Rookie (Playing The Field Book 2)

by Rebecca Barber

  6

  Seth

  I felt like a dick.

  I should.

  I was a dick.

  I’d had plans with Claire, and for the third night in a row, I’d bailed at the last minute. It wasn’t deliberate and if I’d had my way, I never would’ve cancelled, but I had to put soccer and my career first. I’d worked too hard for too long to half-arse it now even if it felt like I was making the biggest mistake in the world.

  Thursday arrived and my training wasn’t getting any better, and I was beginning to second guess the reason I was even here. I sucked. I didn’t fit in with the team, and they didn’t really seem to want me here. If that was the case, what was the point?

  This morning, Luca had pulled me aside and even now, hours after the fact, I still wasn’t sure if he had on his coach hat or his friend of a friend cap. He’d told me I was trying too hard. Going out all gun’s blazing, trying to outscore, outplay, out tackle my teammates wasn’t going to win me any medals. Or friends. Even though I knew he was right, it was hard to hear. I’d been trying so hard, probably too hard, to prove I was worth it. Prove I could be valuable. Prove that I wasn’t some smart arse know it all. Turns out, that’s all I’d done.

  After going home and sulking for a couple of hours, Luca told me to come with him. I think he felt sorry for me, either that or he was sick of looking at me sitting on the couch staring miserably at the wall. Having no clue what we were doing or no better offers, I didn’t have to meet Claire for another couple of hours, I did as I was told, changed into a pair of shorts and runners and followed him out the door.

  We walked uphill for what seemed like an eternity before turning and cutting through an alleyway. When we popped back out in civilisation, I was surprised to see we were standing in the middle of a clearing at the back of the high school I drove past each day on my way to the club.

  “What are we doing here?” I asked, looking around.

  It was just the two of us and a huge green soccer field which wasn’t as well kept as the one we trained on each morning. Where this one was patchy with puddles of mud, ours was pristine with thick white lines marking the ground. This one didn’t even have lines, well, not that I could see anyway.

  “Playing,” Luca answered simply.

  “Playing what?”

  “Football.”

  “Huh?”

  “Seth, you’re a good kid. And you know how to play the game. Your problem isn’t your foot skills or your fitness or even your fancy new boots. It’s mental. You’re trying to prove to everyone you’re the big shot you want to be. You’re forgetting football is supposed to be fun.”

  “Fun?”

  “Yeah, fun. Remember that word? Kids have it all the time. It’s what you used to feel when you played with your friends in the playground at lunchtime. Or when you played at the under tens carnival and played all day. You used to play for fun. Not money.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.”

  His words made sense, they really did, but I had no idea how I could go back. How did I forget that this game, the one that was supposed to be fun, was my future? I’d given up everything else for it, and if I fucked it up, I’d be left with nothing. I got what he was saying, I just wasn’t sure it was possible.

  “So, you and I are going to play. For fun,” he emphasised, dropping the ball on his foot and showing off with some tricks.

  While he mucked around, I stood back and watched him. He was an incredible footballer, but I already knew that. I’d been watching him play for years. But this, this was different. He was playing a game of keepings off. We’d all played it over the years, but the smile on Luca’s face showed better than his words ever could. He was enjoying himself. Out here, on a crappy field with no fans and no cameras he was just dicking around because he could. I wanted in on it.

  “We playing, or you trying to show off?” I challenged, taking a few steps backwards.

  “Me, showing off? You wouldn’t be able to keep up if I did,” Luca tossed back as he walked over to the goal nets and pulled his phone, wallet, and keys from his pocket, dropping them by the post.

  “Bring it on, old man,” I dared arrogantly.

  “Oh, those are fighting words, Conti,” a voice from behind me chuckled.

  “About time you got here. Where are the others?” Luca asked as I turned around and found Connor and Angus striding across the grass towards us.

  “Saw Hamish parking and Kurt’s behind you,” Connor answered, tugging off his hoodie.

