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I swipe my tongue along the inside of my bottom lip, tasting the split that’s smarting from the alcohol. The one from too much gnawing.
From the first second Will stepped on the field, I was transfixed. I was determined not to miss his goal, and it had little to do with how I’d been tasked with taking photos of it.
I did take some, though.
Before I had to get ready to come here, I edited all the photos from the game on my laptop. A few were blurry, but most came out well. My favorite is one of Will, mid-kick, and it bothers me that it is. Bothers me that I keep thinking about a football player.
Something is seriously wrong with me. Maybe it’s end-of-university jitters.
I’m looking for a distraction from the uncertainty of not knowing exactly what I’ll be doing, and Will Aster is very distracting. The whole group of photographers I was standing with was talking about his performance on the field. Excited about what his arrival might mean for Kluvberg’s season.
Emilia and Mia arrive a couple of minutes later. It doesn’t take long for Andrea to mention where I was this afternoon. I answer their questions about the match as simply as possible before standing and heading to the bar to get a proper cocktail. My pinched toes protest each step. I’m going to have blisters from these heels by the end of the night.
Three bartenders are working, and they’re all currently busy. So, I lean against the metal bar top, letting my elbow support most of my weight so I can give my feet a little bit of a break.
“Hallo.”
I turn, taking in the guy who’s standing next to me at the bar. He’s wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt, giving off the musician, artsy vibe I’ve gone for in the past. They rarely play sports. Follow sports.
He swipes a hand through his blond hair, then holds it out. “Axel Klein.”
“Sophia Beck,” I say, shaking his hand.
His thumb brushes the back of my knuckles as he smiles at me.
Beck is a somewhat common last name, but it’s always associated with the same thing in Kluvberg. Sure enough…
“Beck? Like the football player?” Axel asks.
I shrug, then glance at the nearest bartender. Still busy. Sigh, then admit, “He’s my brother.”
Sharing that is always a good test of a guy’s interest in me. He came over here, having no clue who I was, presumably—although there are plenty of photos of me with my famous family taken at various public events floating around online, so I never know for sure. But there’s a better chance a guy doesn’t know who I am at a place like this than the bars closer to campus. Who my brother is happens to be common knowledge at the university.
“Oh. Wow.” Axel’s surprise seems genuine. “That’s cool.”
“Uh-huh.”
I wait, but he doesn’t ask any more questions about my brother. Just, “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Yeah, sure.”
While we wait for the bartender, I learn that Axel’s working in Kluvberg as an engineer and grew up in Bremen. He asks me a few questions about photography after I mention that’s what I’m studying.
We order drinks, and they arrive quickly. Then, Axel asks if my brother can get him and his friends cheap tickets to a match.
I’m not disappointed. Not even surprised, really.
I make up an excuse about my friends waving me over, then head back over to the table. They’re all discussing Paris Fashion Week, set to take place at the end of September, which we usually travel to.
I sip my drink and glance around, not really participating in the conversation until Emilia addresses me directly and asks if I’m allowed to bring guests to the game with me.
Her family is rich. She could buy tickets to every Kluvberg match if she wanted. Travel to the away games even. It’s the access she’s after, same as with all of my friends. I’m a door into places they couldn’t be part of otherwise.
“No,” I answer. “It’s part of my internship. It’s work, not a gala I get a plus-one to.”
“I can’t believe your job is to look at those guys,” Mia says.
I take a sip of my drink, wishing I’d never brought the assignment up. “It’s not my job. I’m not even getting paid.”
