in the face as she whirls around to look back at me before heading into an aisle.
“We’re in the front row,” I bark, completely gobsmacked.
“Surprise!” She smiles victoriously and grabs my arm to drag me behind her.
We make our way to our seats, and I glance around at everyone seated around us. They all look like they have a lot more money than I do, and none of them are wearing green and white.
“Why did you make me wear this?” I grumble, tightening my jacket even further.
“Because you have to support your boyfriend!” Phoebe laughs and shimmies her chest at me.
I shoot her a murderous glower. “Zander Williams is not my boyfriend.”
Suddenly, the music dies down in the stadium, and my eyes swerve over to the player tunnel where I see the players of Arsenal and Bethnal Green marching out with the refs and coaching staff. They’re all holding the hands of little children who look to be about the same age as my nieces.
I spot Camden Harris first in a single file line with his team. His inked arm pokes out of his Arsenal kit, and he looks perfectly at ease out there—a seasoned player certainly nearing retirement age but not showing it on the pitch at all.
My eyes move past the Arsenal club toward the Bethnal Green line. I spot Booker and Tanner and Vaughn. It would have been nice to see a Bethnal Green match when Camden, Tanner, and Booker were still all playing for the club. I think Gareth left for Man U before they all ever got a chance to play for their father, but watching them all play at the World Cup was a magical experience for not just me, but for all of England, so I can’t really complain.
My eyes are drawn to the players right in front of me next, and I gasp when I see Zander’s eyes are locked on me. My entire body shivers with apprehension as he tilts his head and mouths something I can’t quite discern.
I assume it’s something along the lines of, “What the fuck are you doing here, you creepy stalker? Is there no way I can escape you?”
I shoot him an apologetic look, my face heating with mortification as I hook my thumb over to Phoebe by way of explanation. I smile good-naturedly, and he smiles back, hopefully not intending to call his club lawyer as soon as the match is over and ask for a flat relocation. I mean, we are having sex with each other. Surely, me watching him play a little football isn’t more uncomfortable for him than me taking over the vibrator in the shower.
The match begins, and I’m relieved when Zander is too focused on his position as sweeper in front of Booker at the net to give me looks that I can overthink until the cows come home.
Bethnal Green takes a shocking lead in the first half after a flurry of chances. Honestly, there was so much action on the Arsenal side of the pitch, I was worried that Zander and Booker might be feeling a bit useless.
Bethnal Green’s single goal that’s earned in the thirty-fourth minute is a team effort. Roan DeWalt takes a shot from the edge of the box that takes a wicked deflection off the toe of the Arsenal goalkeeper. Thankfully, the twenty-three-year-old striker, Billy Campbell, is in the box and takes full advantage of the rebound. He crushes it straight into the net to make the score one-nil.
Arsenal is a lot less tentative in the second half, giving Booker and Zander a run for their money. Between the two of them, I counted at least seven big saves. At one point, Zander makes a sprawling save on a rebound deflection from Booker. And finally, the Irishman, Lance Finnegan, who’s been struggling in his position as a center-back for the whole game, manages to help them both out of a scramble.
Near the end of the second half, Camden Harris catches a break as he cuts in from the left flank and ends up one-on-one with Zander. He tricks him out with a stunning spin maneuver, delivering a crushing blow with his fierce right foot just missing the tips of Booker’s gloves.
When the ball slaps the net, the Emirates Stadium erupts, and my eyes move instantly back to Zander, who’s on his knees, shoving his hands through his hair and looking painfully distraught. He shakes his head and stands up, his eyes turn toward the sidelines where Vaughn and Tanner are embracing Camden after his goal, passing out congratulations.
I move my gaze back to Zander, and the expression on his face is confused. He might even be angry. And not just from getting burned, but he almost seems bothered that they’re congratulating Camden after the play? Perhaps he doesn’t understand how close the Harris family is. They may be opponents right now, but anyone who knows this family knows that they blindly support each other, no matter what kit they’re wearing.
Zander turns his back on them, spits into the grass, and gets back into position. The score is tied in the eighty-eighth minute. Bethnal Green has a corner kick, and everyone is pushing up into the Arsenal box, including Zander. Booker looks all alone in the back half as he cheers on his team loudly. This is likely Bethnal Green’s last chance to score.
The corner kick comes in, and Roan DeWalt leaps up to crush a header. The ball hits the crossbar and goes wide. As Roan comes down, a defender’s elbow cracks him right on the side of his head, propelling him sideways. When Roan hits the ground, he isn’t moving, and the entire stadium goes deathly quiet.