  “Wh-what’s going on?” I asked dumbly.

  I thought Luca and I were just going to muck around, but with teammates coming in from every direction, this was feeling more and more like a setup. Something I wasn’t super impressed about.

  “Quit your bitching, Rookie. Let’s play,” Kurt announced, throwing a ball into the middle of where we were standing.

  Before I knew what was happening, Luca had stolen the ball and taken off towards the goals at the other end of the field. For a retired old man, he still knew how to move.

  “Well, Rookie, you going to let him score or what?” Connor challenged, and everyone turned and looked at me.

  “Why’ve I gotta go get it?”

  “Cause you’re the rookie. And you’re playing on Coach today,” Angus added.

  “Thank fuck it’s not my turn,” Hamish chuckled, pulling out a bright yellow bib he had in the bag at his feet before throwing one at me and Connor. “You’re on my team, Rookie. Let’s do this!”

  Hamish was confusing the ever-loving fuck out of me. At training he was so serious. He rarely spoke and, in the gym, he always had his earbuds in and his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him as he worked his way through the circuit. Out here though, out here he was different. Almost a completely different person. He was kinda cool as he fist-pumped me before jogging off down the field to where Luca stood, showing off bouncing the ball off his feet, knees, and head, never once letting it touch the ground. Following along like the lost little puppy I felt like, I couldn’t help but smile when I heard Angus and Kurt whinging. Apparently being on Luca’s team was no better than being his direct opponent. Both sucked.

  Twenty minutes later and I had more knocks and had landed on my arse more times than I normally did in an entire game. More of the boys showed up, and it was just a free for all. They divided themselves into teams, but that was about the extent of the rules.

  “Can we play?” I heard someone ask as the ball sailed through the air and dropped directly in front of me.

  “Sure. Grab a bib and join in,” Luca invited.

  There were half a dozen guys from the high school, still in their gym shorts standing on the sidelines, backpacks discarded at their feet. It took them barely a minute to shrug on bibs and run onto the field, seemingly not afraid of taking on bigger, older, and professional players.

  The trash talk was incredible. It rivalled the shit I used to give to Bryce on a daily basis when he pranced around the backyard pretending the aerial ping-pong bullshit game he played was a real man’s sport. Training was never like this.

  When a skinny kid with possibly the world’s worst haircut passed me the ball, I heard Luca comment behind me that it was on. Remembering the advice he’d given me earlier about having fun, I ignored all the rules and courtesies that had been beaten into my head over the years and did just that.

  Barely thirty seconds later I was lifted from my feet and hoisted up on shoulders. There was cheering and clapping and hooting and hollering. Anyone watching from the sidelines would’ve thought I just kicked the winning goal in the World Cup final, and if I was being honest, that’s exactly what it felt like too. I’d just scored on Luca Conti. Australia’s favourite footballing son. I’d made him look like a fool. And fuck, it felt good.

  “Nice goal, Masters,” Luca grumbled. “Shame you were offside.”

  “Bullshit he was offside, Conti!” Hamish defended.

  “You just hate to lose, Luca,
” Kurt mumbled as he stripped his bib off.

  Obviously, the game was over, and Luca was pouting like I’d seen his adorable niece Phoebe do.

  “So, who’s up for beer and burgers?” Connor asked around. A few of the guys mumbled something about needing to get home to the wife and kids, but when Connor elbowed me in the ribs asking me pointedly, I felt like I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to. For the first time all week, I was starting to feel like I might actually be in the right place. That I hadn’t taken a wrong turn and gotten completely lost.

  “I’m in!” I agreed, digging my phone from my pocket and doing something that made me feel like shit. I cancelled on Claire. Again. It was the right call and one I’d make again and again, but it didn’t mean it felt good. Somehow, I promised myself, I’d make it up to her. That is if she let me.

  “Sweet. Conti?”

