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I scribbled a final note on my pad to ask him this question and a dozen more. I was buzzing with them now. A bigger story, hidden behind an innocuous interview.
“See there?” Brigitte said. She nudged my elbow and nodded her head at a locker room door across the field. The stands were nearly empty now and a few players, newly showered and changed, were emerging. “Here they come.”
The group headed out onto the field to meet them, and Lucie—long hair and beaded shirt flying behind her—flew across the grass and into the arms of the tall, red-haired Thomas. He picked her up and swung her around, and they kissed almost violently. All lust and dueling tongues.
I hurriedly looked away and my gaze landed on Brigitte as she slung her arms around Robert—a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders. They gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes before kissing softly, as if no one else existed. In that moment, no one else did.
My heart ached inexplicably at both scenarios. I’ve never been so unabashedly passionate with a man, nor so in love that the rest of the world faded away in his arms. I didn’t know where to look and so cast my gaze to the ground until a shadow joined mine.
“Janey.”
My heart stuttered at that voice. I glanced up. Adrien wore jeans and a white polo shirt that hugged his lean muscles. The scents of his cologne and shower soap wafted to me on the humid air. His damp hair brushed his shoulders in loose waves, and he wore a thin leather headband across his brow.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
A smile spread over my lips. “Me too.”
“Shall we?” Robert said, his arm slung around Brigitte, practically burying her, he was so tall. He eyed me. “Will she be joining us, Adrien?”
A blush colored my cheeks, though I didn’t know if it was because I was presumed to be with Adrien as yet another one of ‘his women’ or because I was presumed to be with him at all. I scolded myself for being so moony, and thrust out my hand to Robert.
“Janey Martin. I’m writing an article on Adrien for the newspaper.”
“She’s writing about the team,” Adrien said quickly, and flashed a winning smile. “And football itself, for that matter, since she knows nothing about the sport.”
I turned to glare at him, but he had on what I now called his Soccer Mask. The bright, devil-may-care expression of a cocky star player, but his eyes were speaking a different story as they met mine.
Robert shook my hand warmly. “Excellent! We could use the exposure. But we are now in the promotion zone, my friends. Therefore first…we drink.”
On the sidewalk, just outside the small stadium, we congregated at a corner to decide the best mode of transportation for our group.
“Oi! Hallooooo!”
We all turned toward the sound. A drunk vagrant staggered down the walk from a small side street, about thirty yards from us.
“Hoi, there! Did I miss it? Is it over?” He flapped his torn coat to take a swig from a whiskey bottle. A rivulet spilled over his salt-and-pepper beard, down the front of his stained shirt. “Did I miss it or is there still time to see the stars?”
He spun in a shaky circle, arms to his sides, as he approached us.
Robert and Adrien exchanged glances and a small nod.
“I’ll help this old fool find his way,” Adrien said. “You guys go ahead.”
“Come on,” Robert said. “I think we can make the next train.”
&nbs
p; He ushered us down the street, but I loitered and walked slowly, glancing over my shoulder to watch Adrien approach the bum. They spoke a few words—Adrien seemed to be calming the older man down—and then he turned the bum around to return the way he had come.
I don’t know what possessed me; my insatiable curiosity maybe, but I broke from the group and jogged back toward the side street. Adrien and the bum were heading back the way the man had come, their backs to me, walking together. When the old man stumbled, Adrien’s hand was there to steady him.
I lifted my camera, always around my neck, and snapped a photo just before they rounded another corner, out of sight.
Adrien
I hurried back to La Cloche. On a Saturday afternoon it was dead; over the sound system, the Flirtations sang about the pain of loving a bad guy to mostly empty seats. Our group had taken up our usual large booth and an adjoining table. Janey, I noticed, was wedged between Brigitte and Lucie in the middle of the booth.
Fantastique.
