Page 119 of The Secret We Keep
“Good, now let’s find a seat because I think the players will be out soon and I’m pretty sure I just saw the O’Keefe family pull up.”
Quickly making our way over to the small block of bleachers that are to one side of the playing field, we take a seat towards the back, saving one for Sarah. The two-tier stand is virtually full with home and away supporters, so I’m happy when we blend into the crowd.
A few minutes later, one fan bangs a drum strapped around his neck, and the players run out of the tiny dugout which is similar to the small shed my dad has at the end of the garden. It’s funny because it’s not. “They’re taking this very seriously,” I say with a laugh.
“Have you seen number seven?” she asks, and my eyes search for the player wearing the plain white jersey with a seven on the back.
“Whatishe doing?” I gasp.
Number seven is stretching, or more so, wiggling his rear end in the air as two players stand in the middle of the pitch.
The referee, also known as Derek Rogan, June from the shop’s husband, tosses a coin up into the air, but I can’t look away from the man jiggling his trunk.
His socks are over his knees, and his shorts are sitting above his hips.
Holly nudges me when he pulls his shorts up even higher. “Look how hungry his arse is.”
I nudge her back. “Don’t be cruel,” I say, still trying to suppress my laughter.
Just then, I see Sarah searching the bleachers for me.
Standing to my feet, I don’t give it a second thought. Even in this skirt, I’m giving her a wave with my arm stretched up high.
She waves back, and in that instant, I feel the air shift around me.
Surpassing the beat of the drum being played, my heart hammers in my chest when I notice a few people looking my way. Lowering my arm, my gaze wanders through the crowd to the players on the pitch.
They’re all getting ready for the ref to blow his whistle.
Except for one.
Paddy. He looks good enough to eat in his kit, with his muscles popping in all the right places and his hair a little wild due to the breeze.
Someone nearby coughs, and what with my body aching from ogling him, I abruptly sit, my core starting to heat.
Holly leans in closer. “I think my work here is done,” she whispers, grinning from ear to ear.
With my insides on fire, I try to clear my throat when Sarah takes her seat on the other side of me.
“Lord have mercy. Would you look at the rods on this one.”
I look up at her, keeping my head dipped low. “Is he still looking?”
Sarah looks at the pitch then back to me. “Yeah,” she says bluntly with a surprised look on her face. “But I’m not talking about him.” She assesses me. “You look killer, Morgan. I’ve never seen you so dressed up.” Her smile widens when she looks towards the pitch again. “I think you broke him.”
Holly laughs. “Oh my God, Morgan. He-man can’t get enough.”
“Stop,” I tell them both. My cheeks flame. The longer I refuse tolook the more I’m fuelling their fascination.
Sarah places her arm on my shoulder. “Don’t be embarrassed.”
Her soft words make me look up.
When she nods her head to the pitch, I finally let myself look at Paddy.
He’s got his hands on his hips, staring at me. Even through the crowd, his gaze cuts through them like a knife in butter, landing on me with an intensity so hot, he takes my breath away.
Mr Rogan blows his whistle.
