Page 66 of Play Dirty
The grass is still sleek and wet from the storm— somehow the sun shines. The crowd cheers, posters of encouragement and chants fill the bleachers. The conference opener’s voice spills from the speakers that surround the field.
“Opening game of the season, and it's a strong one. Villalargos Sirens vs. Costa Mar Titans.” He announces just as the Titans run up, dressed in their signature white uniforms with bold blue lettering, each wearing a black band around their arms. Their faces clenched tight in mourning.
The ref signals for a line-up. Costa Mar lines up like they are gearing for war, the keeper pounding his fist into his glove. One of the midfielders spits on the ground, grinning as he stares at me.
I suck in a breath, rolling my neck as I step forward, taking my spot in the central midfield. My cleats dig into the soil, as my eyes dart between their forwards and middies. Costa Mar is running a tight press—trying to choke out the source. Me.
Trying to leave us with no space to move and no time to think.
The new team captain, number 4, is on. Ezra and Thiago are sizing him up, ready for blood. This isn’t just an opener, this is a fucking grudge match. The sound of the whistle cuts through the air like a blade.
Signaling the kickoff.
Costa Mar moves with no hesitation, fast. White jerseys and black ones move towards the center mark with reckless speed. Number 12, their holding midfielder, lunges fast towards me like he wants my head, not the ball.
I shoulder into him, feeling the clash rattle up my spine, but I don’t fall. I pivot, dragging the ball back with the inside of my foot. I thread a sharp pass up to Ezra, who’s already cutting through the space. Proving why he’s the captain.
They are applying pressure— pressing high… too fucking high.
And that gets my blood fucking pumping. Good. Let them burn out; we are in it to win.
The ball swings towards Thiago, and he kicks it back to Zayden, who’s hugging the sideline. I drop back into the pocket between our defenders, two newbies who aren’t all that bad. I call for the ball with a lift of my hand.
Zayden sends it across the field, low and fast. It skims the grass and reaches me just as number 6 closes in. He doesn't go for the ball. He goes for my legs.
Studs collide with my shin as I shove the ball wide. I bite down the pain and don’t give them the satisfaction of my reaction. The ref doesn’t whistle, and the crowd continues to cheer.
We are giving them a game to remember…
Shaking off the pain, I adjust and turn the ball as quickly as I can, scanning the field. There is a small opening just behind their center’s back. I look over at Ezra, who sees it too. He takes off running.
I just have to make sure it’s one clean through ball, that’s all it needs to be.
I shift my weight, flicking the ball with my dominant foot at the correct space to split the two defenders collapsing in. With that, Ezra is gone, tearing toward the box. A man on a mission, showing off as he runs circles through them.
The ball kisses the pitch once, twice, and then he’s on it.
He doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t fake. He fires.
GOAL.
SIRENS 1. TITANS 0.
I stay on the field for the entirety of the game, only taking water breaks when allowed. My body still hums with the adrenaline rushing through my veins. We scored another goal; it's starting to feel like a victory at this point.
Cheers erupt from the crowd as they rise to shout. My eyes scan through the bleachers, and I spot her sitting beside Tatiana. Black baseball cap on her head, trying to hide herself from me, as if she could ever. It makes me smile, snapping my focus out of the game for a brief moment. The blood continues to rush into my ears. Costa Mar’s new captain is already storming toward me from midfield.
Shaking off the need that holds me rooted in place, I notice his clenched fist. When number 11 bumps into my chest as he walks past me, muttering something about Asher under his breath. “Don’t aim too high with Asher’s sloppy seconds.” He mutters, spitting on the ground beside my feet.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I bark, already turning around to face him. We both glare daggers at each other. “Don’t think that we don’t know the kind of filth you are.” His lips curl. “Or should I say bitch?”
His comment is enough to snap the restraints I keep at bay. Just as my fist swings back, Wyatt steps between us, high off the tension and adrenaline. “Back off,” he growls. I hold eye contact with their captain, not backing off from whatever dick pulling contest he’s holding. They want a war?
We’ll give them just that, but here on the field.
He’s a smart camper and continues on his merry way. We reset.
