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“Where in Crawley?” he asks, glancing up at me through his rearview mirror.
“Um…” I peer down at my phone, reading out the address Dad had given me before I boarded the flight.
“Ah, I see,” he enters the address into his GPS. “Right near the Football Club, is it?”
“Oh my God!” my voice rises in delight. “You know them? Ah, I’m meeting the team this week! I’mworkingwith them, actually!” I excitedly pull myself forward between the seats. “Do you watch them?”
He pauses, scanning my face before letting out a chuckle. “Of course not. They’re shite.”
His blunt response leaves me taken aback for a split second before I nervously laugh with him, tucking myself back into the seat and fastening my seatbelt. “Well, that’s all about to change,” I announce optimistically.
“Are you a miracle worker or something?”
“No, I’m not.” I rest my purse on my lap. “But I believe in them.”
An hour later,the taxi driver shifts the car into park, and I scoot my way to the side, peering out of the window. “Um, are you sure this is the address I gave you?” I ask reluctantly, glancing around at the street he’s pulled into.
My dad had said he’d found the nicest place in Crawley for me to stay. At first, I debated why I couldn’t just stay at Gramps’ place nearby, but Dad insisted that if I was going to Crawley, I had to abide by his rules. In other words, I’m certain he’s already in talks with an estate agent over here to get the house sold as soon as possible. Dad doesn’t like residential real estate. It’s commercial that makes his eyes light up.
Because of that, I’m surrounded by narrow roads, smaller cars than I’ve ever seen in my life and brick. A crap ton of brick.
The driver reads the address back to me word for word. “Yep, this is it.” He looks back over at me. “Good luck with your miracle.”
“Wait…” I’m caught off guard by the fact that he hasn’t gotten out of the car. “You’re not going to help me with my bags?”
He scoffs. “I’m a taxi driver, not a bellhop. You figure it out.”
He doesn’t sound quite as hot anymore as I step out of the car.
As he pops the trunk open, I’ve hardly had the chance to pull out my bags and place them on the side of the road before he automatically closes the trunk and pulls away, leaving me standing in the middle of the street.
I turn around to face the building that lies ahead. “No elevator?” I say out loud in resignation, fearing that the only way up this three-story building is the dreaded word…stairs.
“Oi!” I hear someone call out, causing me to squint across the street to where the voice came from. “Over here, babe!” The voice attempts once more, leading my eyes to find three teenage boys leaning against the building across the street.
“Hey,” I call over to them with a wave of my hand. “My name’s Delaney! And you are?”
Mom and Dad never did have the “don’t talk to strangers” talk with me; now, I can’t seem to help it.
They exchange glances with one another as if they’d just struck big in the lottery. “American?” one speaks up. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I stand up a little straighter, my signature smile coming across my face. “Sure am,” I respond as patriotically as possible.
To be honest, I’m accustomed to getting this reaction out of men when they hear me speak. My accentispretty adorable. It’s the perfect combination of Southern hospitality mixed with a city-girl twist.
“Aren’t you a little far from home?” The same guy remarks, his friends eyeing me up and down with smirks on their faces.
“That I am,” I agree. “But I’m here on a mission. I’m going to work for Crawfield FC.”
Their reaction is the same as the cab driver. “Crawfield FC?” They burst out into a menacing kind of laughter. “As what? Their water girl? Cheerleader?” They playfully push against one another, evidently finding their humor hilarious.
I frown. There’s no way I’m letting some teenagers make a mockery of me right now. Besides, it’s ten in the morning on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t they be in school?
“No, not as their water girl. I’m going to be their PR Manager.”
Confusion falls across their faces. “PR?” One repeats. “What does that stand for? Personal Referee? What are you gonna do?Call it when they get a little too rough?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively, causing the other boys to burst back into laughter.
I suck in a breath, finding some confidence to march my way across the street.“Oh, Jerry…” I sigh, shaking my head. “Can I call you Jerry? You look like a Jerry.”
