Floored Page 9

  Me: Okay, I'll concede that penalty shootouts are exciting. WAY better than a tie. You have to admit those are stupid.

  Me: Nice goal, BTW. I like how you faked out the goalie.

  Jude: Those are the rules, love. That's why the points matter.

  Me: Yeah, what's up with that too? You can like, get DEMOTED. Y'all are savage.

  Jude: That's what makes it exciting. I'll convert you yet.

  Jude: How was the appointment with the doctor?

  Me: Good. It's too early to hear the heartbeat or do an ultrasound or anything, so we just went over good eating and talked about morning sickness and stuff. She took all my vitals. My blood pressure was a little high, though.

  Jude: Was it? Is that normal for you?

  Me: Well, I was afraid to touch anything because the office was so FREAKING fancy, and also, I'm pretty sure I saw Victoria Beckham in there. Or her doppelganger. Did you send me to the nicest doctor in England or something?

  Jude: I asked our team doctor for a rec. They said they'd send me the bill, yeah?

  Me: No one asked me for a single penny. Or a pound. Whatever.

  Me: I do have money, though. I don't expect you to pay for everything.

  Jude: Sorry, had to go into training and then meet with my manager.

  Me: Running into a meeting with my professor. She's about to rip my outline to shreds.

  Jude: No worries. Maybe we can connect next week?

  Me: My turn to apologize. This week has been crazy. I was right about the outline.

  Jude: What does that mean? You start over?

  Me: No, I just need to dig deeper.

  Jude: Will I understand your answer if I ask what you're diving deeper into?

  Me: Charlotte Brontë's educational and employment history and how it influenced the conceptual presence of female independence in her work.

  Jude: Right then.

  Me: Basically, she hated her job and wrote about it because she hated that other women were forced into the same situations.

  Jude: Makes sense.

  Me: Why are there no commercial breaks in soccer? Football. Whatever. It's not good for people who need to pee all the time.

  Me: I waited as long as I could and then missed your goal. THERE SHOULD BE COMMERCIALS.

  Jude: Why do you think American corporations don't push football? They can't make as much money off us because we actually let people play the game.

  Me: Okay, okay, I walked into that one.

  Claire: IF YOU DON'T TELL OUR FAMILY SOON, I'M GONNA LOSE MY MIND, LIA. I almost slipped today with Isabel. We were working out and I swear, if she hadn't been at work and easily distracted, she would've pushed me on it.

  Me: I know. Don't yell at me.

  Me: Logan and Paige will want to make me come home. And I want to finish the semester.

  Claire: Le sigh. I get it. BUT COME ON. You're asking a lot of me here. I did tell Bauer, though. *hides face*

  Me: I figured you would. You're a terrible liar.

  Me: I'll tell them soon.

  Claire: Define soon.

  Me: SOON. Go make out with Bauer or something.

  Claire: How are you feeling? Is Jude being nice?

  Me: Tired, but good. I puked in an Oxford trash can the other day, and you should've seen the faces of the people who passed me. One called me a "drunk American" under her breath. LOL.

  Me: And yes. We've just been texting this week and last. He's BUSY. Did you know football players can play 3+ matches in a week here? That's friggin’ nuts!

  Claire: OMG, ARE YOU CONVERTED NOW?

  Me: I'm just ... learning. But it's not as bad as I thought. It's kinda hypnotizing to watch. Plus ... Have you SEEN their thighs??

  Claire: No, but you sure have.

  Me: DAMN RIGHT. <3

  Isabel: Claire said something weird today about you not being able to do kickboxing class when you come home. Then she made her weird 'I'm hiding something' face.

  Isabel: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON.

  Me: I'll call soon! Sorry, it's been crazy here. Love you. Mwah.

  Isabel: Don't think I don't know what you're doing. Can I still come and visit before you leave? I need a reason to take a vacation.

  Me: Yes. Talk soon. <3

  Paige: WHY AREN'T YOU ANSWERING YOUR CALLS, DUDE

  Me: YOU ALWAYS CALL WHEN I'M BUSY. Does everyone in our family have their phone on caps lock or something?

  Paige: Sorry. I miss you. I miss your voice. When are you coming home? Haven't you gotten enough knowledge yet?

  Me: You have three other sisters to pester. And Emmett. Go bug them.

  Paige: I love you too, L.

  Me: <3

  Jude: Care to come to a match this weekend?

  Me: Like ... in person? In the stands with all the crazy screaming fans?

  Jude: That's the general idea. I could give you a pass if you'd rather sit in a box.

  Me: No way. I love the crazy screaming fans. I never wanted Logan's box passes either. Box seats are for pansies.

