AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I don’t thinkthere is a sweeter sound in all of the world than that,” I mumble to Finch as Luka Milivojevic kicks off from the half-way line.
“What noise?”
“Boot on leather. That first kick of the ball. Nothing sounds more satisfying in the world, I don’t think?”
He taps on the glass of our box. It’s only me and him in here, and Danny the barman at the back of the box who seems content in finally dropping the corporate act he was so insistent on when we first arrived and instead of Mr Baines and sir has now conceded and is calling me Max and Finch is simply Kyle to him. Apparently, according to him, The Arsenal lads are as bigger Blank Space fans as Finch is a Gunner, so Danny is pretty sure there is talks that they want to come up for drinks after the game. Honestly, my best friend has all the money in the world. Fame. A nice house, as many guitars as he wants. A fucking amazing girlfriend and yet you say he might get to meet a premier league footballer and he acts like a little kid. His cool act disappearing at the chance of a pint or two with his heroes.
“Yeah, but you can’t actually hear the noise in this little glass cage can you.” He taps the glass again almost frustratingly.
“No, no, you can’t but you know it’s happening.” I smile. He nods and then chuckles a little, running a hand through his curls and biting his bottom lip.
“What?” I ask him.
He shakes his head.
“Come on, what?”
He shakes his head again, his curly hair doing this weird floppy thing at the exaggerated movement as he sniggers.
“Fuck’s sake, Finch, spit it out.”
“Baines, I’ll say it, but you won’t fucking like it.”
“Won’t fucking like what?”
“The noise I can think of that’s better to hear than a man’s boot connecting with a football.” He smirks as I smack his arm and mock vomiting all over my black converse.
“You fucker.”
“What? I was thinking about a stadium of fans all singing the words to a song you never thought would leave the walls of your bedroom.” He smirks again.
“You fucking weren’t you wanker.” I push his shoulder again as his smirk covers his cheeks again. I mean Ali moaning my name, that is a noise sweeter than anything I’ve ever heard in my twenty-seven—nearly twenty-eight—years on this planet but he’s my little sister’s boyfriend, he can’t possibly admit to things like that.
“Your right back look’s sharp.” He draws my attention back to the game. Good job probably, we all know it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve hit him, although, this time there wouldn’t be half of the venom behind it.
I watch as Joel Ward takes the ball past the half-way line and passes almost beautifully forward to Milivojevic who takes it. His footwork, as always, is a thing of beauty as he passes to Zaha. It’s like we’re the only team on the pitch. A sea of red and blue stripes. Come on you fucking Eagles. He takes his shot. He’s clear on goal. He’s clear on—
Fuck. Straight into the arms of the keeper.
“Soft. His shot was fucking soft.” I hit the little table in front of me in frustration as Finch proceeds to throw a peanut at my head. A fucking peanut.
Apart from that nice footwork and those few good passes at the beginning they are dominating us. Their red shirts running rings and rings around us and fooling our defence every fucking time they are in the area. Luckily no goals are in yet but it’s only a matter of time. I can barely watch Finch’s smug face as the half-time whistle is blown. He stands up. Stretches his legs, smiling as he almost waltzes towards the bar at the back of the room.
“Can I get you some drinks?” Danny the bar man asks him. He looks at me and I shake my unopened water bottle at him.
“I’m good, mate,” I tell them.
“I think I will take that beer.” Finch nods towards Danny. His blue-green eyes light up at being able to actually do something for us.
"Budweiser you said earlier, Sir?”
“I thought you’d decided it was okay to call me Kyle earlier.” Finch laughs. “But yeah. None of your fancy beer. Budweiser, bottled, is more than preferable,” he tells Danny as he scurries to the fridge behind him and pops the lid on a fresh bottle.
“You sure there is nothing I can get you?” he asks me, and I shake my head. “No mate, I’m good. Just chill out back there. Enjoy the game. You a Gunners fan, Danny?”
He nods a little enthusiastically. “Since I was ten. My dad used to bring me. I got a job at the club when I was old enough, sixteen. I’ve worked my way up from serving pies in the stands to hosting legends like yourselves up here.” His smile hits his ears.
“Well, you’ll soon learn you don’t actually have to serve us. We’re pretty chilled. And as for legends? I’m not quite sure. Me maybe, but Finch?” I make a shrugging face and then let out a loud belly laugh as Finch throws something straight at my head. He’s ran out of peanuts, this time it’s a screwed-up napkin. Barely even reaches me.
