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The club is packed, just like the last place Fritz took me. Lots of women, many of whom haven’t stopped looking over here since we arrived.
My eyes skim the crowd restlessly; I don’t realize what I’m looking for until I find it. Not considering she might be here until I see her.
She’s dancing on a table.
I’m positive it’s Sophia, even though I can’t see her face and don’t recognize anyone she’s with. A whole bunch of girls and two guys who are both laser-focused on her dress’s short hem. The length designed to make guys imagine what’s underneath, according to her.
I don’t need to imagine it. I’ve seen it.
But I’m positive fantasies are exactly what’s going through those guys’ heads. Not just theirs. Lots of attention is aimed Sophia’s way, that entire side of the club.
She’s magnetic. Captivating. Blonde hair flying around as she spins in a circle, laughing and smiling at what the girl dancing with her is saying. Her heels make her long legs look endless.
She seems oblivious to the fact that the team is here. Part of the team, at least. There’s only ten of us, some of the guys opting to head home or who had other plans to celebrate this afternoon’s win. Including Beck, who left with his family. Saylor was waiting outside the locker room and congratulated me on my goals, saying we should get together again soon. I want to. I like Saylor. But it feels weird, knowing she’ll tell Sophia. I’m trying to extract myself from her life, and she’s making it damn difficult.
I’m not the only player who’s noticed Sophia. Otto is looking that way, exchanging words with Olivier that have the Frenchman shaking his head. She wasn’t on a table the last time I saw her out in this setting, but neither of the guys looks surprised by what’s happening now.
What the hell is she doing?
Last weekend, she got nailed in the head by a soccer ball. She shouldn’t be drinking, let alone dancing on a table.
Despite Beck’s assurances she was fine, she wasn’t at the match earlier. I’ve been debating texting her ever since it ended several hours ago, worried something was wrong or Beck was mistaken. But he seemed unbothered at the game earlier, which I took as a good sign. And I couldn’t think of a single way to ask him about Sophia that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Wouldn’t arouse more suspicion, that is. His warning after last week’s game is still fresh in my mind.
The entire club—including its captain—is thrilled with me at the moment. And that’s all I should be focused on, the wide smiles around me as the guys joke and drink. It feels like I’m a part of this team. Only time will tell if that’s a permanent transition or if it’s tied to how well I perform on the pitch.
It feels like a hollow victory, though. Because the blonde shimmying on a table to Shakira wasn’t there to witness it.
I’ve never had anyone show up to see me play. Me play, not the soccer star. And I know Sophia was only there because of her internship. But I let myself pretend there were other reasons. She’s been at every home game I’ve played here—until today.
And no matter how many times I tell myself I don’t care, I can’t make myself believe the lie. I do care.
The song’s lyrics are fitting. Except I’m the one going mad.
She dances up there for another two songs while I try to focus on talking to my teammates. But as soon as she climbs down and then heads for the back hallway, I’m up and on my feet, glad I snagged the seat at the end of the booth.
I have no clear plan. I just follow her, passing two women talking in the hallway as blonde hair swishes ahead. She heads into one of the restrooms. I lengthen my strides, placing a palm on the door right as she goes to close it.
Sophia doesn’t look surprised to see me when I step in and close the door, which I find interesting. I wonder when she realized I was here.
She crosses her arms, hitting me with a harsh series of German.
I have no clue what she just said, which she knows. So, I nod, offering a tentative, “Ja,” in response. I’m not here to argue with her, so agreement seems like the best avenue.
Sophia rolls her eyes. “This is the ladies’ room.”
“Where were you today?” I demand.
Twin lines form between her eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”
“At the game earlier. Where were you?”
The confusion clears from Sophia’s expression. “Last week was my final game. I was just helping out the reporter who normally covers Kluvberg. He had gotten in an accident that made it harder for him to handle things. But he’s fine now, so I switched back to photographing for different departments.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting the explanation to be so…simple.
Now that she’s reminding me, I vaguely remember Sophia mentioning her assignment to Kluvberg was a temporary one. At the time, I didn’t realize it would become the only time I got to be near her. I thought we’d continue to be friends who ate pizza together and talked.
“How did the match go?” she asks.
