2. Arianna
TWO
ARIANNA
“ R ebecca told me your knee is bothering you.” Josh, the second referee of today’s game, came over to me after we finished the warm-up and last-minute checks.
We were standing at the edge of the green field, the low hum of voices brushing past our ears. I sucked in a deep breath at his question, my eyes landing on the football players walking into the stadium. Some had wide, confident grins, while others wore serious expressions filled with nervousness. The crowd cheered excitedly with each new player stepping onto the field, and the little girl in me did too.
I bit my lip, avoiding his eyes as I grabbed my right knee with my hand. “A bit, yeah.”
My eyes flew over the football field, and like it did every single time, a heavy pressure made my chest swirl with longing and pain. I loved being a referee, but my place was out there, playing.
After my knee injury, doctors had forbidden me to do any kind of activity that involved running or great effort. That’s exactly why I hadn’t seen a doctor in years—because while referees didn’t face the same risk of injuries as football players, we still had to keep up and run constantly.
It’s okay, Arianna. At least you’re doing something related to football.
I swallowed, my eyes involuntarily finding a specific curly-haired young player whose grin outshined everyone else’s. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He was as handsome as he was the other night, but today, there was something more alluring about him. Seeing him in his element was like placing the last piece in a puzzle. It was complete.
“Put some freeze spray on it and it should keep you going until the end of the game.” Josh’s voice brought me back to earth, and he handed me a tall blue bottle with a friendly smile on his face.
I nodded and returned the smile, catching the sigh that slipped from his lips. Josh and I had met a few times since I had become a referee, and god knew how, we had remained friends. When I had first started out, he’d just moved from Africa and seemed the shyest man ever—that was until I went out with him and he had lap-danced on every guy he’d found.
“Grazie,” I tipped the bottle upward before uncapping it and spraying my knee. “You’re ready? The match is about to start soon.”
“More than ready.” He smiled from ear to ear, then brushed his curly black hair with his fingers.
The next ten minutes rushed by, the players lining up to sing their national anthem. I couldn’t help the smile on my face at the loud buzz of the stadium wrapping around me as I glanced down at the perfectly trimmed grass where freshly painted lines contrasted over the vivid green color.
My knee pulsed with the faintest ache as a reminder of what had happened, but I didn’t let that steal the growing feeling in my heart. I closed my eyes for a second, imagining myself running out there with an opponent on my trail, a few rebellious strands of hair escaping the tight ponytail on top of my head as the wind blew straight into my face. And as I ran and ran, the biggest smile painted my lips. It felt like a sunny summer day, like a warm bath after hard training, it felt … right.
When the time came, I blew into the whistle to signal the beginning of the match.
The game started in full force, demanding I run for the first half hour. It was a good thing I had used the icy spray Josh had given me, otherwise I would’ve stumbled in pain already. The ache would come and go either during a match or right after, but most importantly, I always managed to carry it to the end.
Spain and England were playing rough without holding back, bumping into each other and throwing around heated glares. I had no other choice but to give them a yellow card meant to calm them down for a moment. I was aware it wasn’t going to last long, but I didn’t expect the calm waters to turn into angry waves so quickly.
Isaac Kevalle, son of a legend, attempted to shoot a goal for the third time without success. For such a strong team, the Spanish captain's shots were so bad it looked like they were intentional. By his devastated reaction, they obviously weren’t. Along with the boos from the tribunes, his cousin Xavier Kevalle, a great defender, marched to him with furious steps. I hesitated for a moment, too caught up by his angry face that still carried a masculine beauty despite the drops of sweat sliding down his sharp features.
I knew something was going to happen, so before he could reach Isaac, I sprinted towards him.
Xavier's yellow cards were right at the limit, and if he made me pull another one, he wasn’t going to play in the next games. I didn’t want to sanction him just yet; his team needed him, and he deserved to play. Out of respect for him as a player, I looked him in the eye with determination, trying not to draw much attention.
“Don’t make a scene,” I warned under my breath, low, but clear enough for him to understand how serious I was.
Please step back.
His lips parted as his eyes fell on me like a warm touch. I held back a shiver, the gaze feeling intimate. A squint formed a line between his eyebrows before he raised a hand to his mouth, wiping the corner of it with his thumb.
A warm puff of air slipped from my mouth as I was sucked into his presence. He didn’t say anything, and yet the energy in the air changed.
Finally, he took me in, almost as if he’d only just noticed who the woman was that had been running alongside him for the last thirty minutes.
I could see the wheels turning in his head, his breathing fast and irregular as his chest rose uncontrollably. Well, at least in that moment we made it clear that I did, in fact, know football.
