Page 102 of Challenge
I exhale heavily and mope my way over to Indie. Flopping down in the seat next to her, she cradles my head as I rest it on the table in a proper pout.
Last week was my first match, and this week she begins her job with Bethnal. We’ve only officially been together two months now, but I’m still dreading the idea of being away from her.
She nailed a meet and greet with the team doc, just like I knew she would. Apparently she had over-prepared for the meeting and created some injury prevention technique plan for footballers. She blew the staff away.
She is a bloody genius after all.
Even though I’m pouting because this will give me less time with her, I couldn’t be more proud.
Indie’s voice is determined as she interjects, “I think it’s good we’re going to have some time apart during your season, Cam.”
My head pops up to look at her in horror. “What on earth does that mean?”
Her cheeks redden. “You completely embarrassed the lot of us when you flew up into the stands and kissed me after your first goal as a Gunner last week. We really don’t need extra media coverage.”
“That stadium kiss was well worth the ten thousand pound fine,” I state confidently, staring back at Indie and marveling at how it’s still fun to just look at her. Sometimes I can adjust my gaze the slightest bit and make her blush.
She grins and blushes.
I smile.
“I didn’t completely hate it, I guess” she murmurs with a smirk and leans into my embrace.
I press a tender kiss to her temple and move my hand between her legs under the table. “That’s called passion, babe. I thought you were a quick study.” I whisper the next bit into her ear. “Let me take you to bed and educate you again.”
She bites her lip with a giggle. “I think I’m going to like sports medicine.”
“Enough,” Vi chimes in. “I’ve seen enough of you two snogging to last me a lifetime.”
Gareth and Booker both chuckle while Tanner says with a playful smile, “We can pull it up and watch it onMatch of the Dayhighlights if you’d like.”
“Not again!” Indie bellows, her face dropping to serious in two seconds flat.
I smile lasciviously and recall the similarly horrified expression on her face last week. My brothers and Dad were all at their own prospective matches so she was seated with Vi and Hayden.
It was a great day.
It was the moment that I realised I love her.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as I moved the ball down the Arsenal pitch. It was like there was an invisible string between my toes and the leather as I skirted past defenders left and right. I closed in on the goal and my pace halted as I pulled my boot back and shot. I clutched my hands into fists as I watched the keeper’s glove grapple desperately to get a single hair on the ball. When it slipped past him and touched the nylon netting, I no longer saw football.
I saw red.
A beautiful, vivacious, red-framed glasses-wearing redhead seated on the goal side just behind the place I sunk my ball.
Before I could register what was happening, I was sprinting away from my teammates who were all trying to tackle me in celebration. I leapt over the security barricades, past the guards, and climbed up a long row of concrete steps.
I could feel several fans giving me matey pats on my back as I passed them, but I had tunnel vision for my ultimate goal, who was wearing a red jersey with the Harris name on the back.
As I approached, I registered that Vi was bawling huge, fat tears that I could see from a mile away as she clutched her shaking stomach. Hayden was laughing and holding her under his arm. Indie just looked mystified. Shocked. Disbelieving. My large presence in my kit with my boots clacking against the pavement stupefied my genius of a girlfriend.
“What are you doing?” she asked, staring up at me as I closed the space between us and cupped her face in my hands.
“Kissing my best goal on the lips.”
“I think you mean best girl, you show-boating footballer—”
I pressed my lips to hers.
