Читать книгу Defending Hearts - Rebecca Crowley - Страница 8

Chapter 4

“How does this work?” Kate glanced between her ticket and the map showing the various entrances to King Stadium, home of Atlanta Skyline. “This has north, south, east, and west, but our tickets say EB 44. Is that east?”

“No idea. Let’s ask.” Jared indicated a customer-services desk beside the box office. They walked that way together, and she hustled to keep up with her colleague’s long stride.

“We’re lost,” she told the woman behind the Plexiglas screen. “Can you tell us how to get to these seats?”

The woman examined the tickets, then broke into a smile. “You’re in an Executive Box. You can use the VIP entrance by the south gate. Enjoy the match.”

“Wow, VIP,” Jared remarked as they made their way to the gate. “You sure do set the first-date bar high, Mitchell.”

“Funny,” she replied, deadpan. She hadn’t made too many friends in the few months since she’d moved to Atlanta, so she’d asked one of the Area Managers from Peak Tactical to join her for the Saturday-afternoon match. Jared was a former security guard who’d been promoted into an operations-management role, and he was one of the few men in the company who’d been friendly to her from day one. They were of a similar age, but it hadn’t occurred to her that he would read some romantic intent into her invitation.

Now his flirtation got heavier by the hour. She was embarrassed by her utter failure to see this coming and unsure why it was such a turnoff. He was funny, reasonably attractive, a big muscly country boy who should’ve been right up her alley.

But she kept thinking about that arrogant, uptight, Swedish-Turkish-Muslim nerd who’d beaten her at pool.

No one beat her at pool. She’d never imagined losing could be so sexy.

“Sweet, check this out.” Jared recaptured her attention as they took an elevator up to the VIP tier. They walked through the hushed, carpeted hall until they found a door labeled forty-four. A printed sign hung beneath the number: Reserved—Özkan Terim.

“What did you say this guy’s name was?” Jared squinted at the sheet.

“I think his full name is pronounced Erz-kan, but everyone calls him Oz.”

“If you say so.” He pushed open the door and she followed him inside.

“My God, this is…uh, hi.” Kate processed only a glimpse of the plush suite—mini fridge full of drinks, several bottles chilling in a bucket, hot and cold buffet lined up on a ledge against the back wall—before her gaze came to rest on the three men lounging in front of the sliding door that overlooked the pitch.

“Hi,” one of them replied, rising and extending his hand. “I’m Glynn.”

“I’m Kate and this is Jared.” She shook his hand, committing his name to memory. Glynn is the black guy.

“Nice to meet you guys. This is Ted and Sean.”

Glynn, black. Ted, Asian. Sean, redhead. Got it.

“How do you know Oz?” Ted asked as all three of them rounded the sofa to join her and Jared by the mini fridge.

“I don’t, really. My company installed the security in his house earlier this week. Jared and I work together. How do y’all know him?”

The three men exchanged unreadable glances before Sean replied. “Glynn and Oz went to college together. Ted’s a video game reviewer and I’m a programmer, and we met Oz at an Outlaw Brigade launch a couple years ago. Do you play?”

She blinked. “Play what?”

“I guess that answers my question.” Sean smiled warmly. “Outlaw Brigade is a military-themed, first-person shooter video game. Oz has an endorsement deal with the company who produces it.”

She nodded, deciding this probably wasn’t the right time to inform them she’d shot someone in real life and it wasn’t fun at all.

“Video game reviewer is a job?” Jared asked.

Kate cringed, but Ted didn’t seem offended as he explained, “It can be if you’re good enough. I started out interning at a newspaper, and now I have columns in magazines here and in Australia.”

Jared grunted and turned to the fridge. “Who’s ready for a drink?”

Sean and Ted joined him in discussing the multitude of options on offer, while Glynn slid open the glass door. It led to a private stand positioned just above the halfway line, with spectacular, uninterrupted views toward both goals.

“This is amazing,” she murmured, joining Glynn outside. The match was due to start in a few minutes, most of the seats were full and the tense, excited atmosphere reached all the way to their sky-high tier.