A ref signals to the medical team on Bethnal’s side, and I see Indie’s red hair pop out as she sprints out onto the pitch with a carrier of supplies. Another medical person and possibly a nurse join her as they hunch down to assess Roan’s
injury.
“Concussion, I’m betting,” I state, my hands on my cheeks with anxiety. If I was Roan’s wife, Allie, I would be a nervous wreck right now. Headers are scary business, which is why they take head injuries so seriously in the league.
“Who will kick the penalty shot I wonder?” Phoebe asks, her voice hollow with worry.
“The other striker, Billy Campbell, I’m sure,” I answer distractedly as I notice movement on the sidelines. I glance down and see Booker jogging over to Coach Zion to discuss something. He’s pointing out to the pitch, and Coach Z doesn’t look like he likes what Booker is saying. Vaughn and Tanner come over to join the discussion, and they seem to be much more on board with whatever plan Booker has.
When Roan finally stands up, the entire stadium cheers in relief. Even the Arsenal fans. No one ever likes to see an injury on the pitch. The medics assist Roan to the sidelines as the ref sets about resuming the match.
Bethnal Green now has a penalty kick that could win the game if they can manage to get it past the Arsenal keeper who has been on fire today. I watch in curiosity as Booker jogs over to Zander, puts his hand on his shoulder, and points at the net. Zander looks confused and glances over at Coach Zion and Vaughn, who are both nodding back at him.
Finally, looking rather dazed, Booker and Zander part ways as Zander jogs over to the penalty spot and positions himself to take the kick.
“Are they having Zander take the kick?” I ask, gripping Phoebe’s arm tightly as my eyes feel permanently glued to the pitch.
“You’re hurting me!” Phoebe exclaims, peeling my fingers off her.
“Oh, my God, he’s taking the kick!” I glance down at the sideline like maybe he’s just holding the position for someone else. But there’s no one else.
“Well, clearly Roan isn’t up for it,” Phoebe offers, and I shake my head in confusion.
“I know, but…Zander’s so new!” I tear my eyes away from the pitch to look at Phoebe. My entire body tingles with anticipation. “This is mental!”
“I expect they know what they’re doing,” Phoebe replies and clutches my arm as we both refocus on the pitch.
The ref blows his whistle, and Zander pauses for a moment, exhaling a heavy breath before doing a slow jog up that quickly shifts into a sprint. He does a unique little hopping move right before he kicks with his right boot and delivers a sweetheart of a strike up to the top of the net.
Goal, Bethnal Green.
I don’t even realize I’m screaming until Phoebe swirls me around to face her. I finally gasp for air and then start screaming again as I thrust my hand up into the air. The entire team is swarming Zander. Even Vaughn Harris jogs out onto the pitch to congratulate his sweeper. Eventually, I realize that Phoebe and I are the only ones properly losing our minds in our section, so I calm myself down and enjoy the view of Zander running back to his position on the other end of the pitch. The final seconds run out, and it’s a Bethnal Green victory, two to one.
Daphney
My voice is hoarse by the time Phoebe and I make our way out of the stadium. I was in a daze as Phoebe stood in the stands for ages talking to the bloke who gave us the tickets. I’ve never experienced a football game this close in my life, and it’s an experience I will take to my bloody grave.
We finally make it outside when I hear a voice call out my name. “Daphney, is that you?”
I look off into the distance and spot the blonde hair of my sister-in-law, Vi, running toward me. “What are you doing here?” she asks, embracing me in a hug. “Were you at the match? Where were you sitting?”
I shake off the stupor I’m still feeling from that match and clear my hoarse throat to reply, “We had first row seats that Phoebe scored.”
“I know a bloke.” Phoebe laughs and flicks her hair over her shoulder.
“Oh my God, I would have loved to have joined you guys,” Vi nearly growls as she ushers Phoebe and me over to where Poppy, Belle, and Allie are standing by a chain-link fence. “We were high up in a suite because that’s what Camden booked us, and no one can hear me screaming from up there.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. They heard this one,” Phoebe says, grabbing hold of my arm and pointing at me. “You should have heard her bellowing like a banshee at every play. Especially at the end when Zander took that shot.”
“How is Roan doing?” I ask, turning my focus to Allie because it had to be scary seeing him lying on the pitch like that.
“He’s doing okay,” she replies with a sad smile. “Indie called and told me he’s on concussion protocol, again, but they think he’ll be cleared in a week. I just want to get him home and into bed. Is it awful of me to be ready for him to retire already?”
“Not awful,” Vi responds, wrapping her arm around Allie. “Reasonable.”
