"What’s going on?"I ask the woman.It’s not that I really care, but the stadium is abuzz with excitement.It’d be nice to be on the inside for once, instead of on the outside looking in.She’s still on her feet, her hair matted to her head from sweat now that it’s been freed of the baseball cap she’d been wearing.
"Brandon Nix scored a hat trick."
"What’s that?"I ask as the officials are picking up all the hats from the field.
"It’s when a player scores three goals in one game."
I nod, unsure of what else to say.I’m sure that’s a good thing.I slide my book into my bag and watch what’s going on for a minute.The opposing team—Miami, I guess—has the ball at the center of the field and is kicking it.The players are running, chasing the ball as it darts here and there.My gaze locks in on number eight in the middle of the pack running forward, then changing direction.
Holy leg muscles, Batman.
Reflexively, I fan myself.Now I know why sports romance is a thing.You’d think soccer romance books would be way more popular.
A player from the Wave has the ball.One of the Buzzards tries to get it away from him, and the two of them tumble out of bounds.The Miami player slams right into the female referee on the sidelines, both of them falling to the ground with a heavy thud.
Ouch, that had to hurt.
I never realized how physical soccer is.No wonder Richie liked it.She was the rough and tumble of the two of us.It doesn’t hurt that a lot of these players are serious eye candy, either.Maybe I should become a soccer fan.The player who took out the referee jumps to his feet and reaches for the woman.He pulls her to her feet in an act of sportsmanship.I guess for all the physicality, soccer is still a very refined sport.
Wait?What was that?Did that guy just grab her ass in front of thousands of people?I shake my head.I cannot have seen what I think I just saw.But I did, because she’s waving her hand and yelling "Red, dammit, red!"
Then out of nowhere, one of the Buzzards’ guys comes charging, fists ablaze, and begins to pummel the ass-grabbing Wave player.I’m sure this is against the rules, but that is satisfying to watch.
The family next to me is on their feet, yelling and screaming.The entire stadium erupts into chaos.There are whistles and air horns to add to the shouting.It’s hard to even tell what is going on now, because there’s just a massive huddle of people on the field.Eventually, the officials break it up, and the puncher walks off the field, head down, while the head referee holds up a red card.He doesn’t even look at it.
The group of referees is conferring, and it looks like they’re about to throw fists themselves.Finally, there are a few more whistles, and another red card is issued.This one is to the punchee, who is bleeding.Good.He has to leave the game as well.Also good.I don’t know much about soccer, but I know this guy should not be allowed to play anymore, especially if he’s going to manhandle women like that.
"See, isn’t this more interesting than some dumb ole book?"one of the guys sitting next to me says.It’s the sort of thing that’s supposed to be funny but isn’t.
I shrug."To each his own."
The other guy says, "Don’t let Joey give you a hard time.He’s just jealous because he’s still working on reading books without pictures."
"Boys, stop it," the mother admonishes.
I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t.I pretend to be engrossed in the goings-on on the field.The rest of the game takes about ten minutes, in which absolutely nothing interesting happens.Apparently, we’ve fulfilled the excitement quota for pro soccer.I’m itching to get back to my book.The final whistle sounds, and I stand up to leave.The family sitting next to me is not moving.I look around.Trying to rush out now would probably be futile, since everyone is pressing toward a few narrow doorways.
Reason and sensibility do not stop me from wanting to get out immediately.I’m standing, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, willing the bodies in front of me to move.Even though it’s night, the temperature and humidity haven’t decreased yet.I’m sure in a month or two, I’ll be longing for this kind of warmth, but for now, I’m hot and sweaty and fairly confident I have significant BO.
It’s time for me to go home.
Good thing I don’t have to go anywhere for the next four days.It’s going to take me that long to recuperate from one day out.I’ve had my dose of being with people for the rest of the year.
The mom of the group finally stands and leans in to make conversation."Do you have plans after the game?"
The response inside my head is, "Do I look like the kind of person to have plans?"but I know Gram would kill me for being sassy.Instead I say, "A cold shower, air conditioning, and my book."
The woman laughs."That sounds heavenly."Her head tilts as she looks me over."You know, we have a family tradition of going out for ice cream after every game.Started when the boys were little, and we’ve never seemed to move on.You look like you could use some ice cream.Why don’t you join us?"
While I’m never one to pass up ice cream, my immediate inclination is to say no.She must sense my hesitation, and she quickly adds with a laugh, "I’m sorry.I know that came out of nowhere.We don’t even know each other.I’m Maureen, and this is my husband, Tom, and my sons Joey and Nicky.Tyler will join us there."
I’m about to politely decline when she says, "My doctor says I need to lay off the ice cream because of my cholesterol, but I say you only live once.Isn’t that right, dear?Now what do you say?"
You only live once.
It’s like Richie is giving me a message.I can practically hear her saying, "This is a chance to do something.To connect.Also, you really like ice cream.Don’t pass this up!"
Maybe my dead sister did communicate with me.Maybe I’m hallucinating from the heat.Maybe I’m just in the mood for ice cream.Doesn’t matter because I find myself nodding in agreement."I’m Rachel," I add."I’d love to join you."
