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I took a second sip to be sure. It was smooth and citrusy with just enough bite to keep it from tasting overly sweet. “Incredible. Ten out of ten.”

He smiled.

I smiled back, the buzz from the alcohol already sinking in. I felt warm and pleasantly tingly all over.

This was so much more fun than agonizing over an emotionally unavailable goalkeeper.

Noah Wilson who?

NOAH

“Two Angry Boar visits in one month? Who are you and what have you done with Noah Wilson?” Vincent asked. He was standing by the pub’s entrance and was the first person to notice my arrival.

“You make me sound like a hermit,” I said drily.

I didn’t add that I’d almost stayed home tonight. I’d gone back to the house after the match, but with Evie in Brighton for Briana’s birthday weekend and Carina also out, it’d felt too empty. Silence was my enemy these days. Too much of it, and my thoughts inevitably strayed toward one person. It was maddening.

Vincent exchanged glances with Stevens, who was FaceTiming his miniature pig Truffle nearby.

“We wouldn’t say you’re a hermit,” Vincent hedged. “But you’re a bit antisocial. And serious.”

“Very serious,” Stevens agreed.

I was starting to hate that word. Carina had said the same thing. You’re way too serious for me. Since when did serious become a bad thing? Serious people were noble and distinguished.

“Do you want me to stay or not?” I asked.

“Of course we do! We’ve just, uh, noticed a small change in your behavior recently,” Vincent said.

“In a good way,” Stevens added hastily. “I—Truffle, no! Do not eat that shoe! What did I say about leather footwear?”

While he scrambled to deal with his misbehaving pig, Vincent steered me to a quieter corner of the pub. “Seriously, man, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Archie took a look at it. It’s fine.” I’d hit the ground particularly hard during a difficult save that afternoon. Archie, the team’s head physiotherapist, had given me the all-clear, but he’d warned me to take it easy for the next day or two. I wouldn’t be the first or last goalkeeper to get taken out by a shoulder injury. “How are you doing?”

The whole team was gutted by today’s loss, but as our captain, Vincent took these setbacks harder than anyone else.

His face darkened. “I’ve been better. I fucking hate losing, but the season’s almost over. As long as we win or draw the remaining matches, we’ll remain top of the table.” His scowl cleared, and a familiar gleam entered his eyes. “On a brighter note, I have some great ideas for Asher’s bachelor party. One word: zebras.”

“Does he…like zebras?”

“No. That’s the best part!” Vincent launched into an enthusiastic monologue about the genius of a zebra-themed bachelor party.

I let him go at it for five minutes before I extricated myself and pawned him off to Adil, who’d just arrived looking suspiciously mussed and out of breath. Asher hadn’t shared his ceremony plans with the public yet, but he’d let the team know the reception would be this fall. Everyone was already excited about the bachelor party.

While Adil entertained Vincent’s increasingly ludicrous ideas, I said hi to the rest of the team. The general mood was morose, though everyone was trying to put on an optimistic face. We’d played like shit that day. Coach had laid into us after the match, and we all knew we were in for a rough training come Monday.

But my dismal performance against Arsenal had nothing to do with physical conditioning and everything to do with my state of mind.

One minute, I was locked into the match. The next, I was wondering if she was there.

If she was watching the match.

If she was watching me.

The moments of distraction were fleeting, but in football, every millisecond counted. And Carina had taken up more milliseconds of my attention than I cared to admit.

Even now, I found myself scanning the bar, searching for a familiar head of dark hair. Asher and Scarlett were cozied up together in a booth. Brooklyn was holding court with what looked like a bachelorette party. But no Carina.