“Are you a big soccer fan?” he asked.

“Total novice. This is my first match.”

“I’ll be honest, I wasn’t into it until I met Oz. It’s a lot easier to take an interest when you know one of the players.”

“You said you met in college? I thought he went pro when he was, like, seventeen.”

“He made a deal with Roland Carlsson. He would move to the US only if he could study while he was playing. It took him an extra semester to finish, but he did it.” He shrugged his admiration. “We actually went to different schools, but it’s easier to say we met in college. I went to MIT.”

“And where did Oz go?”

Glynn watched her for a second too long, as if he was waiting for the punch line, then he answered, “Harvard.”

“Oh. Right,” she stammered, her cheeks heating. “I guess I should’ve known that.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “It barely gets a mention in the press. Reporters are much more interested in how many goals he scores than his philosophy degree.”

She nodded noncommittally, fighting the urge to turn and run all the way back to her crappy one-bedroom apartment. She was way out of her comfort zone. These were not her people, this was not her sport, and Oz was definitely nothing more than her client.

“For you, fair maiden.” Jared appeared at her side and handed her a glass of champagne. Sean and Ted followed him and they all arranged themselves in the hard plastic seats lined up outside the box.

A cheer went up as the two teams filed out of the tunnel and lined up alongside each other while the announcer boomed the names and numbers of the players. The Jumbotron at one end of the stadium showed each player’s photo, and an unexpected thrill went through her as a familiar face flashed larger-than-life and the deep voice declared, “Number eighteen, Özkan Terim.”

The two teams shook hands, and then the players moved into position. Kate watched as Oz raised cupped hands, lowered his chin and murmured to himself, then brought his palms over his face.

He was praying. In front of seventy thousand people.

No wonder he’d found his way onto Citizens First’s list.

The whistle blew and the game began. Kate watched the two teams pass the ball back and forth and back again. No one had scored after ten minutes, and she could tell from Jared’s fidgeting that he was as bored as she was.

“I’m going to grab another drink,” he said, rising from his seat. “Want anything?”

“I’ll take a beer if they’ve got it.”

“Be right back.” He pulled his phone from his pocket as he stepped inside. She suspected he might be awhile.

The crowd gasped at something and she returned her attention to the match. Tucson’s goalkeeper booted the ball all the way back to the center line and players in brick-red Skyline uniforms raced after it.

Glynn nudged her. “Do you want some play-by-play?”

The crowd sucked in a breath at something else she couldn’t see, and she nodded gratefully. “Yes. I have no idea what’s going on.”

Ted leaned around him. “You’ve come to the right place. Glynn loves externally processing everything that happens in a match. Pass to Silva, Silva loses possession, Vidal charges up the side, but can he win it back?” He expertly mimicked Glynn’s voice.

“Don’t forget the facts and stats,” Sean added. “Random striker hasn’t scored at Skyline’s ground in his last five appearances. Oz has never conceded a goal against so-and-so subbed in from the bench. And did you know what’s-his-name is from Cameroon and despite its Francophone classification, Cameroon was briefly a German colony?”

Glynn smiled broadly, and she wondered how iceman Oz had managed to round up such a nice group of friends.

“Please ignore these gentlemen, whose love for the game massively exceeds their deeper understanding of its nuances. First, let me set the scene. Skyline had a banging start to the season after finishing in the top four last year. This is Roland’s—and Oz’s, come to think of it—third year in Atlanta and the Carlsson turnaround is in full swing. The first year he instilled European discipline and sophistication. Last year he attracted a wave of up-and-coming players, and this year Skyline should have a clear run at the title.”

“Except.” Ted inclined his head knowingly.

“Except their star winger, Rio Vidal, went down with torn ligaments in March, and then one of the center backs, Paulo, was out with a pulled hamstring. Vidal and Paulo are playing again but the last couple of months have been terrible.”

“They haven’t been that bad,” Sean protested. “Oz has kept a clean sheet more often than not, we just aren’t scoring goals like we need to.”

