Page 76 of Sweeper
I laugh and shake my head. “Nice try…but as you can see, I’m all booked up.”
Phoebe narrows her eyes. “We’ll see about that.” She makes her way down the bar and back toward my boss’s office.
“If you are going into Hubert’s office to plead with him, it won’t work,” I call out, but she’s rounded the corner and out of earshot now.
I shake my head again because no way will Phoebe convince him to let me off. We’ll be swamped tonight because of the match. People love watching football at a pub.
Moments later, Phoebe reemerges with a victorious expression. “You’re off in thirty.” She reaches into her bag and chucks a green and white shirt at me.
“How did you manage that?” I inquire, holding out the brand-new Bethnal Green hooded jumper that she must have just bought on her way over here.
She does a twirl and a curtsey. “I am woman, hear me roar.”
“You don’t think Zander will think this is a bit desperate of me to come to one of his matches?” I ask Phoebe as we make our way through the concourses at Emirates Stadium.
It’s a huge structure that I’ve never actually visited before. We grab some food and drinks and stand at a small table in the refreshments area to have a beer and a snack before we take our seats. I keep getting nasty looks for being in the opposing team’s kit, so I pull my faux fur coat tight around my chest, hoping to blend in a bit more.
“It’s not like we’re at Tower Park!” Phoebe exclaims before taking a large sip of her beer. “And besides, he can’t begrudge you for free footy tickets to a FA Cup game. Now, hurry up and finish. The bloke at the ticket counter said our gate was just over there, and I’m dying to see our seats.”
We glug down our drinks and toss them in the bin as we maneuver through the masses of people toward our section entrance. When we emerge out into the light, I take a moment to breathe it all in. We’re dead center on the pitch, and the stands are nearly full to the brim. There really is nothing better than a packed football stadium. Even if it is Emirates.
I frown when I see that Phoebe is going down the steps, not up. “My God, these must be good seats,” I say as I continue heading down. The longer we go, the farther my jaw falls to the floor. “Phoebe!”
“What?” Her black ponytail flicks me in the face as she whirls around to look back at me before heading into an aisle.
“We’re in the front row,” I bark, completely gobsmacked.
“Surprise!” She smiles victoriously and grabs my arm to drag me behind her.
We make our way to our seats, and I glance around at everyone seated around us. They all look like they have a lot more money than I do, and none of them are wearing green and white.
“Why did you make me wear this?” I grumble, tightening my jacket even further.
“Because you have to support your boyfriend!” Phoebe laughs and shimmies her chest at me.
I shoot her a murderous glower. “Zander Williams is not my boyfriend.”
Suddenly, the music dies down in the stadium, and my eyes swerve over to the player tunnel where I see the players of Arsenal and Bethnal Green marching out with the refs and coaching staff. They’re all holding the hands of little children who look to be about the same age as my nieces.
I spot Camden Harris first in a single file line with his team. His inked arm pokes out of his Arsenal kit, and he looks perfectly at ease out there—a seasoned player certainly nearing retirement age but not showing it on the pitch at all.
My eyes move past the Arsenal club toward the Bethnal Green line. I spot Booker and Tanner and Vaughn. It would have been nice to see a Bethnal Green match when Camden, Tanner, and Booker were still all playing for the club. I think Gareth left for Man U before they all ever got a chance to play for their father, but watching them all play at the World Cup was a magical experience for not just me, but for all of England, so I can’t really complain.
My eyes are drawn to the players right in front of me next, and I gasp when I see Zander’s eyes are locked on me. My entire body shivers with apprehension as he tilts his head and mouths something I can’t quite discern.
I assume it’s something along the lines of,“What the fuck are you doing here, you creepy stalker? Is there no way I can escape you?”
I shoot him an apologetic look, my face heating with mortification as I hook my thumb over to Phoebe by way of explanation. I smile good-naturedly, and he smiles back, hopefully not intending to call his club lawyer as soon as the match is over and ask for a flat relocation. I mean, we are having sex with each other. Surely, me watching him play a little football isn’t more uncomfortable for him than me taking over the vibrator in the shower.
The match begins, and I’m relieved when Zander is too focused on his position as sweeper in front of Booker at the net to give me looks that I can overthink until the cows come home.
Bethnal Green takes a shocking lead in the first half after a flurry of chances. Honestly, there was so much action on the Arsenal side of the pitch, I was worried that Zander and Booker might be feeling a bit useless.
Bethnal Green’s single goal that’s earned in the thirty-fourth minute is a team effort. Roan DeWalt takes a shot from the edge of the box that takes a wicked deflection off the toe of the Arsenal goalkeeper. Thankfully, the twenty-three-year-old striker, Billy Campbell, is in the box and takes full advantage of the rebound. He crushes it straight into the net to make the score one-nil.
Arsenal is a lot less tentative in the second half, giving Booker and Zander a run for their money. Between the two of them, I counted at least seven big saves. At one point, Zander makes a sprawling save on a rebound deflection from Booker. And finally, the Irishman, Lance Finnegan, who’s been struggling in his position as a center-back for the whole game, manages to help them both out of a scramble.
Near the end of the second half, Camden Harris catches a break as he cuts in from the left flank and ends up one-on-one with Zander. He tricks him out with a stunning spin maneuver, delivering a crushing blow with his fierce right foot just missing the tips of Booker’s gloves.
