by Ella Jackson
Ricky came up to me, grinning from ear to ear. "Hey, man!" He pounded me on the back, almost hard enough to dislodge my teeth. "Sure seems different to the last time we were here, huh?"
I grimaced. "Yeah, that it does." Last time we were here, Ricky and I had been in a fight.
With each other.
Not great team bonding.
It had taken the intervention of our captain Will to separate us, and then one thing led to another, and he and Ricky had ended up in jail. Now, though, it seems like he was willing to forgive and forget. I would have given anything to not be here tonight, because I had someone waiting for me at home but if I hadn't shown up, then I would have been blacklisted for the rest of the season. And the season after that, and probably the season after that. Call an occupational hazard.
But how was I supposed to deal with the fact that I didn't want to spend every day after game day out drinking? I was serious when I said that this was a great team, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for them, but sometimes a man just needs to get home to his girl. But I couldn't say that to anybody. Not at this point.
The game had been hard, but thanks to Will – and the rest of us, let's be fair – we'd come out on top. It was still early in season, but I had a feeling we were going to show up strong for our first season. I didn't dare say that to anybody, except maybe tonight. Even if we were at our best, we still had a long road to go, and although we had worked together for the first game, I knew there was a lot more than that to do.
Nobody was gonna be slacking off from now on, that was for sure. Everyone wanted to be at the top of their game, and I was glad to be here with them. Whatever mojo we had going for us right now, we needed to keep it up all season long. How we were going to do that right now was beyond my worldview, and I was focused mostly on playing the best I could for myself.
Let the captain, Will, and our analyst, Jessie handle the tough stuff; I just needed to turn up and do my job, train hard, and not let anything past me.
My family grew up watching soccer from England and Europe religiously. It wasn't long before I school for me was less about study and more about training. To be honest, I was lucky to graduate.
A loud cheer went up from the assembled team as Ricky swayed to the front of the crowd. Looking at me, he beckoned me over.
Great.
Now I had to go and do some kind of drinking challenge.
Fantastic.
It's not that I didn't mind a beer now and again, but even at the age of 28, working out how many beers I could pound one after another was beginning to get pretty old. I eyed him up warily and decided maybe I could get away with just one.
"Come on man!" Ricky's face was flushed as he gestured to me. "You and me, right here, bro."
I nodded unenthusiastically. "Bro."
I texted Will when I first arrived here, hoping that he would arrive to keep things calm, but no good. The night had gotten more and more raucous, and now I was facing a major problem if I wanted to get out of here without being caught.
Ricky grabbed me, pulling me into his shoulder. He was taller than I was, but I was a good deal more solid, and if I'd wanted to stop, I could have. Still, I figured it was better to let him get away with one demonstration of bro-solidarity then try and fight. In truth, I had grown to like him despite myself. He was an idiot, but he was a loyal idiot. I wouldn't want him to date my sister, but then I wouldn't want any soccer player to date my sister.
"You ready?" Although drunk, Ricky was sober enough to indicate my beer and make it pretty clear what he wanted me to do with it. Without waiting, he lifted his beer to his lips, a roar went up from the crowd.
Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!
I grimaced, tilted my head back, and tipped the entire beer down my throat in one go. I didn't enjoy it much, but then that wasn't really the point.
Ricky pounded me on the back, and I coughed, startled for a moment as I looked out and saw two of the other guys heading significantly towards the bar, pushing their way through the crowd for another round of drinks. Around me, the music and the lights swirled, rising to a crescendo.
In front of us, two girls in tight tops and jeans that looked like they're sprayed on sashayed towards Ricky and I.
Five years ago, I would have been all about them. Now, though, my heart sank. I don't want to upset anybody, but the idea of a quick fuck is really not in my plan right now.
"What are you boys celebrating?" one of the girls said, smiling broadly.
"You." Ricky replied. Even drunk, still got the moves. Or at least he thinks he does. "We're celebrating you. Care to join us?"
I made a show of glancing at my watch, trying to put them off jerking my head to the exit as I nudge Ricky in the side. This completely failed to do anything.
The girls smirked and laughed, stepping toward us. "I can see why." They looked good, I won't deny it; but trying to get some soccer groupie out of my bed the next morning was really not what I wanted to be doing.
Ricky ran his hand through his dark hair, his eyes flicking from one of the girls to the other. The first one, a hot blonde who is practically spilling out of her yellow tank top, smiles at him and leaned forward, giving him a better view of her…assets. "I thought you boys looked familiar. You're the Thunderbirds, aren't you? The soccer team?"
