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I do another slow twirl so they can see the back and frown. “Are you sure?”
“Ollie! Hey, Oliver. Come and give us a man’s opinion.”
Before I can object, Oliver’s face pops up between Lilly and Amy. He’s adorable to look at. With his tousled boy-band hair and dimples, I can see why Lilly is crushing on him.
“You look nice,” he offers.
“Nice?” Amy huffs at him, annoyed with his male version of a compliment, while Lilly looks at him with adoration. Even in my stressed state, I can see the chemistry snap, crackle, and pop between the two of them.
“You look hot?” Oliver adds, tugging at his collar uncomfortably.
“Thanks, Ollie.” I feel my cheeks blush. This whole thing has gotten out of hand. “Is it OK to wear to the game tonight?”
He tilts his head, taking longer to answer this time. “You don’t have a Socceroos jersey to wear, do you?”
Socceroos is the name of the national soccer team, and no, of course, I don’t have one of their jerseys.
“Why on earth would I have one of those?”
The three of them give me matching blank stares and I realise my mistake. As the girlfriend of the star of the Socceroos, I probably should have one. With Matthew’s number on it for good measure.
“I mean, I haven’t got one yet,” I stammer through my lie. “This will have to do for now.”
“You look great!” Lilly says, while the other two nod. “Amazing! Beautiful! There’ll be no doubt in anyone’s mind why he picked you when they see you tonight.”
I smile at her gratefully. What she’s saying is an exaggeration—I look fine in this outfit—but it’s nice to have friends who care enough to feed into your delusions.
“Thanks! Oh, that’s my car, I’ve got to go!” I pick up my phone, waving goodbye while they blow me kisses. I hang up and give myself one last once over. My hair is cooperating for once, my curls doing what they’re supposed to, falling nicely down my back, and my make-up is accentuating my eyes and lips, objectively my best features. It will have to do for now. There’s no more time to make me into something more worthy of being Matthew’s girlfriend. For tonight, he’ll just have to settle for me.
*****
It’s pandemonium around the stadium. People everywhere, as Jerry—the driver and my new friend—manoeuvres the black SUV around to the player’s entrance.
“This is where the VIPs get dropped off, Miss,” he tells me with a smile. “You won’t have to deal with the crowds out there.”
For this I’m grateful, even if my stomach is churning at the label of VIP. Amy was right when she declared this a ‘very important match’ and the thousands upon thousands of fans out there are illustrating this clearly.
I hop out of the car, literally a hop because I’m so short and the car is so high off the ground, and stop short at the sight of Jordan, Matthew’s manager, waiting for me with an extremely put-out look on his face.
What’s his problem? Wasn’t he part of the team that decided I needed to fake date Matthew to rehabilitate his image?
“Hi, Jordan.” I give him a small wave. He ignores it, turning on his heels and barking instructions over her shoulder.
“Follow me. You’ll be sitting with the other WAGs in the team section. You’ll be part of the action, but kept at a safe distance from the crowds.”
I scamper behind him, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride. WAGs?
Before I can ask questions, he nods to a burly-looking security card who promptly opens a roped-off area and motions for me to go inside. I follow his directions, wishing Matthew was here to make this situation a little less uncomfortable.
“Here.” I turn back to Jordan, who is holding a bag out for me to take.
“What is it?”
He lets his eyes run over me and I only just suppress a grimace. What’s with this guy?
“You’re dating Matthew Barkly. You need to be wearing his jersey.”
I nod, taking the bag from him, feeling one hundred levels of stupid. Why, if this is such a big deal, did Matthew not warn me about this?
