8. Cassie
CASSIE
I don’t know why I expected an empty crowd, rundown stands and strange leering men. As soon as I arrived at the stadium, an attendant met me at the front entrance and escorted me to the VIP bar. Which was admittedly empty, but I didn’t stay long, soon entering the row of seats close to the dugout.
The crowd is decent, but nowhere near as big an audience as I’ve had pretty consistently throughout my career. My first show here I sold out every seat within ten minutes. Smug pride settles in my stomach like a warm blanket, and I have to keep my smile contained. No wonder the team needs me.
These hard plastic seats are not designed for designer pant suits. A sharp edge of the seat has already snagged in the smooth linen of my trousers and is threatening to almost completely unravel the whole left leg.
I grit my teeth as I fiddle with the strand. My manicured nails are blood red, chosen specifically to give me an extra edge when seeing him again, but they’re not sharp enough to snap the loose thread. I lean back, attempting to find a comfortable position. It’s difficult.
I glance down at the dugout where the coaching staff sit on luxurious padded seats.
I begin to regret not taking up Dad’s offer of sitting in the box, where I could drink champagne and eat canapés and avoid actually entering the concrete stadium stands.
If he wants me to be here, I’m going to make it as difficult for him as possible.
Although the only one irritated at this situation currently is me.
I pat the loose thread against my thigh fruitlessly and push my sunglasses back into my hair. The bright sun makes the pitch almost luminescent, and I can just make out the groundsmen doing last checks on the pitch before the players come out.
I glance up as Anya appears, sliding across the narrow seats to my side.
“Thank god you’re here.” I stand and pull her into a hug. “I’m feeling all vulnerable and lonely.”
Anya laughs. “This is a great view.” I was thrilled when Anya said she was coming back to LA for a few weeks to pack up their house before they permanently move back to their London place.
I’m happy that she and Danny have settled in one place, but it doesn’t mean I won’t miss them both.
It was pure luck that their final visit coincided with the first game I was actually able to attend.
“So they tell me.” We’re only a few rows away from the pitch. I know as soon as Robbie appears, I’ll have a clear view as he runs along the sides and does his warm up. “Where’s Pip?”
“She’s getting drinks. She told me to come find you and keep you company.”
I snort. “What I really need is someone to explain something to me.”
“Explain what?”
I wave my hand in front of the pitch. “This?”
Anya’s brow furrows. “The pitch?”
“No, the game. Soccer. Football. Whatever you Brits call it.”
Anya stares at me for a second before a bubble of laughter escapes her lips. “I don’t know anything about football.”
I whip my head to her incredulously. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve never even watched a game on TV. I’m more of a rugby girl, personally. Those boys have some incredible thighs.”
“Wait,” I interrupt with a hand on her arm. “You don’t know the rules?”
“Not even a little bit.” Anya laughs. “There’s something called an offside rule but god knows what that is.”
I gape at her.
“Don’t tell me this is why you invited me,” Anya splutters, her smile pulling her lips higher.
“Well, obviously. I don’t know anything about soccer. I needed you here to explain everything. You’re British I assumed you’d know more than me.”
Anya throws her head back and laughs. “You’re the one who’s literally the heir to a football team. You’re saying your dad never explained the game to you before?”
I shake my head. Dad just wants me in the crowd to look pretty. He doesn’t care if I know what’s going on or not.
“I come bearing gifts,” Pip chirps as she arrives, carrying three plastic cups of beer. “Can you believe they didn’t have anything fizzy? We’ll just have to hold our noses.”
Anya takes a cup from her tray. “Cassie thought I could tell her about football.”
Pip barks a laugh. “You’ve never seen a football game in your life.”
“Do you know anything about football?” I ask.
Pip shoots me a flat look as she slides into the seat on my other side. “What do you think, darling?”
“This is ridiculous.” I throw my hands up. “What’s the point of you both?”
They giggle. “You didn’t say that it was a requirement of our attendance when you sent us an email invite,” Pip says, shooting me a knowing glance.
I don’t think I’ve ever emailed Pip anything other than vacation bookings in my life, but I figured she’d be able to suss me out as soon as I mentioned Robbie King’s name.
