Playing Dirty(10)

When halftime ended, Lizzy hoisted the binoculars to her eyes, and she let out a soft little sigh as she watched her favorite players run around. She didn’t say much for a while, and I realized how utterly enchanted she was with the game. It was obviously something that meant a lot to her, and I started feeling guilty for giving her crap earlier.

Manchester United ended up winning the game, and Lizzy and the other fans went nuts, jumping up and screaming and hollering loudly. I even got caught up in the excitement and started clapping, smiling as I saw everyone’s utterly thrilled reactions. However, I was also absolutely starving, so part of me was definitely glad that it was over. Maybe I could talk Lizzy into finding a nice pub for dinner later.

I was almost starting to salivate, thinking of the scotch eggs that I’d eat, when Lizzy tugged at my sleeve. “Come on,” she hissed in my ear. “We’re going to the locker room now!”

“We don’t have to wait for them to change?”

“No. And don’t worry, it’ll only be a few minutes,” she said. “Come on, I think they’ll be nice. As long as we don’t go in there wearing Liverpool banners, at least.”

“Damn, I was totally gonna do that,” I teased, and she giggled.

Ruffling her hair, I fell into step behind her in the crush of people. The huge crowd was moving down and out of the stadium, like a slow-moving, sweaty river. The closer to the pitch we got, the stronger the scent of stale beer became. Some of the men leaving the stadium were drunk and really raucous, and I clung to Lizzy’s hands, not wanting to be separated from her. The accents were different than what I’d always imagined them to be—not posh London, but harsher, with lots of emphasis on the vowels. I couldn’t even understand what some of the drunk guys were talking about, and despite my slight discomfort, I couldn’t help but grin. I felt as far away from NYC as ever.

Lizzy showed some papers to a security guard outside the locker room, and he waved us in. The air was hot and humid, like a shower, and it smelled of pure masculinity. I wrinkled my nose, but in reality it wasn’t as unpleasant as I’d expected. It actually smelled kind of good. God, what is happening to me? I thought. One day away from home and I’m turning into a soccer groupie.

We weren’t the only fans going in; there was a crowd of screaming, shrieking, squealing girls, and as soon as the team appeared, the girls launched themselves at various players. Jay Walsh had the biggest fan crowd to contend with, and I watched as he grinned and obligingly took selfies with all of his fans.

“How long are we allowed to stay, Lizzy?” I asked.

But she had already disappeared. When I turned around, I saw her chatting up another tall Adonis. Unlike Jay, this guy had let his hair grow slightly long, and it was a lighter shade of brownish-blond, which highlighted his bright blue eyes and complemented Lizzy’s darker beauty. She looked happy and without a trace of self-consciousness, and for a moment I was envious of her ability to just walk right up to a soccer star and start chatting with him.

“This is a prime bunch,” one of the guys called to Jay. He grinned.

“We’re gonna get our pick of the pussy tonight, boys,” he replied, just loudly enough for me to hear him from where I was standing off to the side. I wrinkled my nose. The girls were draping themselves on him and begging for autographs, and Jay was indulging them the same way that he might indulge a litter of puppies, all smiles and cajoling.

Seriously, why did women go for guys like him? He’d literally just referred to the women here as ‘pussy’ like that’s all they were to him; not human women, just slabs of meat to devour whenever he felt like it.

“What do you birds think of coming to a party with us tonight?” Jay said to the girls with a grin. “I think you girls would be a hit.”

As they all squeaked their unanimous acceptance, I rolled my eyes and turned around. Lizzy bounded back over to me, a signed soccer ball in her hands. “Come on,” she said, grabbing my hand and dragging me across the room. “Let’s meet Jay!”

“I don’t know,” I said. Some of my good mood had vanished. “He seems like a real asshole. He was talking about those girls like they were a herd of cattle.” And they were eating it up, I thought to myself with a scowl. It’s like they want to be objectified!

“He’s not really like that,” Lizzy said. “I mean, he’s just excited. They just won a huge match and he has all these cute girls around him. Wouldn’t you be excited?”

I sighed. She had a point, and even nice men did tend to act like meatheads on occasion, especially when they were around a lot of other big, masculine guys.