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Brandon made a muddled first impression. Like Luke, the trappings of great wealth weren’t lost on him: the Prada glasses, the gleaming watch on his wrist, his Italian leather shoes. He wasn’t as handsome or poised, but he had an air of polished dignity that intimidated me. His eyes met mine in a cool, unflinching gaze. From the way he looked at me, it was almost as if he didn’t care for me. No, it wasn’t that. Maybe it was a lack of trust.
“It’s a pleasure.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Are you a big football fan?”
I gave him a small shrug. “A little. I used to play when I was younger.” I retreated into Luke’s comforting embrace and smiled at Brandon. “You can’t go to England without seeing a football match, right?”
He nodded, his eyes still refusing to let go of me. “Too right,” he said in a thick accent. Glancing at his watch, he made a comical sound. “Ah! Kick off is in ten minutes. Let’s get to our seats.”
I could feel Luke’s excitement through my body as he stood behind me in the line, his hands ever so slightly moving up the curve of my hips. It was so much more electrifying than a kiss. He rubbed into my flesh in small, hard circles. The paparazzi stood nearby, clicking away at us as I turned around in his arms to lay my head over his chest. I didn’t do it because I wanted to give them a show; I wanted to quiet the desire stirring in my core.
As we walked through security and made our way through the stadium buzzing from thousands of horns, it was apparent that Luke arranged for front row seats. A sprinkling of navy-blue Tottenham supporters were scattered among the hundreds of West Ham rosettes, flags, and checkered banners. I reeled back from the fevered energy flowing from the West Ham fans, taken aback by their intense, almost violent screaming. After a few minutes, the yelling stopped, and I felt their cheers soaring through me when we took outseats and looked across the green field.
“Would you like a drink, Jessica?” Brandon asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll get us a few pints.”
“Thanks mate.”
I looked at Luke. His accent changed from Americanto British. He raised his eyebrow at me. “What?”
“Nothing, mate” I ribbed, smiling.
He smirked back.
Brandon returned with three sopping mugs of dark beer and set one down in front of me.
I curled my fingers around the cold plastic and brought the frothy rim to my mouth. The beer was thick and full of complex flavors. I smacked my lips in appreciation and wished I had something sweet to contrast the bitterness.
“The crowd seems crazy.”
A group of West Ham supporters behind our row slurred a song about bubbles.
“West Ham and Tottenham Hotspur have a huge rivalry. It will be mad.” Brandon smiled at Luke. “Remember that time in Liverpool? They kicked you out of the stadium.”
Luke flushed a bright magenta as he took a sip from his beer. “Yeah.”
I leaned in closer, enjoying the embarrassment shining on his face. “What did you do?”
Brandon spoke before Luke could get a word in. “He beat up a couple people.”
“They deserved it.”
How interesting. “I never would have guessed you could be such a hooligan.”
Luke gave me a roguish wink.
The fans behind me continued to sing. “Forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.”
One of them kicked the back of my seat and my beer slopped all over my hands. Luke turned around in his seat to glare at them but I took his hand and squeezed it.
“Sorry, love.” The man who had kicked my seat gave me a toothy grin, his cheeks ruddy from alcohol.
“It’s cool,” I said as I wiped my hand on the wall.