Admittedly, maybe being so evasive has accidentally made me more suspicious.
Damn it.
“So…” Pip says, extending the word and nudging my elbow.
I take a sip of my mediocre beer in an attempt to avoid answering, and thankfully Anya points to the players walking out of the tunnel. “It’s starting!”
I fix a smile on my face as I watch Robbie walk out onto the pitch.
Decked out in the blue kit, his presence engulfs the stadium. Not necessarily in height, but in confidence. Robbie swaggers into the stadium as if everyone is here to see him. And let’s be honest, they are.
The crowd roars in approval when the players take their positions, more than making up for the half empty stadium. The whistle blows and Robbie takes possession, immediately flicking the ball towards the Rebel’s half of the field.
He runs with the ball between his feet, expertly kicking it and following until one of the opposing team manages to sweep it out from under him.
When the other players have the ball, I immediately lose interest. I take a sip of my beer and try to hide my wince as it goes down. I can see Pip tilt her head at me out of the corner of her eye, narrow sunglasses pulled down to peer at me over them. I jump and glance back at the field.
It takes me a minute to spot Robbie again.
From a distance, he blends in with the rest of the team.
With feet like lightning, he steals the ball from his opponent, quickly dribbling it back towards the goal.
He runs so fast, his blue jersey is a blur of light as he zips across the grass, his powerful legs carrying him from one side of the pitch to the other.
Anticipation swirls in my belly as I hover over my chair, my heart nearly beating out of my chest.
The pink shirts of the opposition suddenly crowd around him, cutting off his path to the goal.
His head snaps up, curls bouncing as he scans the surrounding area for a teammate. The rest of his team are in a loose formation, some walking towards him and others on the other end of the pitch.
We’re way too far away to hear him, but I can see his lips move as a pink shirt manages to curve around his leg and snatch the ball from beneath his feet, tripping him in the process.
He hits the ground, but falls into a roll, immediately jumping to his feet and racing the player dribbling the ball further into the enemy side.
The crowd cheers as the ball hits the back of the net and the players swarm the shooter. Robbie turns back to our side, his hands on his hips as he takes shallow breaths.
“I know I said I don’t know much about football,” Anya says, leaning in, “but I think someone was supposed to be there to get the ball, no?”
I nod, trying to fight the grimace pulling at my lips.
“Well, maybe the other players weren’t aware they needed to?” Pip gestures with her drink, the liquid nearly sloshing off the sides.
“What, they didn’t know they were playing a game?” Anya drawls.
“Good point,” Pip muses. “He is handsome though. Great shoulders.”
I purse my lips. Robbie does have good shoulders. It’s one of the first things I noticed about him when he was kneeling at my feet about to…
“What’s his name again?” Pip asks.
My thoughts are still swirling with memories. His unbuttoned shirt that showed a sliver of his toned chest, his grin as he slowly inched my dress up my thighs, and I’m so distracted by the image that I forget I’m supposed to be being sneaky. “Robbie King.” I tell Pip far too quickly.
I keep my gaze on the pitch even as I see her grin widen out of the corner of my eye.
I spent every second leading up to this game rehearsing how indifferent I was going to be when I saw him again.
I was barely going to even acknowledge him.
I don’t know him at all. Never seen him before in my life.
What’s his name again? Maybe I’ll even try and shake his hand.
I should have known inviting my best friends wasn’t a good idea. I know Pip’s about to jump at the opportunity to needle me for some gossip, but a rising cheer pulls my attention back to the game.
This time, Robbie’s teammates are in a more tight formation and the ball bounces between them as the other team struggles to regain possession.
Robbie finally breaks away and races towards his goal.
The crowd around us swells as he runs with the ball, the opposition lagging behind him.
He’s so fast, his legs are a blur as he pelts across the pitch.
At the last minute, a pink shirt catches up to him, crowding around his back. Just as pink shirt aims his boot at the ball, Robbie kicks it and it arches through the air, hitting the top corner of the goal.
Even I know what that means. We jump up from our seats with a cheer, my still full beer spilling down my forearm, but I don’t care. Adrenaline is pumping and I grin as I watch Robbie run to the sidelines to celebrate his first goal in the MLS.