Chapter Twenty #3
Emma screams so loudly beside me I’m pretty sure it damages my eardrum. Oscar tears towards the side of the pitch with Cam chasing him, both of them shouting, and I clap and shout with everyone else.
My brother has just scored.
And still, when the players start moving back towards halfway, my eyes find number eight.
There’s something oddly majestic about him. Powerful and sure, and totally captivating.
There are about twelve minutes left when Josh gets the ball out wide and their right-back closes him down again. Oscar has drifted towards the edge of the box, pulling one of the midfielders away from the middle, and the second Josh takes the pass, a gap opens up in front of him.
“Go on,” I murmur, leaning closer to the fence. “Do it. DO IT.”
Josh takes one touch forward and the defender backs off.
Someone inside shouts for the ball, but he keeps it, waiting until another De Montfort player comes across to help before stopping so abruptly that both men move towards him.
The space behind them opens and Josh sends the ball low across the front of goal, straight into the path of the striker arriving at the back post.
The striker boots it right past De Monforts goalie and straight into the back.
Two-one.
Everyone around me erupts, and I stand there and watch Josh. He doesn’t chase after the scorer with the rest of the team. He turns away from the celebration and bends with both hands on his hips, dragging air back into his lungs while the others pile into each other behind him.
Then he lifts his head and looks straight at me.
Emma is shouting beside me and people are jumping around along the fence, but Josh doesn’t scan through any of them. He doesn’t look left, then right, trying to find where I am. His eyes come up and land exactly where I’m standing.
He already knew.
I don’t know when he noticed me, whether it was during the warm-up or sometime in the first half when I was busy watching him and convincing myself he hadn’t noticed, but there’s no chance he found me that quickly by accident.
His face is red from running, mud streaked across one cheek with a bruise beginning to form from where he hit the ground earlier, and his chest is rising hard beneath the blue shirt while he stands there looking at me.
He doesn’t smile.
There’s no cocky grin or wink or anything I could laugh off, just Josh holding my gaze from across the pitch with unmistakable heat.
I forget about the score, the shouting, Emma beside me, all of it, because Josh Hardy has just created the winning goal and the first person he wanted to look at afterwards was me.
It occurs to me why they call it eye contact. It feels like he’s touching me everywhere without laying a hand on me, my skin scorching while a sharp pull starts low in my stomach, dragging every thought towards the distance between us and how badly I want his hands on me again.
Like they were the other night.
The moment only breaks when Oscar hooks an arm around Josh’s neck and drags him backwards.
Emma turns towards me. “What the fuck was that?”
I rub both palms down the front of my jeans, breathing hard. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” She’s incredulous. “How can you not know?”
I look back towards the pitch and Josh has been swallowed by the rest of the team, but his head turns in our direction before the referee gets them moving.
Emma follows where I’m looking. “Oh my God. Are you and him a thing?”
“No! We’re friends.”
Her face is calling bullshit. “That was not a casual look, Rubes.”
“I know.”
“You like him.” She declares.
I can’t lie now, not when she saw whatever the fuck that was. “So what if I do?”
“You should do something about it.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But telling him might be a good start.”
“Yeah,” I blow out. “Maybe.”
Not a chance.
The final minutes pass with me watching the clock almost as much as the game, half wanting it to end because I need to speak to Josh and half wanting another hour before I have to look him in the face after that.
The whistle finally goes with the score still two-one, the Lincoln side losing their minds as people start moving towards the gap in the fence where the players come off.
Emma waits all of about ten seconds before deciding the rules don’t apply to her, ducking underneath the rope and heading towards Oscar as he walks across the grass.
He spots her, says something quick to Cam and changes direction, smiling right at her. When she reaches him he catches her around the waist and lifts her clean off the ground, kissing her hard enough I have to look away.
I’m staring pointedly in the opposite direction when a shadow stops on the other side of the fence. “You came.” His voice is rough from the match and slightly breathless.
I turn and my eyes land on Josh, who is standing there with his palms pressed to his lower back, the bruise on his cheek clearer from this close, and his green eyes intense enough to take my breath away. I shrug, hoping for nonchalance. “You asked me to.”
“Yeah.” His eyes drag slowly over me, and my heart starts battering against my ribs violently. When they meet mine again, he’s smiling in this helpless, almost disbelieving way. “I did.”