  Jude: That a girl. I'll put the tickets under your name at the window by the main entrance. Make sure you wear blue and white; otherwise, they'll make you switch seats because they'll think you're a Bethnal Green fan. Trust me, you don't want that. They're wankers.

  Me: You cannot be serious.

  Jude: I would never joke about it. They don't mix home and away fans.

  Me: Y'all are crazy.

  Jude: I'll see you afterward.

  Me: <3

  Me: SHIT, sorry, didn't mean to send you a heart. I do that with my sisters and Paige and ... sorry. Awkward.

  Jude: No worries.

  Jude: <3 (It took me a really long time to figure out how you did that)

  Chapter Eleven

  Jude

  "You seemed frustrated out there, Jude. What did you want more of today that you weren't getting?"

  What I wanted was to smack the microphone out of my face, but I smiled at the journo. "A bit more of everything, I suppose. We were outplayed, and there's no pretty way to say that. They passed better, defended better, scored more. Makes it hard to win."

  "Do you think Shepperton can pull themselves together once the break is done? Or do you need to see some changes on the roster when the transfer window opens? There's talk that management is eyeing some younger talent heading into the rest of the season."

  I kept that smile pasted on my face until it hurt. "I think we've got a great team right now. We've just got to communicate better when it counts. If the management makes some changes this winter, then I trust they'll do what's best for the club." I nodded, then started edging toward the door of the room. "Thanks."

  He wanted to ask more, it was obvious, but honestly, I wasn't much in the mood for talking.

  It was a shit game in shit weather, and all I wanted to do was take a hot shower.

  Everything had set up perfectly in the eighty-ninth minute when I got the ball and had a free stretch to run.

  But instead of a win, instead of a draw, we went in the wrong direction. That Bethnal Green keeper was a lucky bastard because the one finger he'd gotten on the ball was enough to keep us from a draw. They got three points and moved ahead of Arsenal on the table. We stayed where we were. Like a bloody car that couldn't get out of neutral.

  I left the press room and hooked a right toward the showers. One of my newer teammates, an acquisition from Paris St Germain, murmured something in French as he passed. It sounded an awful lot like he was calling me a name that I never would've dared to repeat in front of Mrs. Atkinson. Declan exited another press area and lifted his chin.

  "You looked like shit today, McAllister."

  I gave him a look. "How in the bloody hell they decided you should be captain is beyond me."

  "Because I'm not going to tiptoe around your ego to make you feel better." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I can admit where I fucked up today. Can you?" When I didn't answer, he lowered his voice. "You had someone right
behind you who could've taken the ball, could've come at the goal from the side, and instead, you went for the glory shot. It's not always your job to save the day just because you're trying to prove you can still play."

  "I'll remember that the next time I get a perfect shot," I said dryly.

  "If you get the shot, then take it. But that wasn't it. You were too far away from the goal, you didn't have the right angle, and you were running too fast to bend it the way you would've needed. But if you'd passed to Sebastien, he would've had it."

  Pride had me wanting to defend myself, and I fairly choked on the words as I swallowed them back down. "Is that why he's calling me names?"

  "Probably." His eyes never wavered. "Pull your head out of your arse, Jude. I mean it."

  His words rang in my head while I showered and changed. None of my teammates talked to me, all murmuring quietly after the dejection of another loss when we really needed a win.

  In the quiet of the locker room, the heavy weight of a loss felt like all the balls I'd kept juggled in the air were falling one by one.

  Maybe it was like this for other players, but I'd never ask. For me, losing felt like unleashing a screaming banshee that tailed behind me until our next game. All I could hear were the things my parents had warned me about when I was an eighteen-year-old, giving up my life to play in Germany.

  Why can't you just be content with a normal life?

  Why can't you be proud of the work we do and help us contribute in a way that means something?

  It's vain. Frivolous.

  Playing games doesn't keep the world turning.

  Every single time we lost, every single time someone hinted that I wasn't valuable anymore, I felt like my parents were watching, nodding their heads because they were right all along.

  I sighed. Most games, I never even thought about looking up in the stands, even on the odd game that Lewis came to, because it was simply another reminder of how my family didn't understand me, didn't see exactly what I had accomplished in my life. Those empty seats in my mind lit every fire underneath me. And today, they hadn't all been empty.

  Not once, in all my years of playing, had I walked out of a loss with someone waiting for me. There was no telling how she'd react or try to handle me, so I braced myself for whatever it might be. I braced myself to see how she'd react, this girl I was supposed to be getting to know.

  When I left the room, I stopped short in the doorway, because across the hallway was Lia, waiting for me with a smile and beautifully flushed face.

  "Hi." I sounded like an idiot.

  Her smile spread even further. "That was so freaking fun."

  My head tilted. "We lost."

