Monica rolled her eyes. “It’s half-time, dingbat. You were doing so well.”
All three of them collapsed into giggles.
Yet Carmine remained fixed on Noah. The way his face lit up following Udo’s goal. This was a part of his life that Carmine would have to understand and share, even a little, if he was to love all of him.
“Right,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Which direction are we playing again?”
“Is this a crash course in football?” came another voice from behind them.
They whirled around and Samantha gave a yelp.
“Oh hi, Paloma,” he said blushing. “This is my sister, Monica, and… friend, Samantha.”
She nodded at both of them, who seemed to be equally as agog. It was understandable. Up close Paloma was even more devastatingly beautiful than she was on screen.
“When I was first dating Goran, I hadn’t a clue,” she said. “In all honesty, I drift a lot. The menfolk usually give us a warning when something is about to happen. If only that transferred to other parts of their lives.”
They all roared with laughter, which earnt them a shushing from a number of said menfolk. All three focused on the game. Noah was covering some ground.
“He’s lightning,” Monica said.
“He should be,” Carmine replied. “He lives, eats and breathes the game.”
“Jealous?” she asked.
“Adapting,” he replied.
Is that what it was? Why couldn’t he be more blasé like Paloma? Maybe she hadn’t always been like that.
Did he have it in him to give in to the game and mould his life around it?
He tried to focus on the match. Fat chance. His eyes were drawn only to Noah. He certainly was on fire.
Monica squeezed his hand.
“Why not see what happens?” she whispered.
He nodded.
He didn’t really have much choice.
Unfortunately, even with Udo’s goal, Brockton lost. Carmine was sure his Nonna would tell him that was a bad omen. Somethinghe didn’t dare voice in front of Monica. She’d be all over it. He’d save that for coffee with Samantha on Monday. He needed her cool rejection of such illogical thoughts.
“Will he be raging?” Samantha asked before taking a large swig from a glass of sauvignon blanc.
“Of course not,” he replied. “Noah doesn’t have a rage setting.”
“Not one you’ve found yet,” Monica cut in. “They all have the setting sooner or later.”
A man with a terrible tan and too much gold jewellery barged into the room. He was closely followed by another man, who Carmine recognised as Javier Tosar. Thank goodness he’d done some research.
“Jamie,” Javier said. “There’s no sense in taking it out on the lads.”
Jamie Walter? He’s the bloody Chair.
Jamie clapped his hands together even though some players, including Noah, hadn’t even come up.
“Another shit performance, lads,” he said. “I know you’re focusing on the cup but if you please make sure we’re not facing a fucking relegation battle by the end of the season. That would be very much appreciated.”
