Chapter Thirty-Seven
The players’ cafeteria smelled faintly of sweaty feet, the smell of hot bodies clinging to the soft furnishings no matter how many plug-in air fresheners the cleaners deployed.
Georgia hovered near the corner of the long table, where someone had left a half-eaten tub of hummus and a scattering of cracker crumbs.
A cluster of Westcliffe players were still hanging around after training: Riley sprawled in a chair, one leg up on the arm, slider hanging from her toes, the other kicked across the floor, Kamsi perched on a stool beside her, combing her fingers through her braids.
Jess and Rachel were hunched over their phones, discussing something intently under their breath.
Several of the others – Lucy, Jen, Florence, Amelia and Sam – were hovering, gathering kit or stretching against the walls.
Perfect timing. Hopefully.
Georgia had rehearsed this in her head all day after her meeting with Breakline, but now, standing in front of these women who knew all her tells, it felt like stepping into a press conference without notes.
She cleared her throat.
No-one looked round. She tried again, putting some voice into a wobbly ‘ahem’ that turned some heads, quieted conversation.
“Girls,” she said. She twisted her fingers through each other. “Lads. I need a favour.”
That got their attention. Her team loved giving favours, almost as much as much as they loved cashing in on them later. Riley sat up straighter, putting both feet square on the floor.
“Before you ask,” Riley said, holding her hands up in mock surrender, “yes, I will take your spot in the Breakline ads. No problem, happy to help.”
Georgia didn’t need to reply: Jess put her phone down then backhanded her sister in the leg, shooting her a dirty look. “What kind of favour, Hotch?”
“Tickets.”
That drew several confused looks.
“Tickets?” Sam echoed. “For what?”
Georgia leant on the edge of the table. “For the game.”
“The last game of the season?" Sam looked genuinely confused. "Like, the one on Saturday? In two days time?”
“Yeah. I was going to invite Redford, my old team.” Georgia kept going, determined.
If she stopped now, she might never get started again.
“Problem is, I don’t have enough comps to cover the whole squad.
There’s about twenty kids, plus their coach.
So… I was hoping you lot might let me use yours. Just this once.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Sorry,” Florence said, her South African accent strong, hands still full of Amelia’s braids. “I don’t understand. You want us to donate our ticket allocations – for the last game of the season – to your childhood team.”
“The team and their coach.” Rachel supplied into the silence. Her grin was wide and shit-eating. “Their coach, Erin.”
The name landed like a pebble dropped in a pond, ripples spreading out.
“That Erin?” Kamsi’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.
Georgia nodded. “That Erin.”
Her teammates looked at each other for a beat. Not all of them understood what that name meant. She opened her mouth to explain. Riley leant forward. “You’re asking us to hand over our free tickets. For your romantic subplot.”
Georgia closed her mouth again. She shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Sam raised her hand like she was still at school. “I’ll do it for you, Hotch. My dad will watch it on TV anyway.”
Georgia grinned her thanks, and waited for the others to respond. Florence twisted another skein of hair into Amelia’s braids. “This better end in a kiss on live broadcast.”
“And next season,” Amelia added, “you have to intervene for us with the coaches when they want us to run broncos.”
That got a round of snorts.
“Seconded on that point,” Sam said.
“Thirded,” Jess called out, lifting her water bottle like a toast.
Georgia tried to roll her eyes, but the warmth in her chest nearly undid her. She hadn’t expected it to be this easy. They’d have family, their own friends and partners to invite. She was giving them no notice.
“Wait, wait,” Lucy piped up, appearing from the side of the room with a towel slung round her shoulders. “If we’re giving away tickets, why are we waiting till next season to cash in?”
“Dinner,” Jen suggested.
“Proper dinner,” Lucy agreed. “Not protein salads. We want pizza, and beer, and to really upset your neighbours when we all fall down your stairs at midnight.”
A chorus of agreement ran around the room. Georgia lifted her hands in surrender. “Okay. Twist my arm why don’t you. I’ll get pizza.”
“And wings,” Rachel pressed.
“And wings,” Georgia agreed.
Kamsi stood up from the arm of Riley’s chair. “This better be a proper grand gesture, Hotch. What’s the plan, exactly? Erin comes to the game, watches you steamroller some other women, and suddenly falls into your arms?”
“Not exactly,” Georgia stuttered.
Rachel put her phone down and threw up her hands exasperatedly. “That’s exactly the plan, isn’t it?”
“No!” Georgia’s grin betrayed her. “It’s obviously much more complicated and sophisticated than that.”
There was a moment where she thought they might still say no. Then finally, Jess said, “Of course, cap. For you, no problem.”
The others followed her lead. Georgia swallowed hard, trying to keep her expression steady. She wasn’t about to get teary in front of this lot. They’d never let her live it down. “Thank you. All of you. Really. This means a lot.”
Riley recovered first, smirk snapping back into place. “Just remember – pizza, wings and no broncos next season.”