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CARINA

“Do you think we’re drinking too much wine? I feel like we’re drinking too much wine.” Brooklyn squinted at the empty bottle on the table.

“That’s not wine. That’s champagne,” I said.

“Oh, shit.” She hiccupped. “We are drinking too much wine.”

I laughed, my own cheeks warm and rosy. I wasn’t as tipsy as Brooklyn, but I was pleasantly buzzed. That was what bottomless drinks on vacation did to you.

It was Friday, and Scarlett, Brooklyn, and I were hanging out in one of the VIP suites, waiting for the US versus Australia match to start. We’d landed in Johannesburg on Monday, watched the England match on Tuesday, and cheered ourselves hoarse when they beat their opponent. We’d spent a day in Johannesburg before flying to Cape Town last night. Needless to say, it’d been a whirlwind week, but I was amped for today’s match.

Anticipation zipped through me as I watched Noah and his team warm up on the screen hanging in the suite. I truly hadn’t expected him to offer us tickets, much less a VIP box, but once I told my friends about his offer, they’d jumped at the chance to join me. There’d been a last-minute scramble to change our travel plans and accommodation, but we’d made it work.

Brooklyn leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head. “By the way, if you guys want to come with me to the France matches, you totally can, though I don’t think that’s logistically feasible.”

“Was Vincent mad about Asher and Noah making him look bad?” Scarlett laughed.

“Totally, but you know, it was his fault for not thinking of it first. Sure, he gave me tickets, but what about my friends? He knows we’re a package deal.” Brooklyn shook her head, but her eyes went soft every time she talked about Vincent. It completely took the bite out of her words.

“It’s okay.” I patted her on the shoulder. “It’s for the best. Attending every England, US, and France match would be impossible unless we wanted to travel almost every day. I don’t know about you, but I do want to see more of the country besides its football stadiums.”

“Valid.” Brooklyn looked relieved.

At that moment, the PA system crackled to life and advised everyone to take their seats, as the match was kicking off soon. We grabbed fresh drinks and made our way outside, where we had a perfect view of the pitch.

The pre-match ceremony started, and my rush of anticipation morphed into butterflies when the camera zoomed in on Noah during the US national anthem. His face filled the jumbo screens around the stadium, expression solemn and eyes focused. It was my first time seeing him in nearly a month, and I wasn’t prepared for the wave of longing that crashed over me.

I’d missed him. I just hadn’t realized how much.

Scarlett nudged my side. “There’s your man,” she whispered.

The camera moved on to other players, but the blush scorching my cheeks remained. “He’s not my man,” I whispered back, even though we were the only people in our box. “This is a trial period, remember?”

I’d filled my friends in on our new relationship status before we left for our trip. Neither had been particularly surprised—a sure sign that Noah and I hadn’t been as subtle about our feelings toward each other as we’d thought.

“Yes, but it’s Noah. A trial period with him is as good as a proper relationship with anyone else,” Scarlett said. “That man barely tolerates people in general. He would not have agreed to a trial run unless he was prepared to commit.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t think that way—it was too dangerous to hope for something that may or may not be true—but my heart lurched at her words anyway.

Once the match kicked off, however, my love life took a back seat to the action unfolding on the pitch. It wasn’t my first time watching Noah play. Not even close. But as it turned out, dating one of the players in a World Cup match did wonders for a girl’s personal investment in the outcome. The saves hit harder, the fouls cut deeper. I spent the next ninety-plus minutes on the edge of my seat, my nerves jangling every time Australia approached the goal.

Noah was a freaking wall. He saved shot after shot, but in the eighty-first minute, Australia’s striker hammered the ball into the net at an impossible angle. Noah missed it by mere centimeters.

I was on my feet before the goal count updated on the screens. “No!”

Several spectators in the section below me whipped their heads around at my cry, but I was too busy fuming to care. Did that goal even count? It looked offside to me, but no, it was cleared by the VAR. Australia’s goal stood. What bullshit. How was it possible for the ball to go in at that angle anyway? Maybe it was defective, or the wind was being an asshole or whatever.

I collapsed back into my seat, irritated. Scarlett and Brooklyn watched me with amused expressions.

“Not your man, huh?” Brooklyn said knowingly.

“Shut up.”

She laughed, her delight obvious.

Australia’s goal equalized the match one to one. It looked like they were going to end in a draw, but the US managed to score with a header in the last two minutes.

“Yes! We won! We won!” I jumped up and down, my earlier ire forgotten. “We won!” I hadn’t been this excited since I won free tickets to see Adele in concert during my uni years.