“Where are you supposed to go, Morgan? Did they tell you?” Phil asked.
I folded up the Chester scarf, glad to take it off. “I was told to go to the members’ box. Let’s go meet some football players.”
Phil led me to the members’ box, which was little more than an enclosed space with a bar on one side and some couches.
“So what’s this room for?” I asked, looking around.
“For people that donate a lot of money to the club. Sponsors, ticketholders for decades. They get special perks, like being able to drink here before and during games. My cousin is a member. He pays for adverts in the program, spends quite a bit of dosh so he and his family get all sorts of privileges. Jammy bugger won’t help his cos’ out with some tickets now and again though.” He beckoned to the bartender and held up two fingers. “Two of your finest ales.”
The bartender uncapped two beers and slid them our way. I had only just taken a drink when I was approached by a frazzled looking man in an overly tight suit. “Are you the girl who won the halftime kick off?”
I put the beer down and nodded. “That’s me. I’m Morgan Carter.”
“I’m Byron Wallis. I’m the Operations Manager at Foley Field. If you’re ready, I’ll take you down to the dressing room. You can meet the players and get your picture taken.” He indicated for me to follow him.
“To the dressing room? Won’t they be…you know…dressing?” I asked, glancing at Phil.
Byron snorted. “I assure you, they will be decent. Now come on. They’re on a bit of a tight schedule. There’s a media event several of the players need to attend.”
Phil and I began to follow Byron but he abruptly stopped and turned to us. “I’m sorry, but only the girl can come. She won the contest.”
“But we’re here together,” I protested, frowning. Phil looked crestfallen.
“Sorry, those are the rules. You can wait here.” Then he walked out of the room, expecting me to follow him.
“I’m sorry, Phil. I won’t be long. I don’t even care about meeting the team.” I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would I see Lucas? Would he talk to me? I wasn’t entirely sure how I should behave around him. He had given me the tickets but his expression earlier when he had seen me with Phil had been less than friendly.
Phil shrugged. “I’ll order another beer. It’s fine. I’ll see you when you’re done. Maybe get me Claudio’s autograph. He’s amazing.”
“Claudio. Got it.” I smiled and hurried out of the room. Byron was waiting for me, looking incredibly impatient.
“Are you ready?” he asked tersely. What a pleasant guy.
“Yes. Sorry.”
The stadium had emptied out very quickly. There weren’t many people left inside. It felt different without the noise of the crowd. Byron led me through a narrow walkway behind the stands and we eventually came out of a small door at field level. Then we were making our way down the dark tunnel.
There were reporters and cameramen milling around, waiting for the players. Byron pushed past all of them and we came into a brightly lit room full of people. There were people taking pictures and lots of laughter. The atmosphere was energetic; the players clearly still high on their win.
I stood off to the side, not sure what I was supposed to do. I felt completely out of place. Byron waved towards someone. “You can mill around, meet the players.” A man with frizzy red hair and an even redder nose appeared by our side. “This is Fred Coburn, the assistant coach for the Athletics. Fred, this— sorry I forgot your name.”
I held out my hand for Fred to shake. “I’m Morgan. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you as well. You had a nice boot on you,” he commented.
“Uh, thanks. Look, if you guys are busy, I really don’t need to meet anyone—”
Fred grabbed a tall man with shapes shaved into the side of his head and beautifully dark skin. “This is Adam Koffi, our first team right midfielder. Adam, this is Morgan. She won that halftime contest. Say hello.”
“’ello,” Adam said with very little interest. He was tapping at his phone, not paying me any attention. Which was fine with me.
“Do you want a picture with Adam?” Fred asked, looking distracted.
“No, that’s okay.” I was suddenly knocked from behind and I stumbled forward on my heels.
“Careful there, love.” Someone steadied me and I got an eyeful of smooth, freshly showered skin. Lucas Bradley stood over me, wearing only a pair of shorts. His chiseled torso on proud display.
I had an urge to trace the lines of his abs with my finger.