Allie smiles gratefully and then glances at me to say, “Zander did a great job filling in for him on that kick, though.”
“Complete genius,” Poppy adds. “They had no idea what to expect from Zander, so it was an ace move.”
Vi’s blue eyes lock on me. “It’s very nice of you to cheer on your neighbor, Daphney. I see you’re even sporting his club colors.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Just showing the family some support.”
“Zander isn’t a Harris last time I checked,” Phoebe coos, and I have to refrain myself from smacking her arm.
Vi winks at me playfully. “Wearing green and white is very neighborly of you, Daphney.”
“Shut up, both of you,” I exclaim, hating how Vi always sees right through me. “Zander and I are just mates.”
“Wish I had more mates who looked like that,” Belle adds, and everyone starts to giggle at my expense.
“Oh, my God. I’m going to leave.” I make a move to do so.
“Keep your shirt on,” Vi whines and grabs my arm. “We’re just winding you up.”
I cross my arms and harrumph. “Where’s my brother tonight?”
“Home watching the child,” Vi laughs. “We’re having a tequila sunrise ladies’ night tonight. We’re just waiting for Indie to come out of the changing rooms.”
“There she is now!” Belle says and points over at the gated entrance where several players’ cars are all parked. “Oi, hot stuff! Were you peeping on your husband in the changing rooms? They’ll take away your medical license for that!”
Indie laughs and shakes her head, walking over to the chain-link fence. “Hush, you,” Indie chirps, toying with her mess of red curls piled on top of her head. “I’m just going to wait until Camden comes out to tell him good game, and then I’m ready for a drink!”
As if on cue, the doors open again, and I swear everything turns to slow motion as several footballers all come strolling out. They’re kitted out in various stages of posh and casual, but no less expensive with their fancy watches, trainers, and matching jogger sets.
I hear collective audible sighs from all of the females within eyesight. And let’s face it, males too. Footballers in England aren’t something you get to see close up every day, and after a gripping match like that, it’s really reminded me how God-like they all are.
I’m instantly snapped out of my fawning when I spot Zander’s Red Sox hat sticking out of the mix. I turn on my heel and eye Phoebe harshly. “Shit, he’s going to think I’m out here waiting for him like a WAG.”
“No, he’s going to think you’re out here waiting for him like a neighbor with benefits. A NeWB, if you will,” Phoebe murmurs.
I can’t help but smile. “You really are a cheeky cow.”
“Hey, Ducky.” Zander’s familiar voice sends chills down my spine.
Inhaling sharply, I brace myself as I turn around to face him. I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. I’m sort of stunned by his appearance. I’ve watched him play on the telly a couple of times now, but after seeing him on the pitch, up close and personal like that, I can’t help but slip into a full-blown swoon.
Did he get taller? More muscu
lar? And did his eyes always sparkle like that? It’s like they’ve been electrified with light, and he’s pointing them right at me, and I am fucking dazzled into silence.
He laughs as I struggle to find words and asks, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be here?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and tuck my hair behind my ears. “I didn’t know until Phoebe came and sprung me from the pub. I have no clue how she got Hubert to let me off.”
“That will be a secret between Hubie and me.” Phoebe waggles her eyebrows playfully at Zander, and the immediate flash of my jealousy takes me off guard.
I roll my eyes and attempt to gain control of my emotions and then realize that Zander isn’t even looking at her. He’s looking at me. He bites his lip as his eyes move down my body, making everything inside me clench with desire. My God, when will I stop thinking about sex every time I’m around him?
“What are you doing now?” he inquires, his voice huskier than before.
“We’re headed to Old George for a drink,” Phoebe says, throwing her arm around me.
I bite my lip and wish I could ditch my best friend right now. Zander has that look in his eyes that makes it very clear he doesn’t feel like being social. I like that look. I think I could look in the mirror and see the very same look on my face.
“Can I come?” Zander asks, surprising me.
“Yes,” I husk, my voice sounding so obvious that I want to slap some sense into myself.
“We’ll meet you there!” Phoebe calls back and grabs my arm, dragging me away from the one thing I want.
Zander
I’m seated at a picnic table in the beer garden of Old George. A smattering of my teammates is running around, celebrating tonight’s big win while I sit here drinking my beer in silence and trying my hardest not to eye-fuck the shit out of Daphney.
Adrenaline is still roaring in my veins. That game, the foul, that penalty kick at the end. I just scored my first Premier League goal during an FA Cup match, and it feels fucking amazing. And the fact that Daphney was in the stands and saw the whole thing? Fuck, I’m getting hard just thinking about it.
