Page 19 of Payback
VAUGHNHARRIS STANDS UP ONa bench inside the changing room as we slowly strip out of our gear. It’s mid-May and we just completed our final match of the regular season against Newcastle with a crushing four-nil victory, one of those goals being mine. Apart from a couple of friendlies we have coming up to promote our entrance into the Premier League, it’s time for some much deserved downtime in the world of soccer. I can’t wait.
“Great match tonight, gentlemen,” Vaughn states, his voice gruff from all the yelling he did from the sidelines. “That’s how you finish off the season for Tower Park!”
The team erupts into cheers, and Tanner grins over at me with a creepy look on his bearded face, which I have learned isn’t anything unusual for the likes of him. A lot of Tanner’s facial expressions resemble the look of a predatory stalker, but that’s evidently just his face.
He holds out his fist to me and I bump it with pride. The Tanner Harris I’ve gotten to know this past season is a completely different guy than the one I met when I first moved to London. I don’t know if it’s because he’s married and expecting a child, or if it’s because his wife has his balls permanently locked in her handbag. Regardless, I’m grateful all the same because I finally have confidence in my position on the team.
Tanner suddenly stands up on his chair, grabs himself by the junk, and hollers over everyone’s cheers, “Let’s go balls deep in the Premier League next season, mates!”
Everyone hoots with joy, standing up and grabbing their own crotch in solidarity with their team captain. I glance over at Vaughn, who looks seriously unimpressed by his son’s exploits but also not surprised.
Fuck it. I stand up and grab my balls, too. A balls deep chant begins echoing off the changing room walls, and I can’t help but laugh at what a difference two years can make.
When I moved here from South Africa, I would have never expected our team to be promoted to Premier League this soon. Especially since Tanner couldn’t stand me for the better part of my rookie season. I thought getting an assist from him would be less likely than him sharing his hot doctor girlfriend with me for a night. But after tonight’s match, I’ve rounded off my season with fourteen goals and seven assists, making it my most successful season in my soccer career.
Suddenly, I catch sight of the new PR rep for the team walking through while all of us are grabbing ourselves and acting like idiots. Niall Capelle is a forty-something-year-old slick rick wearing an expensive suit and a pastel pink tie. He runs a hand through his greased blonde hair as he does everything he can to not brush up against any of our sweaty bodies. He sidles up next to Vaughn, who drops down off the bench and raises his hands to settle down the team.
“Oi, let’s listen to what Mr. Capelle came here to say and then you can all go back to tugging on your trouser snakes.”
The team chuckles and begrudgingly quiets as Mr. Capelle begins speaking in a smooth American accent. “Look, gentlemen, I know you don’t know me very well yet as our PR firm just recently came on board, but you may as well get used to the sight of me now. I’m going to be pushing a lot of great publicity opportunities during your summer breaks. Getting promoted to Premier League next season means we all need to step up our game and present a clean front to the public. It’s my hope that Bethnal Green F.C. will stick in Premier for years to come and we can grow this organisation to be even greater than it already is.”
The team breaks into a cheer and a few of the guys high five each other. Mr. Capelle adds, “With that, I hope to see several of you at the charity event in West End tonight, benefitting the LGBTQ+ community centre expansion. You all should have received an email with the details. It’s at Café de Paris. And perhaps since you just completed your last game of the regular season, your manager won’t enforce a curfew?”
Vaughn scowls at Mr. Capelle and replies without pause, “Midnight is their curfew because anything that happens after midnight is a recipe for trouble.” Vaughn smiles at the mixture of laughs and groans from the team and adds, “Have a good time. And great work tonight, gentlemen.” Then he strides out of the changing room with Mr. Capelle hot on his heels.
“Hey, are you guys going tonight?” I ask Tanner and Booker, who are seated a little ways down the bench from me. “Or are you needing to get home to the twins, Booker?”
The youngest Harris Brother smiles at me. The gesture is so childlike that I have to remind myself the man is a beast as our team keeper and won the World Cup for England only a year ago.
He clears his throat and replies, “We’re going out. We promised to take our cousin for a night out in London. She just moved here from Chicago last week, and we figured VIP access to a nightclub is probably the best welcome home party we can give her.”
My blood runs cold. “Your”—I clear my throat—“Your cousin? Like a male Harris cousin I don’t know about who’s from Chicago?”
Booker frowns at my insanely specific response and shakes his head. “No, our cousin, Allie Harris. You know her, I thought? You were her date at Aunt Fiona’s wedding.”
My entire body goes stiff as I stammer, “Oh yeah, I remember her. I, erm, just didn’t know she was moving here. We, erm, didn’t keep in touch.”
“Don’t fuck with her tonight, all right?” Tanner barks out, narrowing his eyes at me. “This is her welcome to London night, and I won’t have you stealing her away from us. I don’t like the idea of bacon-sandwiching my own cousin, but I’ll do it if I have to.”
Booker’s nose wrinkles as he stands up to yank off his shirt. “No, Tan. Just…no.”
“What?” Tanner asks as he pulls the band out of his man bun and his long blonde hair falls down around his shoulders. “I’m not saying I’d lick her somewhere naughty.”
“Stop,” Booker says, making a face like he’s going to vomit and turns toward the showers.
Tanner follows. “I’d just lick her hand or something. Like a knuckle maybe. Or her elbow? There’s nothing sexy about elbows.”
“You need help,” Booker snaps over his shoulder.
“You know what, I’m tired of you twisting everything I say to be perverted…You’re the one sexualising the Bacon Sandwich Rule.”
Their arguing voices trail off, leaving me with a serious case of “what the fuck” after the bomb they just dropped on me.
Allie Harris moved to London?
I turn to face my cubby, my hands gripping the frame for balance. If I’m being honest, I’ve thought about her at least twenty thousand times since that night. She blazed in like a beautiful golden storm that I couldn’t help but get lost in. Not only was she a fucking knockout, but she had such a sense of determination about her that seemed flawed somehow. On the surface, I saw power and poise. But there were times when she revealed glimpses of fragility that I desperately wanted to repair.
I’m not typically one for saving women because I have enough in my family who depend on me. But Allie was different. There was strength in her weakness, and that was a lethal combination for me. It’s why I made an exception to the rule I have about no one-night stands. I couldn’t let her walk out of my life without tasting her at least once.