A smirk fought its way onto my lips, but I locked it down.
“You …” He came to his senses, and raised his hand to wipe some of the sweat from his forehead. The dark curls of his hair fell over his tanned skin, a combination of surprise and curiosity crossing his features.
I blew the whistle, forcing the game to restart. After all, he hadn’t disrespected me, fought his colleagues, nor used inappropriate language on the field. We could let it go.
A cheeky grin joined his expression. Xavier stepped back, but his body remained facing me. Before he turned away, he threw a proud wink at me, and warmth spread over my cheeks.
God. Why did he have to look so good? Even the drops of sweat on his arms and face looked hot on him.
I sighed, taking a deep breath.
Concentrate, Arianna.
They all started running again, and I joined them, forgetting about the knee pain that would inevitably return soon, and focused on Xavier for longer than I should have. His disposition changed for the second part of the game, determination reflecting in his posture and pointed stare. He looked like he knew what he wanted, and nothing was going to stop him.
I truly believed nothing could. He was smart on the field, not making any rushed decisions. Whenever he looked at his opponents, it seemed like he was analyzing them from head to toe and inside out.
When he flew past his adversaries with ease and shot a goal without so much as a struggle, he shook his head and glanced at me.
“Offside?” he mouthed, making sure I understood every letter. A cocky look rested on his face as he wiped his smirk with his thumb, hiding our interaction from any curious eyes.
I rolled my eyes, acting unimpressed when, in reality, my heart fought to grow a pair of legs, jump out of my chest, and climb right into his arms.
As the game carried on, Xavier secured a second goal for his team, bringing them to a tie. A score of 2-2 in minute 85 wasn’t great. Not with the chances they’d had.
My legs moved of their own accord as Xavier found himself alone among England’s players. He tried to get past them a couple of times, but he didn’t see a way out without losing the ball, and neither did I. I held my breath, sweat gliding down my back.
Suddenly his eyes found mine for a split second, and I didn’t know what had changed, but with a set look on his face, he sprang from between his opponents and ran for the goal.
He could do it. I could already see it happening.
Time slowed, the thumps of his steps vibrating through the ground to where I waited expectantly. I bit my bottom lip, running to the opposite side to get a better view of his moves.
Spain was going to win.
“Pass it to Isaac,” a man’s sharp and thick voice filtered through the cheers all the way to us. My body froze.
Was he insane?
Xavier had a clear opening, and I knew he wouldn’t miss.
He hesitated for a second after guiding the ball between the legs of another player, and threw a quick glance over his shoulder.
Then, with what looked like his last bit of hope and support for his teammate, Xavier launched the ball successfully to Isaac. I held my breath, walking closer, ready to call a goal. He was right there, with plenty of time to end the match gracefully.
Come on .
But when the ball flew over the goal, it felt like everybody in the stadium stopped breathing. Time slowed as jaws fell to the floor, then the sounds of desperation and anger from the tribunes filled the air around us. My shoulders slumped, feeling that miss as if it were my own.
So close.
After a quick scan of the revolted crowd cursing and throwing food over the fence onto the field, my gaze turned. I found myself sprinting to the center, where Xavier was already marching toward Isaac. Even from this distance, I could see the disaster about to break loose.
While I hoped to be able to stop him again, somehow I knew I couldn’t stand in his way.
The look on his face seemed determined, and goddamn scary.
“ Hijo de puta ,” he spat through his teeth. While I didn’t know much Spanish, it wasn’t hard for me to figure out what the insult meant. I ran faster when Xavier grabbed his cousin by the collar. Isaac didn’t even try to fight him off, just swallowed the dryness in his throat with sad puppy-dog eyes.
“Xavier Kevalle, I suggest you step aside,” I threatened, trying to keep my tone professional. In reality, I was rooting for this stranger to get back to his senses, and not make me do something neither of us wanted. If he didn’t take his hand off Isaac Kevalle right now, I would have no other choice but to suspend him. I had too many eyes on me, and they would jump like hyenas the moment I stepped off the field if I didn’t make him pay for his aggression.
“You’ll be suspended,” I informed him when he made no move, already taking the yellow card out, somehow knowing he wouldn’t let it go.
He froze for a moment, and I thought he was going to let it go, but then he fisted his hand tighter around Isaac’s shirt and pushed him to the ground. He backed away, and with a deep, disappointed exhale, I raised the yellow card in the air and wrote his name down.
“I’m done with this,” Xavier announced, sharp as a knife.
I watched him stalk off the field, and while my eyes begged me to keep track of him, the match had to go on. Spain was going to continue the remaining minutes of the game with only eleven players.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I heard his coach scream just before I blew the whistle.