35. Robbie
ROBBIE
“Alright, that’s enough,” Florent calls from the sidelines.
A collective groan echoes through the team, and even I let my hands rest on my hips, desperately sucking in oxygen.
I let my head tilt back and my sternum expand, my head baking under the July sun.
We’ve been back from our recess for less than a week, and though the owner was happy for us to escape on a jolly, our manager is back to making us suffer.
“I knew I shouldn’t have eaten a toffee apple a day,” Santi groans from beside me, hands braced on both his knees. “I’m being punished for spending a week in the happiest place on earth.”
I think about the bed I left Cassie in. “Me too.”
“Okay, cool down and then move out,” Florent calls.
I take a deep breath and break into a slow jog, keeping pace with Santi as he drags his feet beside me. This fucking sun. The heat is unbearable on the back of my neck, sweat gathering across my collarbone.
Although I was sad to leave Cassie, it does feel fucking good to be back on the pitch. It’s like over the last week something switched in the team: passes are connecting, plays are being carried out, and there’s a positive energy that’s buzzing, even though we’re all exhausted.
“Big dog is in,” Santi says in a low voice.
I squint in the direction of the managers, the white shirts and slacks on the pitch a stark contrast to our all-black training kit.
I recognize Hamilton immediately. From this far away, I can’t see any resemblance to Cassie, but it doesn’t mean I’m not keenly aware that this is her father.
Her father, who doesn’t know that she sent me a very inappropriate text message just before I arrived.
“What does he want?” Santi asks. I’m glad it’s not just me who isn’t used to this much input from upper management.
I keep my head down, fiddling with the hem of my shirt to wick the sweat away from my eyes. Maybe he won’t even notice, maybe he doesn’t want to speak to me, maybe he—
“King.”
Fuck.
Santi raises his eyebrows and mouths, “good luck” as he passes.
“Mr Hamilton.”
“I was just saying to Flo here”—Flo?—“you boys are looking good out there.”
“Thank you, it’s coming together.” I cross my arms across my chest and widen my stance. I can talk football. I can talk football for as long as I have the ability to form words. As long as he doesn’t mention—
“I was telling Cassie how good you’re looking.”
I nearly choke on air. What do I say to that? Yes, sir she certainly knows. She’s seen a lot of me. Has he spoken to her already? Does he know where she is?
I’m still trying to form words when Florent takes pity on me. “We’ll be looking good for our game against Seattle.”
I let myself launch into tactics with Florent and Mario, our strategy coach, barely looking Hamilton in the eye.
Finally, he is pulled away by his assistant, and I release the breath that’s been stuck in my lungs as soon as he’s out of sight.
“Go change out, King,” Florent tells me with a shrewd look in his eye.
I nod and wave goodbye. By the time I’m in the locker room, it’s just me. I didn’t lie to management, the team is doing better in practice. It’s just during the game that we all fall apart.
After I’ve showered and changed into my regular clothes, adrenaline from the practice and my interaction with Hamilton is finally leaving my blood stream.
I pull my phone from my cubby and see a message from Cassie.
CASSIE
How’s rehearsal?
I chuckle as I sling my bag across my shoulder and slide into my shoes.
ME
You mean training? It was good
She sent her message nearly an hour ago, so I’m not expecting a reply straight away, but I’ve barely let the stadium doors swing shut when my phone buzzes.
CASSIE
Tomato, tomato. How’s Cali?
ME
Hot. How’s Wales?
CASSIE
Wet
ME
I would much rather be there
CASSIE
Oh sorry, did you mean the weather? I meant something else…
I choke on my tongue, fumbling with my car keys and nearly dropping them on the hot asphalt. I repeat my message.
ME
I would much rather be there
Thankfully, I’m back in my car with the door closed before my dick starts to tent my shorts.
I palm it firmly once and tuck it under my waistband, praying that my dirty girl will at least wait until I’m home before she turns me inside out.
I can’t spend the entire drive home with a boner. I’ll never make it.
ME
I’m getting ready to drive home
CASSIE
Want some company?
I bite my lip to stop the smile spreading and click call.
“Hi,” her smoky voice purrs.
“Hi, trouble. What time is it there?”
“Late. Danny and Anya have gone out for dinner.”
“You didn’t want to join them?”
“I was going to, but then I had another idea for a song.” I love that inspiration is coming easier than it had before, and I really love that it’s happening in my home country.
“Oh yeah?”
“Want to hear?”
“Yes, please.” When I first started doing this journey, the commute was brutal. There weren’t enough podcasts in the world to make the drive bearable, but now I get my own private concert. Cassie strums at her guitar as her voice echoes through my speaker.
She finishes abruptly. “And then I can’t figure out the rest.”
“It sounds good.”
“Thank you.”
I flex my jaw as I ponder how to bring up what Hamilton said at practice. I’m pretty confident that he doesn’t know anything, but there will come a time when this will come to a head, and it might be sooner than we’d like to think. “I saw your dad today.”
“At work?” Cassie says, still playing, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Likely place for him to be.”
I snort. “You spoken to either of them yet?”
She sighs. “I think I might just change my name and open a surf shop on the coast. What do you think? Might call it ‘Sandra and Bert’s Surf Shop’.”
“I’ll run the till for you.”
“I appreciate it.” For a few minutes all I can hear is a faint guitar, almost as if she’s mindlessly plucking the strings. “Maybe I’ll email them. To start.”
“That’s a good idea, trouble. Soft launch the business plan.”
She laughs across the line. “Did he say anything to you?”
“No, but I’ve learned I’m not the best at secrets. I was sweating buckets the whole time.”
“That’s good to know. When’s your next game?”
I run through my schedule for the next month.
We’re hitting the ground running for sure, with barely a few days free.
Before I got on Cassie’s jet, I didn’t want to be away from the game for more than half a day, but now I’m counting down the minutes until I have nothing but uninterrupted time with her.
“I think I’ll be back in a couple of weeks,” Cassie muses.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhmm, maybe I can make a home game.”
“I’m sure your dad will love it.”
“Might go incognito actually. Hide in the away stands. I’ll wear an opposition shirt to really blend in.”
The thought of Cassie in a shirt that’s not Rebel blue and without my name on the back, causes jealousy to stab my chest.
“Cassie,” I tell her seriously. “If you come to one of my games in anything other than my name, you’ll regret it.”
She chuckles, her sultry voice purring down the line. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Both.”