“Our ginger friend here is an optimist,” Ted explained.

“No, I’m just not as cynical as you two,” Sean countered. “What’s the point of supporting a team if you aren’t hoping for them to win every time they kick off?”

“Hang on,” she raised a hand to slow them, peripherally noting Jared’s return as she accepted a bottle of beer from him. “Rewind. Clean sheet?”

“Oz is a left-back,” Glynn replied. “That makes him part of the defense, which means his performance is measured in how many goals he lets in as opposed to how many goals he scores. If your defense keeps the other team from scoring at all, it’s called a clean sheet.”

“Like a shutout in football.”

“Exactly.”

“But Oz keeps running up to the other team’s half, like right now.” She pointed to where all of the Skyline players were clustered near Tucson’s goal.

Glynn squinted at the pitch. “He should fall back, actually. They’re pretty open and Tucson could easily break out to counter. Anyway, Oz is unique among defenders. He originally trained to be a winger—an up-front, attacking player—because he’s super-fast and nimble. Roland moved him to the defense as a wing-back—someone who attacks, but is also quick enough to retreat in time to mark an opposing player and defend the goal.”

“There are very few players who can do what he does,” Ted added. “He’s big enough to make tackles and get in other players’ way, but not so big that it slows him down.”

“And here I thought it was all about kicking a ball into a net,” Jared remarked loudly—too loudly, considering how warmly they’d been welcomed into what was clearly a regular audience in this box.

Then again, no one else seemed bothered. Maybe she was overreacting. Weren’t her mother and sister always telling her she was too uptight? Although they could use a little more detail orientation between the two of them, so…

Glynn shrugged. “There’s a reason why soccer is the most popular sport in the world. You can enjoy it on a simple level, like kicking a ball into a goal, or on a very complicated, technical level.”

“Guess on which level Glynn resides?” Sean grinned.

Kate’s interest grew as the match wore on, largely thanks to Glynn’s commentary. His friends rolled their eyes but she liked how he explained the stakes of each missed shot, each lost tackle, each yellow card raised by the referee. She enjoyed getting the color of player rivalries and injury bounce-backs, and although she still relied heavily on his technical commentary, by the middle of the second half she understood the basics enough to raise her fist in anger at an unfairly awarded free kick.

“This is called a set piece,” Glynn explained as both teams arranged themselves in front of Skyline’s goal. “Tucson isn’t having a good season, but they’ve had a lot of goals from set pieces. Skyline is in real danger here.”

The scoreboard was still nil-nil, and the crowd held a collective breath as the ref blew the whistle and the Tucson midfielder shot the ball. It arced with seemingly deadly aim, until Oz jumped above the opposition player in front of him and headed it far from the area.

Applause thundered around the stadium as the ball went back into open play, and Ted and Sean high-fived their approval.

Glynn grinned at her. “And that’s why sometimes stopping a goal can be just as important as scoring one.”

Beside her Jared groaned under his breath, and she turned to him guiltily. She’d invited him, then ignored him most of the afternoon as she got caught up in the game. She forced a smile, determined to give him more attention.

“I’m dying,” he muttered. “This is the most boring sport in the world. How much longer does it go on for?”

“Twenty minutes. But Ted said the box stays open for two hours after it ends.”

She counted the beer bottles at his feet while he weighed up this information. Good thing she was driving.

He sighed. “Free booze is free booze. I guess I can stand a little more time with the nerd brigade.”

She flinched at his last two words, suddenly reminded of too many men, all of them bullies. Her tone hardened as she replied, “I want to stay long enough to say hi to Oz and thank him for the tickets. Maybe I should call you a taxi.”

“It’s all good, babe.” He shot her a seductive smile she bet usually worked like a charm. “I want to hang with you, it doesn’t matter where.”

Great. She’d invited Jared because she thought they were squarely in the friend zone. He’d read that as romantic, and now she had to reject him, probably losing her one work ally—and by extension his entire division—in the process.

Nice work, Mitchell. One more item for the list of Reasons Kate Will Be Single Forever.