  "I know, but ... oh man, you know how long it's been since I've been at a game? Any game?" She laid a hand on her chest. "There is nothing like the energy in the stands. And holy shit, you were not kidding about the fans. I heard curse words I didn't even know existed."

  What a balm she was to all the frayed, edgy parts of me leftover from the game. Not because she was trying to soothe me, but because she saw the beauty in it, even with the loss.

  We fell in step as I walked us toward the exit to the car park. Her shoulder brushed mine.

  I stopped. "You're soaked."

  "It was raining out there," she whispered, like she was telling me a secret.

  My face felt hot. "Obviously. But that can't be good for you."

  She waved that off. "Dude, I'm from Seattle. Rain don't scare me."

  As Lia started walking, I couldn't help but marvel. Her hair was a frizzy mess, barely contained on top of her head, she'd sat through that disastrous 1-0 defeat in the cold, bone-soaking rain, and she was acting like I'd handed her a winning lottery ticket.

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  Her smile was sweet. "Isn't that what you're trying to figure out? Who I am while I'm trying to figure out who you are." She shrugged, as if it was so simple.

  And maybe it was.

  Maybe I was the one complicating it.

  Everything in my life was complicated, though, except her. And that was the strangest part of all. I didn't exactly know where I stood with her, but suddenly, it felt desperately important for her to be the one thing I should do right.

  My team lost, probably because I was being a selfish arsehole.

  But this was something I could do.

  "Are you hungry?" I asked her.

  "Yes." Lia clasped her hands in front of her. "I'm not saying I'd murder someone for some fries right now, but I'd seriously hurt them."

  "Chips."

  "Hmm?"

  I set my hand on her back, steering her back toward the exit. "They're called chips, love. And if you're okay with coming back to my place for a do-over, I will make you the best bloody sandwich of your entire life."

  Lia stopped walking and pointed a finger at me. "Do we need ground rules for being alone in a house together?"

  "I don't know. Do we?"

  Clearly, she'd expected me to give her an actual answer. Lia blinked a few times.

  I laughed. "Tell you what, if we make a promise to each other that tonight, clothes stay on ... would that make you feel like we're being responsible?"

  She started walking, a tiny smile on her lips. "Just for tonight, we promise that?"

  "For a start."

  Lia nodded. "I like it. Let's make our own rules, McAllister. After you make me an epic sandwich."

  Close to an hour later, she was curled up on the corner of my couch, chin resting on her tucked-up knees, watching me with expectant eyes.

  Before I set the plate down, I pointed at her. "No judgment until you try it."

  "I promise," she answered solemnly.

  Lia had changed into one of my Shepperton hoodies while her shirt was in the dryer, and it positively dwarfed her slim frame. She made a show of shoving the sleeves up while I set the plate in her lap.

  Her hands froze. "What the hell is that?"

  "You said you wouldn't judge."

  "There's bread covering my fries." She blinked. "Why is there bread covering my fries?"

  "Chips." I handed her a napkin. "This is a chip butty. Buttered bread and chips."

  "Oh my gosh, why?"

  "You promised." I plopped next to her on the couch. "And I'd hate to think you'd lie to me, now that we're making our own rules."

  She grumbled something unintelligible under her breath that had me smiling. It felt good to smile over something so simple. When was the last time I'd done that? I smiled all the time about scoring goals and winning games, but that was it.

  Doing something so simple for someone and having it bring me joy was such a novel sensation.

  Lia gave me a side-eye as she lifted the sandwich.

  She took a bite and chewed.

  Her eyes fell closed.

  Her entire body sagged.

  And then she moaned.

  I had to shift on the couch because the last time I heard that sound, I was fairly certain my hand had been between her legs.

  "Ohmygawd," she said. Another bite. "Why is thi so goob?"

  I laughed. "Are you going to share?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "You'd get in the way of a pregnant woman and her cravings?"

  My arm found its way along the back of the couch, my fingers draped just to the outside of her shoulder, and the length of her hair tickled my arm. "No," I murmured. "I reckon I wouldn't as long as you look that happy."

  Lia finished chewing another bite, swallowed delicately before she set the plate down. "Are you giving me flirty eyes, Jude McAllister?"

  "You tell me," I murmured.

  Instead of answering, she took another bite, lips curled in a smile.

  My fingers tugged lightly on her hair. "I don't quite know what to do with you, Lia Ward, and that's the truth."

  Her cheeks flushed a lovely soft pink, and I took the moment of quiet to snatch the rest of her chip butty off the plate.

  "Oh, you ass!" She laughed, leaning forward to
grab it. I was too quick, though, devouring the rest of the sandwich with one massive bite. Before she could resume her original position, I tugged on her arm as I fell backward on the couch.