“Why am I even friends with you?” I mutter under my breath, but it only makes him laugh more.
“Your life would be pretty boring without me, mate, and you know it.”
My thoughts drift to my tempting little devil again, and right after I’d just got my dick under control. If it weren’t for Andy pushing me to go to the club, I wouldn’t be doing whatever it is we’re doing.
Needing to distract myself before I kick him out of my office and do something stupid like jerk off to her photo andsend her the evidence of what she does to me, I push to my feet and grab my team board.
“Come on, let’s go get the win.”
He follows me out of my office and falls into step beside me as we make our way towards the locker room.
“I heard Whitford’s been on the radar of some scouts?”
I nod in confirmation. I’ve had a couple of phone calls about our captain in the past week. “Not just local.”
Andy jerks his head to look at me. “Serious?”
“Yeah. If he plays his cards right, he could be jetting off to Europe.”
“Can’t deny, the kid’s got natural talent.”
“That he does.” I push open the doors to the changerooms, the electric anticipation for the game engulfing me before I’ve stepped inside.
This feeling doesn’t get old.
The low hum of conversation fills the space like a live current, but it cuts off when we enter. Sixteen men turn to look at us, hunger in their eyes and fire in their bellies.
“How are we feeling?” I ask, clapping our captain, Luca Whitford, on the shoulder as I pass.
A chorus of, “Good, Coach,” fills the room, and I grin.
Andy moves over to the whiteboard, and I head towards our goalkeepers, who are tossing a ball back and forth in the corner. Our reserve, Zac Kincaid, meets my gaze before swallowing and dropping his head. He’s a good kid, quick off his line with a shit tonne of potential. When Mitch Peters graduates at the end of this year, I have no doubt the team will be left in good hands.
After a quick check-in with the keepers, I join Andy atthe whiteboard, and the players gather around, kitted up and ready to lock in.
“What are we hoping for today?” I ask, scanning their faces.
Some are bouncing on their toes, shaking out their pre-game jitters, while others are stoic and steady, gazes fixed on mine.
“The win,” they shout in unison.
“That’s right, boys, but so are Northern Rivers. We know they’re tough competition, but to be the best, you’ve got to beat the best. You’ve each got a role to play today, and if we stick to our tactics and set plays, we’ll be a force to be reckoned with. Win your one-on-one battles, and we’ll win the game.”
A chorus of, “Yeah, boys,” and “Let’s do this,” echoes around us as the team get around one another to psych each other up.
Andy and I go through our starting lineup and our plan of attack. The players nod their heads as they listen, throwing out more encouragement.
“Alright,” I say finally, clapping my hands together. “Let’s go warm up.”
The room erupts in noise as the boys rally, and Andy and I follow them onto the pitch.
At half time,the scores are tied at nil all. We’ve had the majority of the ball, but we’ve also had some close calls. A corner for Northern Rivers almost resulted in an own goal when the ball ricocheted off Ritters’ boot.Luckily, Peters was ready for it, and the crowd heaved a collective sigh of relief along with the bench.
When the team crowds in at half time, I hold out the board, moving the magnets around and drawing up a new play. “Right, boys. They expect us to bring it down the wing and cut in behind like we did in the first half, but it hasn’t created enough chances. Instead, we’re going to have Peters play out to Noah, who’ll come down the middle.”
“Switch up to a diamond formation?” Noah asks.
“Nice,” Luca says, nodding. “They won’t see it coming.”
