Lachlan is on the other side of the pool with one of the physios, but when he sees me he shoots through the water like a seal and hauls himself up out of the pool, a small wave splashing over therim. I know I shouldn’t look, but I can’t help myself, because water is wending its way down his abs like a river carving out a canyon. His navy blue swim trunks are slung low across his hips, and, sodden as they are, they cling to his perversely muscled thighs and the outline of his perfect…
“Dick!” Kieran shouts from the hot tub, his voice jarring me from a train of thought that was getting filthy fast. “You got water all over Abby’s shoes.”
I look down at my flats and see that they are, in fact, soaking. Funnily enough, I hadn’t noticed.
“Shit, sorry, Stripes. I’ve just got so much energy from kicking Matty’s arse earlier. Can’t contain it.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll get my bill. These shoes costtwenty-fiveAmerican dollars.”
“Damn, can I pay that in installments?”
Kieran steps out of the hot tub to come join us, wrapping a towel around his waist. “What are you guys talking about? Coordinating a few more answers so you can beat the Skipper again next time?”
I laugh. “I swear, there was no collusion. I just know a lot about all of you. It’s kind of my job.”
“Yeah, but I bet he doesn’t know all those things about you.” Kieran jerks his head at Lachlan.
“Try me,” Lachlan says. There’s a spark in his eyes and he crosses his arms. It’s making me a little nervous—he’s inherited Matty’s aggressive energy, and it’s being directed squarely at Kieran. There’s absolutely no need for this to escalate.
“What’sherfavorite band?” Kieran asks, before I can say anything to stop him.
Lachlan smirks. “Easy. The Beatles.”
Kieran turns to me, and I shrug. “Pedestrian as that choice maybe, he’s correct. It’s the only reason I moved to Liverpool. Certainly wasn’t to go work in football. Am I saying that right? Foo-tuh-ball?”
The men ignore this pathetic attempt at a joke.
“If she was a footballer, what position would she play?” Kieran asks.
“Midfielder,” says Lachlan. “She’s clever as hell, has great situational awareness, great communications skills. Easy.”
Kieran shakes his head. “Nah, mate, she’d be a striker. American aggression, innit? Good for goals. She’d be banging ’em in left, right, and center.”
I’d never thought about it before, but Lachlan’s analysis seems much closer than Kieran’s. I may be American, but I’m certainly not aggressive. Ever wary of playing favorites, I choose a third option, and attempt once more to move us all along. “Sorry, but you’re both wrong. I’d be a goalie, because what girl doesn’t love ten men knocking their balls at her face for ninety minutes?”
Kieran laughs at that, maybe a little bit too hard. The energy is truly bizarre right now, with Lachlan tense and aggro, Kieran flirtatious and challenging, and me standing here with soaking wet shoes and no clue what’s really happening.
“What’s her pet peeve?” Kieran asks.
I jump in quickly this time and say the first thing that pops into my head. “People asking me to explain offsides, duh.”
Lachlan smiles and rounds on me. “What did you just say?”
I slap my forehead. “Fuck, offside, I know, I know. It’s a surprisingly hard habit to kick.”
He takes a step toward me. “That’s right. Now if you could kindly explain it to me, you won’t have to go into the pool.”
I blanch. He’s explained the rule at least three times at this point, and I get the gist of it, but there are nuances I can neverquite nail. “Well, I, I mean…” I stammer. “I know it when I see it: The guy getting the ball has to be behind someone from the other team or he’s offside.”
He takes another step. “Starting from when?”
“When he…gets the ball?”
Lachlan makes a buzzer noise. “Wrong!” He scoops me up and dangles me over the pool. “Starting from when?”
I’ve always hated being picked up, because I’ve never been a waif. I have this mortifying fear that I’ll be too heavy, that I’m somehow so much denser than anyone expects, and it would be like hoisting a huge sack of flour. But Lachlan lifts me like I’m a loaf of bread. I feel weightless. I feel giddy, but that’s maybe because of how his chest is pressed into my back, my now-damp shirt the only thing between us. His arms are locked around my waist and they’re still cold from the pool, and they feel so smooth under my touch. I’m flailing wildly as he holds me over the water, but he doesn’t move at all.
He shakes me and repeats the question but I’m laughing so hard I can’t get out any words—which is good, because I’ve forgotten the answer. I wonder what happens if I get it wrong, if he’ll throw himself into the pool with me still in his arms, if the two of us will float there together for a while…
