The stadium pumped music over the speakers. The giant screens flashed pictures of the team, clips of previous games, and shots of the fans as they waited for the game to start. A man dressed like a giant bird danced up and down the field, waving at the kids in the stands.
“Who’s the bird?” I asked pointing to the mascot.
“That’s Frankie the falcon. He’s Chester’s mascot. And that box over there is for the owners of the club. Bernie Campbell bought the club last year. That’s when he brought on Jack Millwood and turned the club completely around. A lot of times these owners are just a bunch of tossers with too much money. Big Bernie has been this club’s savior,” Phil explained, though I was barely listening.
The atmosphere was overwhelming. I had never been to a professional sports game before. I remembered a cousin inviting me to a college basketball game when I was little. All I could recall about the experience was eating too much cotton candy and throwing up on the floor.
But this was something else.
The energy was electric and it was hard not to get carried away with it.
I bounced my legs in rhythm to the pumping beat of the music. I was starting to sweat in the hot sun so I used the program as a makeshift fan.
“So which team is which?” I asked, scanning the faces, all of them unfamiliar.
Phil leaned close to me, his arm slung over the back of my chair, his fingers brushing my skin. He was becoming pretty touchy feely.
He pointed to the guys wearing red shirts. There were a dozen or so of them kicking a ball back and forth and running sprints. “That’s Chester. In the red and black. They were in terrific form last season. Let’s hope they keep it up now they’re in the top flight. Some pundits say they could go all the way, though only time will tell.”
I barely heard anything Phil said because my eyes had zeroed in on a certain man with tattoos and a closely shorn head.
Lucas.
We were close enough that I could see him frowning in concentration. He was already sweating. I could see the glistening sheen above his upper lip and dotting his forehead. He kicked a ball to a man I recognized as his friend from the pub. Alan something or other.
A man in a tracksuit with Chester emblazoned on the back called Lucas’ name, who came jogging over to talk to him.
I couldn’t help but watching him. Lucas grinned at whatever the other man was saying. His smile was sort of amazing when he wasn’t using it to be a douche.
I sat up higher in my seat, all too aware of Phil’s fingers still on my arm. I ate the rest of my sausage and watched Chester—and Lucas— as they ran sprints up and down the field. Lucas—and the other players of course—were obviously physically fit. I tried not to stare at the way his muscles rippled beneath his tight fitting shirt. And I definitely tried not to remember how it felt to touch them.
Nope. I wouldn’t think about that at all.
I crossed my legs, feeling a throbbing there that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. All the while Phil reeled off facts about the team. About the owner. About the players. And I tried to suppress the giddy buzzing that had unleashed in my belly as I watched Lucas the super football player.
“They’ve brought on some interesting new players this season. Take the new keeper, Claudio Pacetti. He came from Juventes and made a name for himself there as one of the best keepers in the Italian League. They paid over twelve million for him. Their biggest purchase to date. Even Bradley didn’t get that much when he re-upped his contract this year.”
“Mhmm,” I murmured, trying to act as though I were listening. I leaned forward in my chair, trying to put some distance between me and Phil’s clingy fingers. Lucas had stopped and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. It was impossible not to look at him. Which was more than a little annoying.
He took a drink from a water bottle and tossed it to a young boy on the sidelines. Then he looked up. His eyes scanned the stands. Maybe taking in the crowd. Maybe searching for something in particular.
Then his eyes met mine.
And it was like something out of the movies. My heart sped up and I lifted a hand in a goofy half wave.
He smiled and waved back.
I gave him a thumbs up and Lucas laughed.
Oh my god, had I seriously just given him a thumbs up? I was so lame. I wanted to smack myself in the face.
Then he gave me a double thumbs up and I didn’t feel like such an idiot.
“Did I tell you that my cousin’s son was a ball boy for Chester a few times last season? He has season tickets, but the bastard won’t ever part with them. Not even for family.” Phil rubbed my arm, leaning into me again.
“Yeah, can you give me a little space? It’s really hot out here,” I said tightly, moving away from my persistent co-worker. Inviting him was most definitely not my smartest move to date.
I turned back to where Lucas stood on the field but his smile was gone. His eyes weren’t on me. They were on Phil. And he didn’t look pleased.
