Page 19 of Forbid It

I barge past Hunter as I make my own way to the showers. I let the water pour over my head until the locker room clears out, trying to control my anger.

I hate locker room talk. It’s all a bunch of pathetic men needing to feel powerful after a shit performance on the pitch. I abhor the way some of these guys speak about women. When I was captain, I was able to control the locker room, making it crystal clear that I wouldn’t hear anything derogatory or there’d be issues. But the anger feels different now, cutting right into my chest with the precision of a surgical knife. It’s probably a combination of a stressful practice and the ache in my knee. It wasn’t the stuff he said about Cassie that pissed me off, it was on behalf of all women.

Nothing to do with Cassie at all.

8

CASSIE

I don’t know why I expected an empty crowd, rundown stands and strange leering men. As soon as I arrived at the stadium, an attendant met me at the front entrance and escorted me to the VIP bar. Which was admittedly empty, but I didn’t stay long, soon entering the row of seats close to the dugout.

The crowd is decent, but nowhere near as big an audience as I’ve had pretty consistently throughout my career. My first show here I sold out every seat within ten minutes. Smug pride settles in my stomach like a warm blanket, and I have to keep my smile contained. No wonder the team needs me.

These hard plastic seats are not designed for designer pant suits. A sharp edge of the seat has already snagged in the smooth linen of my trousers and is threatening to almost completely unravel the whole left leg.

I grit my teeth as I fiddle with the strand. My manicured nails are blood red, chosen specifically to give me an extra edge when seeing him again, but they’re not sharp enough to snap the loose thread. I lean back, attempting to find a comfortable position. It’s difficult.

I glance down at the dugout where the coaching staff sit on luxurious padded seats. I begin to regret not taking up Dad’s offer of sitting in the box, where I could drink champagne and eat canapés and avoid actually entering the concrete stadium stands. If he wants me to be here, I’m going to make it as difficult for him as possible. Although the only one irritated at this situation currently is me.

I pat the loose thread against my thigh fruitlessly and push my sunglasses back into my hair. The bright sun makes the pitch almost luminescent, and I can just make out the groundsmen doing last checks on the pitch before the players come out.

I glance up as Anya appears, sliding across the narrow seats to my side.

“Thank god you’re here.” I stand and pull her into a hug. “I’m feeling all vulnerable and lonely.”

Anya laughs. “This is a great view.” I was thrilled when Anya said she was coming back to LA for a few weeks to pack up their house before they permanently move back to their London place. I’m happy that she and Danny have settled in one place, but it doesn’t mean I won’t miss them both. It was pure luck that their final visit coincided with the first game I was actually able to attend.

“So they tell me.” We’re only a few rows away from the pitch. I know as soon as Robbie appears, I’ll have a clear view as he runs along the sides and does his warm up. “Where’s Pip?”

“She’s getting drinks. She told me to come find you and keep you company.”

I snort. “What I really need is someone to explain something to me.”

“Explain what?”

I wave my hand in front of the pitch. “This?”

Anya’s brow furrows. “The pitch?”

“No, the game. Soccer. Football. Whatever you Brits call it.”

Anya stares at me for a second before a bubble of laughter escapes her lips. “I don’t know anything about football.”

I whip my head to her incredulously. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never even watched a game on TV. I’m more of a rugby girl, personally. Those boys have some incredible thighs.”

“Wait,” I interrupt with a hand on her arm. “You don’t know the rules?”

“Not even a little bit.” Anya laughs. “There’s something called an offside rule but god knows what that is.”

I gape at her.

“Don’t tell me this is why you invited me,” Anya splutters, her smile pulling her lips higher.

“Well, obviously. I don’t know anything about soccer. I needed you here to explain everything. You’re British I assumed you’d know more than me.”

Anya throws her head back and laughs. “You’re the one who’s literally the heir to a football team. You’re saying your dad never explained the game to you before?”