Officially Yours (Just A Guy With A Goal #3)

Chapter 1

One

I love the scent of success. A fresh, earthy smell lifts from the heated pitch. The board reads one to one. But we’ve outplayed the Forge. They have one decent forward and he’s carrying them today.

The brisk February air pricks at my nose as I watch the Chicago Forge forward. He slips past one Red Tail and then another. I charge as he approaches the box, lunging to stop him from getting lucky one more time. We won’t lose to luck. Not today. I can smell it.

But instead of winning the ball, I do the next best thing—the man’s foot catches on my ankle, and he stumbles. He throws his arms out wide before crashing to the ground and skidding across the grass.

Pansy.

I’m inches from the ball when the sideline’s flag goes up.

Of course it does. Little Miss brunette with her pennant of power can’t miss her moment to prove she’s in charge.

McCrae.

I wrinkle my nose and start toward the woman who enjoys making every other game her personal circus.

“Lucca!” Roman calls, his tone a warning. The Graveyard should be backing me up, not calling me down.

With McCrae’s hand to the headset at her ear, I hear just the last phrase she speaks to the center ref. “Yellow,” she says.

“Yellow?” I bark, three feet from her. “I was going for the ball.”

“That’s the fourth time tonight you’ve been going for the ball,” she deadpans, “and a man’s ended up on the ground.”

“Lucca!” Roman yells again, and when I whip my head back to glare, I see the center ref and Roman heading my way.

“That wasn’t a yellow,” I say, stepping a foot closer to Margaret McCrae. I ignore that pretty face. She’s like the devil in disguise. “I barely touched the guy. He’s playing you.”

McCrae stares ahead, her ash brown hair pulled back in an uptight ponytail. She doesn’t even have the decency to look me in the eye.

“Cruz!” the center ref yells from just a few yards away.

I take one step back from McCrae, still staring out at the field. “You know that wasn’t a yellow.”

But the center ref reaches into his pocket and holds the card up, inches from where I stand. “Persistent infringement,” he says, straight-faced.

I keep my eyes on McCrae. She’s getting exactly what she wants. It’s her circus and we have to obey the ringmaster.

“Walk away, Cruz, or I’m going for my red,” the man says.

I don’t know his name; I’m not even sure that tomorrow I’d be able to point out his face. He must be new on the referee list. If he weren’t, he’d know that Margaret McCrae has never liked me. She’s always pulling this crap when it comes to me.

“Now,” the man says.

And with the word, McCrae’s fixed stare finally shifts. Those honey-brown eyes drop from their faraway gaze to me. Then her lips purse in a sardonic smile.

The devil is not only getting me carded, but she’s grinning at me! Talk about evil.

Roman’s fingers wind around my upper arm and I am yanked from the sidelines. “Take it easy. It’s one yellow.”

“It’s the circus lackey bowing down to the ringmaster,” I tell him, but he doesn’t get it. Roman is the king of cards, but McCrae never makes him her stooge.

Callum laughs beside Zev. I should be celebrating with my teammates. We won after all. Two to one—just in time to skip out on overtime play.

Roman throws an arm around my neck, already showered, while I’m still in my sweaty and stained uniform.

“You’re quick today,” I say.

“Yeah, I wanna get home to Stell.” He stuffs his cleats into his duffel. “But I can’t go unless I’ve showered. It’s a new house rule.”

I grunt out a smirk. “New rule? I thought you were done with rules.”

“With fake marriage rules,” he mutters under his breath. “Yeah. But newly pregnant wife—that comes with a whole new set of rules.”

I should be enjoying this. I should be laughing with my best friend.

At least, he might be my best friend. I have a lot of friends…

I am absolutely his. Until a few months ago, the guy couldn’t play nice with anyone.

He didn’t have any friends. I changed that.

Me, and maybe his girl. Still, I’m seething over circus queen McCrae, so I can’t even celebrate our win.

I didn’t deserve that yellow card. The Forge throw themselves on the ground like ninnies and I get punished for it.

“Come on, Lucca,” Roman says, hugging his arm around my neck in a playful squeeze. “We won.”

“I know,” I growl. “But—”

“And it wasn’t an outrageous card. We’ve seen worse.”

“I’ve gotten worse,” Sawyer, our goalie, says. His fist bumps Roman’s. I watch the man walk away, no words for him or my friend.

“It was just one card,” Roman says, releasing my neck and slapping a hand on my back.

