Dangerous Play

36 » the spirit of competition

"Alright, give that back so I can start warming up," I said.

Kieran's grin widened. "Come take it from me."

This, I was familiar with. He was a couple paces away, watching me approach with feigned nonchalance. The ball rested at his feet as if he couldn't care less, but I knew he was aware of its exact position.

I moved toward him. I could accept his little cat and mouse challenge, or... "I have a better idea. Let's make out instead."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

I took another step, practically pressing myself up against him. He smelled as divine as ever, like a warm Mediterranean afternoon. "Really." I tilted my head and tugged his mouth down to meet mine. He let out a surprised noise before sinking into the kiss, gently resting his hands on my waist to pull me closer.

At the same time, I rolled the ball behind me with my left foot and turned out of his embrace to shield it with my body. "Ha! I got the—" The words died in my throat as I realized who had just shown up on the other side of the field. "Uh, hi, Coach."

Coach Walker's expression was inscrutable as he approached. Suddenly I wished it had rained enough to make this entire field a mud swamp so I could sink into it and disappear forever rather than face the fact that my coach had just seen me kissing my boyfriend before our game.

"Kieran was just helping me warm up!" I blurted out, cheeks flushing sunburn red. Behind me, I could feel, rather than hear Kieran laughing, so I crooked my elbow and jabbed it in his direction. A quiet "oof!" let me know I'd hit my mark.

"In that case, I'd hate to see what the rest of the game looks like," Coach Walker replied. Somehow, the British accent made his tone even drier. "Congratulations, by the way, Valencia. I heard the Madrid news from Matt."

"Thank you, sir," Kieran replied, having sobered up from his laughing fit.

"Now, if you don't mind, we have a game to win, and your presence is, ahem, distracting some of my players." With that, he turned and continued toward the sideline to get situated.

I turned to face Kieran. My face was so red I was sure it was the same color as my hair. "Oh. My. God. That was humiliating." The cheeky bastard was smiling smugly, as if he was reveling in my embarrassment.

"You're cute when you're embarrassed," he said, which of course only made me blush harder. "And don't worry about it. Marcus Walker's a retired footballer. He's seen a lot worse than two teenagers kissing on a soccer field, trust me."

"I should just quit the team right now," I moaned. "I'm never going to live this down."

Kieran pulled me in for a hug before I could protest, releasing me almost immediately. "No, you're going to get out there and kick ass in this game like the incredible player you are. And remember, you have a super hot boyfriend cheering you on from the sidelines, so screw what anyone else thinks." He winked.

"Except my coach, who literally determines whether I play or not," I grumbled. I glanced over at the man, who was conspicuously not looking in our direction. "But thank you. Now go, please, before he actually decides to bench me for canoodling."

He laughed as he jogged toward the other side of the field, where some of my other teammates had begun to appear. Thankfully their arrivals meant I didn't have to acknowledge the moment with Coach Walker, who also seemed like he wanted to forget what he'd seen as soon as possible. Which was more than fine with me.

Soon enough, we were warmed up and ready to go. The sidelines had filled up with spectators—I spotted my parents and Finn sitting by Felicity's and Rose's families—and the familiar cornflower blue uniforms of our opponents, Eden and Marissa among them. I felt some of the pre-game nerves start creeping in, though I knew the adrenaline rush of the first seconds of the game would chase them away.

The referee blew his whistle as we stretched on the sidelines. "Captains!"

"McMahon and Knox, you're up," Coach said without missing a beat. I looked up in surprise, but he had gone back to his discussion with our goalkeeper. Felicity and I exchanged glances and headed for the center circle, where the trio of referees was waiting.

"Of course it's bitch number one and bitch number two," Felicity muttered. I looked up, and sure enough, the two Blue Devils captains approaching us were none other than Marissa Cunningham and Eden Sayed.

"Shake hands," the referee instructed.

I plastered a smile on my face but didn't move. Next to me, Felicity crossed her arms. Marissa glared at me like I was the gum on the bottom of her shoe, an expression I was unfortunately all too used to seeing on her face. Eden just looked bored, as usual, but I could see the tension she was trying to hide.

"O... kay," said the ref. He was a tall, skinny dude who looked like he spent more time in the VAR room than out on the field, but he must have been good if they had assigned him to ref a high level tournament final. "Blue Devils, you're the home team, so you call the toss."

"Heads," Marissa said before he even tossed the coin. The coin landed on heads, and she smirked as if it was a sign of good luck for the game. "We'll stay on this side."

"Sporting, you have kick-off," the ref announced. "Good luck, and let's have a good, clean game."

Yeah, fat chance of that happening. He must've known it was a futile hope, because he grimaced like he was already dreading the number of times he'd have to pull out the plastic yellow card from his pocket.

Marissa flipped me off as soon as the refs turned around, and I rolled my eyes. Could she be any more immature? I blew her a kiss and watched her face suffuse with anger. Felicity laughed.

At the sideline, we relayed the information to our coach, who nodded. After a brief speech, he gave us the lineup—Karlin in goal, Tess, Felicity, Caroline, and Anna on defense, Chanel, Olivia, Leila, and Rose in the midfield, and Zala and me up top. A championship-winning team, if I do say so myself.

Within minutes, we were lined up on the pitch. Across the center line, I spotted Eden, eyes narrowed in concentration. Next to me, Zala bounced on the balls of her feet and shook out her hands. Even the wind stopped, as if it knew what a precarious moment this was and didn't want to disrupt the anticipation.

The referee counted the players to make sure everyone was on the field. As if in slow motion, I watched him bring the whistle to his lips and give a sharp trill, signaling the start of the match.

Let the game begin.