She was still pondering when and how to make her lack of interest clear to Jared when the whistle blew, ending the match. The scoreboard was goalless—a draw.

“All that running and no one even got a point,” Jared remarked, stretching as he rose. “One of these days y’all should check out a football game, see how a real sport gets played.”

The guys ignored his comment as they filed back into the box, where a fresh dessert buffet had been set out. Jared loaded a plate while she hung back with Sean.

“Does Oz normally stop into the box afterward? Or should I wait for him outside or something? I want to thank him for the tickets before we head out.”

He wrinkled his nose. “It depends. If they win he might come up and celebrate, but for a draw… I doubt it. Do you want me to text him? He has to do the press thing, shower and change. You might be waiting awhile.”

Her heart sank. “That’s okay, I’ll call him later.”

“Or,” he mused before shouting over to Glynn. “Hey, Kate was hoping to see our man. I don’t think he’ll come up, do you?”

Glynn shook his head, crossing to join them. “Not today.”

“But she wants to thank him for the tickets.”

Something passed between the two friends, unspoken, inscrutable. Glynn turned to her with a smile. “Why don’t you come to my housewarming tonight? He’ll be there.”

“Tonight? That’s really nice but you don’t have to—”

“You said you’re new to the city, right? Come hang out, meet some new people,” Sean suggested.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you there,” Glynn added. “You seem cool. And we’re always about recruiting new soccer fans.”

Heat crawled up her ears. Cool? Cool? God, if only they knew. Her idea of a wild night was getting pizza delivered instead of picking it up.

“We’ll be there,” Jared announced, appearing behind her. He grinned down at her and winked. “Let’s show these soccer fans how to party.”

* * * *

Oz paused on the landing outside Glynn’s apartment, which occupied the entire top floor of a converted warehouse, and tried to shake off his bad mood. It wasn’t Glynn’s fault Skyline couldn’t get a goal today, and it wouldn’t be fair to drag this black cloud into his party.

Oz inhaled, exhaled even more slowly. He often struggled to wind down after a match, and this evening was no exception. His mind whirred as he involuntarily reviewed every move he’d made in those ninety minutes, and at intervals his body literally trembled with excess adrenaline.

He wouldn’t sleep tonight, that was for sure.

He breathed deeply again. Closed his eyes. Reopened them when all he saw was the zero-zero scoreboard. He debated going home, saving his friends from his bleak mood, but female voices approaching in the stairwell prompted him forward.

He opened the door. Maybe the love of my life is inside.

Oz had seen Glynn’s apartment before, having accompanied him on one of the walk-throughs when he was deciding whether to buy it. The cavernous, echoing space they’d surveyed that day seemed a lifetime away from the vividly decorated apartment ringing with laughter. Music pumped from the built-in sound system, a bartender tossed bottles into the air, and the space heaved with the best and brightest of the tech world in which Glynn was a major figure.

He smiled, proud of his best friend’s success. Glynn spent his first year in Atlanta sleeping in one of Oz’s spare bedrooms, investing everything he earned from his IT day job into a startup company. Now he produced and licensed some of the most popular apps in the world while always keeping his eyes open for the next big innovation.

They’d both come a long way from eating cold pizza for breakfast on lazy undergraduate mornings.

Glynn spotted him and raised a bottle of brown liquid in the air as Oz approached.

“Chocolate milk, peanut butter, and half a banana. One Wizard Recovery Special, primed and ready to go.” Glynn handed over the smoothie, which Oz accepted with one hand while giving his friend a half-hug with the other.

“You’re a king among men, my brother. Too bad your party sucks. Couldn’t you get anyone to come?”

“They heard you were here and bolted.”

“I have that effect.” Oz grinned. “Seriously, the place looks great. And it was a great idea to pay all these people to turn up and pretend to like you.”

“You’d be amazed at how cheap it is to buy friends these days. Hey, sorry about the result, but a clean sheet’s a clean sheet, right?”

