Jade
Good luck on the match tonight.
T
Will you be there?
I do own the team, so it’s in my best interest to go.
I realize then I’ve been standing at my kitchen counter, coffee forgotten this whole time because I was so wrapped up in talking to him. That alone is a problem.
A notification pops up a second later. My heart jumping in my chest is an even bigger problem. I have to get a fucking grip.
T
You should wear team colours. You know…in support.
I needed to murder the butterflies in my stomach. A blowtorch should do the trick.
Jade
Shouldn’t you be heading into practice?
T
Yes, boss.
I down my coffee and shuffle into my bedroom, heading to my closet, where I rifle through every hanger and drawer, but come up empty. My habit of wearing only neutrals means I don’t own anything in myownteam’s colors. Displeasure shifts through me before I shake it off.
It’s probably for the best. I don’t want to impress anyone anyway. At least that’s what I tell myself for the rest of the day.
It’s twenty minutes into the first half of the game when the walking embodiment of an alternative forest sprite shoves her way into my row and plops into the seat next to me.
Tieran’s sister is wearing a pair of chartreuse, wide leg pants with a fitted maroon crop top that stops just under her chest, showing off a tattoo peeking out at her sternum. Half her hair is pulled up into small space buns, the rest falling just past her shoulders in waves, allowing me to see multiple piercings adorning her ears. With the smattering of tattoos on her arms, no less than fourteen layered necklaces, and stacks of rings on her hands, she’s infuriatingly cool.
“God, the things I’d do for a stale mince pie and a crisp pint,” the pastel woodland creature says.
“Depraved things?” I ask.
“Morally questionable, for sure.” She grins wickedly.
“Murder?” I raise an eyebrow in her direction.
“At the very least, a little maiming.”
We both sit in silence before she snorts with laughter, and I crack a smile.
“Lottie.” She extends her hand, and I grasp it firmly in mine.
“Jade,” I introduce myself.
She nods solemnly looking out at the players running across the pitch. “The drunk from M&S who knocked over the tower of crisps, I remember.”
I whip my head to face her so quickly, my vision spots. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to…” The words taper off when I see the devious smile gracing her coquettish face. “You and your brother are so similar,” I mutter, refocusing on the game.
“Freakishly attractive? Disarmingly charming?”
“Mind bogglingly humble is what I was thinking.”
