Playing Dirty(9)

“I’m bringing a book,” I said with a teasing grin, pointing inside my bag. “And I might even take it out and read it depending on how things go.”

Lizzy opened her green eyes wide and stared at me. “They’re playing Liverpool,” she said dramatically. “That’s like, huge rivalry, Kate.”

“That’s cool,” I said breezily. “But really I’m just looking forward to being outside with some wine and a good read.”

Lizzy chuckled, but she didn’t say anything. I had to laugh as well; this was so typical of us. She’d always been the tomboy out of the two of us, into every sport with a ball and cute guys. I usually watched the Super Bowl with friends, but that was it. Aside from that, the closest I’d been to sports in recent years was when I’d done a special edition on how harmful jock culture could be to young women in our home country, featuring a woman who’d been gang-raped by a drunken college lacrosse team at a house party.

The football stadium was packed with fans, all done up in face paint and scarves featuring a red, black, and yellow pattern. Interested, I stared at the emblem. I did have to admit, at least European logos were cooler than American ones, and I felt an odd sense of excitement rush over me as Lizzy led us to our seats. We were packed in like sardines, but the good mood of the crowd was infectious.

When Lizzy caught me smiling, she grinned. “I knew you’d have fun here,” she said. “Look! Those are the guys!”

She pointed down at the field, and I saw tiny handsome figures in red running out on the pitch. We were so far away that I had to use Lizzy’s binoculars to zoom in, and when I recognized the features of one of the guys, I gasped. It was him. Jay Walsh—the very same guy that I’d seen prominently displayed all over the Manchester pages I’d visited online.

I groaned. “I recognize that guy,” I said, pointing in his direction. “He’s Jay Walsh. When I was booking my flight, there were tons of ads with his face on them. And erm…his body too.”

I recalled his tattooed chest and sculpted abs, and I felt a tingling warmth between my legs, which I immediately ignored.

Lizzy raised her eyebrows. “Oh, my god, you actually remembered his name?” She cackled and I blushed hotly. “He’s like, the most famous one on the team! Isn’t he dreamy?”

He was, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was right. “He’s okay, I guess, if you like those big beefy types,” I replied with a shrug.

Lizzy rolled her eyes. “Come on, just admit he’s hot!” she said. “It’s okay to be normal for once, Kate.”

“Fine…he’s kinda hot,” I said, blushing as Jay’s eyes swept over the crowd and loud female voices shrieked their approval. His eyes seemed to linger on me, but I knew that was impossible. After all, we were in the nosebleed seats of the stadium.

Once the match started, I felt myself zone out a little bit. The crowd booed every time Liverpool scored, and by the middle of the game I was starting to get back into the energy. It was so different from an American game; the energy was electric, happy. There seemed to be a very friendly, blue-collar attitude among almost all of the onlookers, and I almost felt like I was bonding with everyone else there. Lizzy was clearly having the time of her life, screaming and cheering every time Manchester scored. Plus, the men were gorgeous. They moved across the field like spirited, sleek animals, and Jay especially had a kind of magnetism about him that made me keep searching for him. Every time he scored, he’d smirk and look around the stadium, taking clear pride in his popularity.

“Seems like a big head on that one,” I said, pointing at Jay again as I passed the binoculars back to Lizzy as the first half of the game ended. “He’s awfully proud of himself.”

“Probably because he’s a hotshot football player,” Lizzy said with an arched brow. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t be proud of that?”

I frowned. “It’s cool and all. Good for him,” I said. “But I mean, he’s not really making a difference, is he? He’s getting rich playing a sport, and aside from that, all I’ve read about him is that he goes out clubbing a lot and has sex with tons of women.”

Lizzy looked at me and shook her head. “I guess the media does focus on his playboy side a lot, but he’s actually a pretty good guy,” she said. “He’s from Belfast, and he spends a lot of time working with charities up there. I think he grew up really poor or something.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling slightly guilty for having judged the guy so quickly. But then as I kept watching him, I saw him lightly slap the ass of a squealing female fan who’d run out to hug him as the team headed off the field for halftime, and I rolled my eyes. Just because someone contributed to charity didn’t mean they weren’t a sleazy ass; maybe my initial assessment of him had been right after all.