Oz’s momentarily lightened mood resettled heavily. “We needed the win today, and we should’ve walked over Tucson. I don’t know what’s going on up front, but we have to fix our finishing.”

Glynn shrugged. “You’ve got Boise next week, and they’ve been in existence for, what, five minutes? You’ll win that before you set foot on the pitch. Paulo will get the rest he needs, and Vidal will have a chance to up his tempo without being under too much pressure. It should be a nice turning point in the second half of the season.”

Oz grunted, unwilling to let Glynn’s logic dent his irritation. “Anyway. Kate texted to say thanks for the tickets. Was she okay in the box?”

“Of course she was okay. She was great. Why wouldn’t she be?”

“I don’t know her too well.”

“She’s cool. And she’s here.”

“She is?” Oz glanced around the crowded room. “You invited her?”

“Sure, she’s a budding soccer fan. Can’t say the same for the guy she’s with, but you can’t win ’em all.”

Oz stiffened. “She gave the second ticket to a guy?”

“Yeah.” Glynn crossed his arms, looked him up and down. “What’s up with you? Are you interested in her?”

“No, I just—”

“Because I wouldn’t blame you. She’s funny, friendly, and she’s got that whole girl-next-door thing going on.”

He shook his head resolutely. “She’s not my type. She works for the security company Roland hired.”

For a few seconds Glynn didn’t respond, but Oz could read the skepticism in his friend’s eyes. Finally he nodded to one end of the room. “Well, if you want to say hi, she’s over there with her man friend. Big bodybuilder dude, shaved head, unfortunate T-shirt. Answers to Jared.”

“I’ll catch you later.”

It took only a minute for Oz to spot them. Jared’s V-neck was too tight, so instead of showing off his muscles it awkwardly drew attention to the visible outlines of his nipples.

Kate, on the other hand, looked stunning in tight jeans and a slim-fitting, women’s-cut Skyline jersey. The smile she flashed as she caught his approach completed the picture.

“Here he is,” she beamed. He stopped in front of her, unsure how to greet her. Should he shake her hand? Wave?

She decided for him, leaning in for a quick, friendly hug. It lasted only seconds, yet long enough to give him a vivid impression. Her slim, sturdy body. The crisp scents of strawberry and mint. The soft press of breasts that felt bigger than they looked.

He cleared his throat, shifted his weight. Desperately tried to ignore the hard-on pressing against his fly.

“Check out my souvenir.” She spun to show him his name and number printed on the back of the jersey. “What do you think?”

His smile felt as tight as his jeans. “I’m flattered.”

“Jared.” The owner of the name stuck out his hand, which Oz shook dutifully. “Thanks for the tickets. Interesting sport. What’re you drinking?”

Belatedly Oz remembered the smoothie in his hand. “Recovery shake. Mostly chocolate milk, with some peanut butter and banana.”

Jared shook his head. “You should never have dairy after an intense workout. Too hard on your stomach. I use this fast-digesting carbohydrate powder. Way better. I’ll give you the name.”

“Thanks, but—”

“I’m telling you, this stuff’s amazing. I barely even bother with recovery days anymore. It’s expensive but it’s worth it.”

His shoulders tensed, but Oz bit back his impulse to inform this moron that he was utterly incorrect. “Okay,” he muttered instead.

“Have you thought about bulking up at all? Might help you stay on your feet.” The six-foot-three muscle tower had the audacity to wink at him. Oz tightened his fingers on his sports bottle.

“I loved the game,” Kate interjected, diverting his attention.

“It wasn’t our best performance.”

“Could’ve fooled me. The whole thing was—wait, let me remember my vocab—box to box. Wasn’t it?”

He smiled. “It was.”

“The seats were amazing, and your friends are so nice. This may sound silly, but I loved all the running. You guys never stop! Not like football, where there are a lot of pauses.”

Jared snorted derisively. “Good call, Kate. Soccer is definitely not like football.”

Oz caught the flash of irritation in Kate’s eyes and the already too-taut spring of his temper coiled dangerously tighter.

