“Oh, are they from Lucas?” Hayley asked, raising her eyebrows. She gave me a pointed look and I rolled my eyes.
“Jeesh, you guys are nosy?” I muttered, feeling uncomfortable.
“You should have asked a real Chester fan, not this wank stain,” Charlie complained.
“She invited me because I’m nice to look at, unlike this old git,” Phil threw back.
Hayley looped her arm through mine and pulled me aside. “Did Lucas really give you the tickets?” she whispered.
I thought about denying it.
But I didn’t.
“Yes, he’s leaving me two tickets at the ticket office. I thought about not going. I know nothing about English football.” I took a sip of my tea. It was awful. Too strong and not enough milk.
“But instead, you decided to invite Phil Wickenham. Interesting choice by the way.” Hayley smirked.
“What’s the big deal? I knew he liked sports.”
“What game are you playing, Morgan Carter?”
I drew myself upright. “I don’t play games, Hayley,” I huffed. “I just thought I’d take advantage of the tickets by asking someone who I knew would enjoy them.”
Hayley gave me a disbelieving look but didn’t say anything else. She grabbed a donut and she split it with Charlie as they left the breakroom. Charlie was still complaining about me not asking him to the match.
Phil put his hand in the center of my back. It felt like an overly familiar gesture. Too intimate. “Thanks for thinking of me. I’m looking forward to Saturday, no matter how you got the tickets,” he said softly.
Maybe inviting Phil to make a point to Lucas was a bad idea.
“EIGHT QUID FORparking. That’s bloody ridiculous,” Phil complained as we got out of his car.
“I can pitch in if you want,” I offered, already second-guessing my decision to bring Phil. Mostly because when he wasn’t talking about himself, he wasn’t that interesting of a person. I knew nothing about football, or rugby, or cricket, which seemed to be the only topics he could sustain a conversation about.
“That’s okay,” he sighed, putting the parking receipt on his dashboard before locking the doors. “Foley Field is a half mile walk.” He looked down at my feet. “You okay with those on?”
I had worn heels. Not stilettos or anything, but not the best footwear if we were going to be walking far.
“I’ll be fine,” I said tersely.
“You look great, Morgan, but you aren’t exactly dressed for a footie match,” he laughed and I felt like hitting him.
“I wasn’t aware there was a dress code,” I snapped, smoothing my thin cotton skirt. It was a particularly warm day. The sun was out, which was nice, but the air was thick with humidity. I had decided on a flowing skirt and tank top thinking I wouldn’t die of heat exhaustion. The heels were silly, but my legs looked great and that had been my entire motivation.
Though, if I was being honest with myself, not because I cared what Phil thought of my legs.
“No, it’s fine. I just want you to be comfortable,” Phil said as we started to walk across the parking lot. “If your feet start hurting, I’ll carry you.” His smile was sweet. I sighed, forcing myself to stop getting annoyed with every thing he said.
It’s not his fault he was a self-centered narcissist.
“Did I tell you about the time a scout for Manchester United saw me play in my afterschool football club? Sure he was the dad of one of the other players, but he always said I had potential…”
I tuned out.
We fell in step with a large group of people obviously heading toward the soccer stadium. Most of them wore red and black with some sort of emblem that appeared to be a cross and a flower. I could make out the name Chester Athletics at the top. Everyone seemed incredibly excited. Some were incredibly drunk.
As we got closer to the stadium I was surprised at how varied the crowd was. There were families with young children, dignified older women, rowdy teenagers, wasted men in packs singing chants about things being shoved up arses that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.
I was a little overwhelmed.