  It was kinda cool that Luca was one of us. Up here, away from the club and the press and the pressure, he was just one of us. He was the happiest when he was chasing a ball up and down the field and showing off his epicness. Hell, if I could do half the things he could do, I’d be showing off too. And not once had I heard anyone call him ‘Coach’. It was kinda cool.

  Turning around, I saw him and a few of the other guys taking selfies with the school kids. Everyone was smiling and laughing and having a good time, and I knew Luca was right. This is what I’d been missing. What I’d forgotten. The fun.

  “Conti…beer and burgers?” Hamish asked again.

  “I dunno. I’d have to call…”

  “Yeah, yeah. We know. Elise has your balls in her purse. But are you coming out with us or you going home to eat your kale salad with a nice glass of coconut water?” Kurt added.

  It was weird to see someone talking to him like that. I lived with the guy and even though I’d seen firsthand what Kurt was saying was true, I’d never call him out on it. But I guess it was different when you’d known each other for so long. At one point, Kurt had played alongside Luca in representative teams and then as his opponent before Luca’s retirement. There was a deep, ingrained respect there, but away from the confines of the club, they were first and foremost, mates.

  “Like you’re any better. Penny has yours in a drawer in the back of the cupboard. It’s not like you’ve used them any time in the last ten years,” Luca tossed back as he jogged over to the goal post and collected his stuff.

  “So, you’re in?”

  “I’m in. Seth?”

  Tucking my phone in my pocket, I headed over to join them. “Yep. Let’s do it.”

  7

  Claire

  “Let me get this right,” Isaac asked as he rocked back on the plastic chair, peeling the label off his beer bottle. “You want me, your big brother, to come with you on a date tomorrow?”

  When he said it like that it sounded dumb.

  “Please tell me you’re joking, Claire,” Alfred begged, staring at me like I’d grown an extra head.

  “Come on, Isaac. I need help.”

  “Obviously,” Alfred muttered under his breath.

  “Ask Warner,” he redirected.

  “Ask Warner what?” he asked, appearing with the tray of meat ready to toss on the barbeque.

  It’d turned into a tradition around here. I guess it was our version of family dinner. On Friday nights, whoever was home, we barbequed. The boys were in charge of the grilling, and because I was the girl, I got to make the salad and boil the potatoes. Last week, just to be a bitch, I’d picked up the tongs and turned a sausage, one sausage and I thought Jason was going to have a fit. I mean, I was more than capable of doing it, but I guess the fact I was missing an appendage meant I had to go back to the kitchen. At least it was the only thing they were sexiest about.

  “To go on Claire’s date with her tomorrow,” Isaac explained.

  “What? You asked Isaac to chaperone?”

  “No! No, I asked him to help me.”

  “Help you on your date?” Warner clarified.

  “Geez! It’s not a date!”

  It was no wonder they were all single. They were annoying as fuck. Once they got an idea in their heads, they didn’t let up even if it was the wrong idea. They were like a freaking dog with a bone.

  “Sounds like a date to me,” Isaac mumbled as he got up and grabbed another beer from the esky at his feet.

  “It’s not a date. A friend of mine…”

  “A male friend?”

  “Yes, a male friend. He’s learning to surf, and I could use a hand teaching him because I know as much about surfing as that rock over there,” I finally got out, pointing to the boulder in the back yard.

  “Does this friend have a name?” Alfred piped up, leaning forward in his chair and pulling his phone from his pocket.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “And would you care to tell me what it is?” Alfred invited.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at me. It was a standoff. They weren’t going to help me unless I handed over his name. Some days I wanted to bang their heads together. No, most days I did.

  Knowing it wasn’t a battle I could win, I conceded defeat. My plan for the epicness of a date depended on them helping me. I couldn’t afford to hold my ground on this one. With a sigh, I snagged a beer and sunk down onto the step. “Seth.”

  “Seth?” Isaac repeated.

  “Yes, Seth.”