“Maybe it’s not the card but the woman that’s got you so worked up?” Zev’s elbow jabs me in the ribs.

Callum chuckles. “I thought the Lucca Cruz could charm any woman.”

But I’m not laughing. “She isn’t a woman,” I say. “She’s an official.”

“You get this way every time McCrae refs one of our games,” Callum says. “When are you going to let it go?”

“Wait.” Roman pauses his packing. “Is that why the last time we played Seattle, you threw a fit like a toddler?”

“I did not throw a fit,” I deadpan.

“You stomped off the field like your favorite toy had been taken away,” Zev says.

“I’m happy to pass on my nickname. You can be the Graveyard from now on.” Roman grins like he’s hilarious. He’s not.

“Ha. Ha,” I grumble, sounding a little like my grumpy friend. “Where are we going tonight to celebrate?” I’m ready to change the subject. I’m ready to shove McCrae far from my thoughts.

“Why does he dislike McCrae so much, anyway?” Roman’s looking at Callum—he’s not listening to a word I’m saying.

I grunt and strip my shirt off my back. “I don’t dislike anyone—”

“Except for Margaret McCrae,” Callum says.

When did I become the target? I’m never the target. I’m always the arrow.

“The year before you started with us,” Zev says to Roman, “Lucca and McCrae had it out. She made a call—”

“Ryker punched me first.” I grind my teeth. “Everyone saw it.”

Zev is still smiling when he says, “Everyone except for any of the refs. McCrae was the center official that day. She got to make the call. And all she saw was Lucca retaliating. He got carded while Mike Ryker got off scot-free.”

“Ryker was dirty, and McCrae knew it,” I say. “Besides, she was looking right at us when he hit me.”

“She wasn’t,” Zev tells Roman. “She also wasn’t impressed with Lucca attempting to smooth-talk his way out of that card.”

My jaw clenches, remembering that day.

“She changed it from a yellow to a red after he spoke to her,” Callum says.

Roman only chuckles.

Yep—I’m done with this conversation. “Are we celebrating or what?”

Wade Turner, half a bench away, isn’t even old enough to enter a bar yet, but his ears perk up as if we’ll be inviting him. Not this time. I don’t mind my younger teammates. But I’m not up for it today. We may be in season, but I need something stronger than a fruit punch.

“I’ve got to get back to Stell,” Roman says. “She missed the game because she’s home sick.” Roman pats a hand on my shoulder. “Next time.”

“Fran and Rosalie are waiting,” Callum says, his mouth turned down as if he’s sorry for me.

Gah. I hate pity.

I shrug. “I like Fran and Rose. They can come.”

But Zev doesn’t look ready to party. “Rosalie’s grandfather passed away—”

“Kermit?” I ask. I never met the man, but Rosalie spoke fondly of him.

“Yeah. We’re going to her grandma’s tonight.”

I nod, understanding. I won’t stop him. Sounds like Rose’s grandma needs them. That doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I need a distraction. “Superman?” I say to Callum, lifting my brows and doing my best to forget all about Margaret McCrae.

“Sorry, man. Fran’s got plans for me.”

“Plans she’d mind me crashing?” I ask. Fran loves me. If she met me before Callum, his day would be ending very differently.

“Yes. Very much so.”

“I’m free,” Wade says, seven lockers down.

“You guys are really going to leave me on my own?” I ask, ignoring my twenty-year-old teammate.

“Wade’s free.” Roman’s brows lift.

“I hear he’s a great wingman,” Zev says.

“I don’t need a wingman.” I was just hoping for a little distraction with my friends. Clearly, that’s not going to happen.

“There’s this frat party tonight—” Wade says. “The entire Delta Kappa Nu house is coming.”

“Let me stop you right there.” Roman holds out a palm to our younger teammate. “Lucca isn’t going to some college party.”

I rub the bristles of my beard on my chin. “The entire Delta—”

“Nope.” Roman swipes an arm around Wade’s shoulders and begins to walk him in the opposite direction of where I stand. “Have you talked to Anthony? I bet he’s free and he won’t get you in nearly as much trouble.”

“So, you’re really leaving me on my own?” I look from Zev to Callum, then back where Roman is planting Wade right next to Anthony. They’re both college-age, in school, and capable of finding their own trouble.

“This one time,” Zev says.

“We’ll go out next week.” Callum plants a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. More pity.

I shrug it off. “Next week it is,” I say, as if I couldn’t care less.

Except that I do.

Who’s going to get my mind off of McCrae tonight?