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“Oh, shit.”
Luke climbed over our seats with a determined look on his face. “I’m going to help him.”
Brandon looked stunned. “Where is he going?”
Is he nuts? “Luke!” I lunged forward and caught his sleeve. “This is no time for bravado!”
“I need to help him,” he roared at me.
Brandon leapt over the seats and grabbed Luke’s arm. “Mate, listen. You can’t help him. You’ll get the piss beaten out of you.”
“Luke,” I screamed when he turned back towardthe cop. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll get killed.”
A line of policemen moved down the stands with riot gear. I pointed atthem. “Look, help’s on its way. Let’s go.”
The entire situation blew up from a pack of rowdy fans to an all out riot within only a few minutes. I grabbed my purse and climbed over the seats as Luke came to his senses. Several of the rabid people were already backing from the police. Bleeding from his nose, the policeman resurfaced and unhooked his baton swinging from his hip. Luke’s arm curled around my shoulder as we swept up the stands, desperate to get away. All around us, people were fighting and yelling—there was confusion everywhere. I saw several West Ham fans ganging up on a Tottenham supporter with broken, sharp pieces of plastic in their hands.
Luke broke away from me and pulled off a man beating on a crumpled Tottenham fan lying down under the seats. They grappled with each other and suddenly fists were flying. Bright camera flashes burned my eyeballs, and I glanced toward them, horrified at the group of photographers clicking madly. I turned around and tried to block the scene and screamed as Luke’s face whipped back with a fierce blow. Brandon jumped into the fray and pulled him off Luke. I slipped off my heels and held one in my hand as a weapon, ready to stab anyone who attacked me with the pointed stiletto.
His shirtripped, and he was bleeding from his mouth. He winced at the bright flashes and held his arm over his eyes.
His lips moved to form one word as his eyes widened.
“Fuck.”
7
“Well, you can’t say it wasn’t an interesting match,” said Brandon. His cheery voice echoed in Luke’s hotel suite.
Luke smoldered on the couch, glaring at Brandon. “We didn’t even get to half-time. The tickets were two hundred pounds each.”
Holy crap. All that money wasted. I sat next to him and stroked his arm. “Yeah, thanks for bringing me to the football game,” I said in a dry voice. “I mean, now I can say I’ve been to one. I’ll never forget the experience.”
For a moment, Brandon’s gaze met mine, and he looked like he wanted to laugh.
“You don’t have to be so sarcastic,” Luke said, glowering at me. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “They took photos of me fighting. I can’t wait to see the headlines.”
I remembered what we were doing and that his father would see pictures of Luke fighting with the West Ham fan. I sobered and squeezed Luke’s hand.
Brandon stood. “All right, well, I’ll let you get patched up and maybe later we can meet up.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
I took Brandon’s hand. I wished that he would stop looking at me with that calculating look. “See you.”
“It was lovely meeting you.”
He gave me a swift smile and then he swept from the room. I didn’t move until I heard the elevator door chime.
My bare feet turned on the slick marble floor and I gazed at the stunning suite. I had to suppress a wide grin as I took it all in. We might’ve hit a snag at the football match, but so what? It was the most exciting day of my life. The sightseeing was greatand I was having an amazing time, but Luke wasn’t.
“I’m glad you think this is funny,” he said in a dour voice.
My spirits fell as heflushed with humiliation and anger.
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m just happy.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