  “And does this ‘Seth’ have a surname?”

  Alfred was already tapping away at his phone. I had no doubt that as soon as he had enough information to go on, he’d be doing a full background check. Give him twenty minutes and he’d be able to give me his driving record history. Give him an hour, and I’d have a copy of his current playing contract, salary details, and measurements – something I absolutely did not want.

  “Masters. Seth Masters. Happy now?” I sulked, taking a swig of my beer. As soon as the liquid touched my tongue, I remembered why I didn’t drink the stuff. It was gross. Give me my sugar-filled, girly drinks any day.

  “Seth Masters? Are you fucking kidding me?” Jason boomed.

  “Who’s he?” Isaac perked up now giving the situation his full attention.

  “Don’t you know who Seth Masters is?”

  “No. Should I?”

  Isaac was shooting daggers at me with his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. It was written all over his face. Good thing he was a lifeguard not a poker player. Poor guy wouldn’t make a cent at the tables.

  “Seth Masters is the new rookie for Northshore United.”

  “And they are?”

  “Isaac, get with the fucking program. You need to stop watching that crap you call football, that aerial ping pong shit, and follow a real game. Real football.”

  “You mean soccer?”

  I found my feet. This had full-blown argument written all over it. Taking my beer, I stalked inside to the kitchen to make the salad, leaving them to bicker amongst themselves.

  I’d just finished chopping everything when Alfred appeared, holding his laptop and looking concerned. A sight I rarely saw. He might’ve known and understood more than the normal human being, and certainly more than my bonehead brother, who currently had Jason in a headlock on the back veranda demanding he apologise for calling Australian Rules Football a pussy sport, but Alfred was the emotional one. He felt everything. He’d cried with me through Titanic when Rose lied and let go. Even yesterday, after I got rejected for my third phone interview, he poured me a glass of wine, handed me the jar of Nutella and a spoon.

  “How much do you know about this guy, Claire?” he asked gently.

  If it’d been Isaac or Jason asking, I would’ve told them to stick it up their arse and mind their business, but this was Alfred. He wasn’t asking to be an arse; he was asking because he cared.

  “Honestly, not much. We met on the beach a couple of days ago. We ran the dunes together and then raced. It’s not anything more than mates.”

  “Did you know who he was?”r />
  “What are you implying? That I know his bank balance and that’s why…”

  “Whoa! Whoa!”

  “Do you seriously think I’m like that? That I figured out who he was and saw dollar signs?”

  Now I was pissed. Before, I’d been annoyed, but now, now I was fucking furious. I know Alfred didn’t know me that well, but to think so little of me, well fuck him. I didn’t have to put up with this shit.

  Leaving the knife where it was, I stomped down the hallway to my bedroom ignoring Alfred’s apologies, grabbed my purse, and was out the front door before anyone could stop me. I had no idea where I was going or what I was planning to do, but I knew if I stayed there a minute longer, I’d stab someone with a fork.

  I got in my car and heard it splutter. Glancing at the fuel gauge, I noticed it didn’t move. It didn’t even try to. It wasn’t a surprise but it just added to my frustrations. Climbing back out of the car, I slammed the door harder than was necessary and started walking down the street.

  When I reached the pub on the corner a couple of blocks down the road, it seemed like as good a place as any to hide for a couple of hours. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, I stepped through and was walked into almost immediately, beer sloshing over the top of the glasses the guy was carrying spilling onto my toes.

  “Gross,” I complained to no one as I wriggled my sticky toes.

  “Shit! Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “It’s fine.” I waved him off before stepping around him and heading deeper into the bar.

  It wasn’t the type of place I’d normally hang out, but tonight it was perfect. It wasn’t overly crowded. It was loud. And the last thing it’d ever be described as was fashionable. No one I knew would hang out in a place like this. With its threadbare carpet, high topped tables, and scratched wooden bar, it was more like the pubs from home than an inner-city fancy pants hotel.