He had to walk away before he did something stupid. His nerves were too raw, his emotions too amped. He really, really wanted to punch someone, and Jared became more tempting by the minute.

“I’m glad you had fun,” he addressed Kate directly. “Hopefully next time you’ll get to see us win.”

“I’ll be repping number eighteen no matter what. Thanks again for inviting me.”

“No problem. I need to say hello to a few people, then I’m heading home. Nice to meet you, Jared. Kate, I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon.”

He exchanged another handshake with Jared, while Kate inclined her head to say goodbye. He raised his drink in salute and bee-lined for the nearest familiar face.

It turned out to be Sean, standing a few feet away.

“Everything okay?” his friend asked.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because I spent all afternoon with that mass of musculus and you’re so high-strung you’re practically vibrating, so I have trouble imagining you two calmly discussing current affairs.”

“I walked away. Are you proud of me?”

Sean lifted a shoulder. “That depends.”

“On?”

“What you do when you find out your beefy buddy is getting handsy.”

Oz spun in time to see Kate leaning out of Jared’s grip, Jared’s hands settling on her waist, Kate removing them and stepping backward.

Oz planted his smoothie on a table and steamed in, his rational mind politely stepping aside to give way to a wave of white-hot anger.

“Keep your hands off her,” he seethed, shoving Jared with a flattened palm on his bulky chest.

Jared’s answering smirk was like a red flag to a bull. “Is that the best you’ve got, bro? Or should we take this outside?”

Blood pounded in Oz’s ears and he saw Tucson’s enormous center-back, felt the faint press of the man’s cleats against his calf in a borderline illegal tackle, relived the defender’s exaggerated effort to haul him back up onto his feet, and the boiling frustration when the referee ignored Oz’s appeal and motioned for them to play on.

Jared moved in. Got in his face. Set his jaw. Narrowed his eyes.

Oz stuck his foot behind Jared’s ankle, led with his shoulder, knocked the bigger man off-balance and sent him sprawling onto his back.

Jared’s head hit the floor with a thud and Oz instinctively raised his hands in innocence, fully aware he’d fouled his opponent.

Except he wasn’t on the pitch, he was at Glynn’s party. Where everyone was staring at him. And Jared lay gasping on the floor.

Too late, he looked at Kate. She glared at him as she knelt beside Jared’s supine form.

“Come on,” she urged Jared, although her glacial stare was clearly meant for Oz. “You just got the wind knocked out of you. Get up and let’s get out of here.”

He should apologize. He was out of line. But then he recalled the image of Kate removing Jared’s hands from her waist and he decided to follow the two of them out of the apartment instead.

“Kate, hang on, I—”

“Stop,” she hissed, spinning to face him just outside the door as Jared limped down the hallway, coughing and spluttering.

“He was bothering you. I was trying to help.”

“You were trying to make a scene, and you succeeded. Happy?”

Sheepish. Embarrassed. Maybe even a little guilty. But no, definitely not happy.

Oz’s complex discomfort crystallized into a simpler, more readily accessible emotion. Anger.

“You brought him here,” he countered. “You brought him to my box, pushed him on my friends. Don’t blame me for intervening when your bad decision got out of control, and certainly don’t trouble yourself to say thanks.”

She rolled her eyes. “The situation was under control. I can take care of myself. And if I did need someone to fight my battles for me—which I don’t—frankly I’m not sure you’d be the one I’d call.”

It stung, because it was so obviously true. Oz shoved his hands into his pockets. Why did every conversation he had with Kate turn into a fight—and why did he always lose?

She sighed, looked down the hall, then back at him. “I have to give Jared a lift home. Thanks again for the tickets. I had fun.”

She didn’t sound like she had fun, but he offered no reply as she jogged down the hallway and into the stairwell. Within seconds her footsteps echoed to nothing.

For a minute he stood, alone, listening to the dull thump of music through the door. His head throbbed. His shoulder ached. He should go home and try to sleep.

Instead he pushed back into the apartment, into the noise and movement and wide, anticipatory gazes of his friends.

“So,” Glynn remarked dryly. “That went well.”