"Why yes." There goes Ricky again. Mr Suave. I tried not to roll my eyes too visibly.
"Do you boys want to join us in one of the private rooms out back? I'm friends with the bartenders. I can get a couple of bottles, and we can party. What you say?"
This proposition has a remarkably sobering effect on Ricky; he put his arm around me again and practically dragged me towards the girls. "Sounds like a great idea. I'm Ricky, and this – he indicates me – is Dale Williams, star defender for the Thunderbirds. Nothing gets past this motherfucker."
While I appreciate Ricky's vote of confidence on my play, now is really not the time. "Hey, man, I gotta go. Seriously."
Ricky clamped his hand on my right shoulder. He's a strong guy, but I'm stronger. Even at 6'3" and 210, I can push him off if I need to. For the moment, though, I settled for just standing my ground.
"Come on, man!" He indicated the girls. "These lovely ladies want the pleasure of your company."
The other girl, a brunette in jeans so tight they look sprayed on, looked me up and down. "You look strong. I like strong men."
I shook my head. "Sorry, honey. Not tonight."
She pouted, a tactic which evidently works pretty well for her. "What do you want, big boy?"
I thought to myself 'mostly I want to go home to my girl.' But I didn't say it out loud. She leaned closer to me, close enough to consider the sheen on her lip-gloss.
She was pretty. Really pretty.
"We can go straight back to your place right now, if you want."
The music vibrated through the floor, and I could feel it in my stomach. Even though I'm in a hurry to get home, I didn't want to let her down too roughly. After all, this is what pro athletes do, right?
"Hey, you're really pretty, and it's not you, but not tonight." I thought about adding the words "I'm sorry", but decided against it.
To her credit, she didn't pout like a friend does. She shrugged, and smiled. "Your loss." Turning away, she disappeared into the crowd.
Ricky was incredulous. "Man, what are you doing? She was smoking hot."
Despite the fact that the girl hitting on him is still standing right in front of us, he seemed very keen to lecture me about the ethics of not taking girls home.
"You're crazy, man." He put an arm around my shoulder again, pulling me next to him, and I could tell he's trying to help. I thought about telling him why I want to get home, but, yet again, it's not the right time.
What was I doing here? As I slapped him on the back and smiled cheerfully, shaking my head, I tried to tell myself that this was all part of the job. I already told Jessie that I'd be away for some of the team bonding events, but I guess I
couldn't get out of all of them. At least if I turned up, drank a few beers with the guys, and made my excuses, I could get out early.
Extricating myself from Ricky's grasp, I pulled out my phone and swiped through the photos. Most of them are just training, and pictures of my dog, but one or two are the ones I'm looking for.
All my life I've had a dream of making my name for myself playing major league soccer, and now it's finally here, all I want to do is train and play. But it turns out there are a lot of other things to do to be part of a major league soccer team, and drinking with the guys is one of them.
I stared at the photo on my phone for a long time. Everything I'm doing is because of her.
"You okay, bro?" Ricky couldn't see my phone, and he was too drunk to know what's going on anyway, but he could see the look on my face.
I grinned. He wasn't a bad guy, not reall; and compared to many pro athletes he's a goddamned saint.
"Yeah, man, I'm fine. You want another?"
He shook his head, putting an arm around the blonde, who'd been waiting patiently for us to finish our discussion. I felt a bit sorry for her at this point. Mind you, she's was gonna get what she wanted it seems, so maybe I shouldn't feel too sorry.
"Later, man. Me and, uh,…"
"You can call me Brandi," she supplied helpfully.
"Yeah! Brandi. Me and Brandi are going to…"
I saved him from having to explain exactly what it is that he and Brandi are going to do, by the universal gesture of support among men, a hearty slap on the back. "You go, man. I'll be here."
"Yeah, bro." He disappeared into the crowd, arm around Brandi.
I seized the opportunity and headed for the exit, ducking past another waitress with a tray of beers on her shoulder. Around me, the rest of the team whooped and hollered, enjoying their victory. I was happy for them, and five years ago, I would have been right there with them, going beer for beer, until God knows what time in the morning. Now, though. I just didn't have the heart for it.
I was almost at the exit when someone jostled me.
"Hey, aren't you Dale Williams? The Thunderbirds guy?" A tall blonde guy in a leather jacket gripped my shoulder. Without waiting for me to answer, he turned back to his friends standing at a table a metre or so away. "Hey, guys, look! It's Dale Williams!"
I looked over at them and arranged my features carefully into a smile.
"Hey man, great game on Saturday. Really well played."
"Thanks." I never really knew what to say at this point except for, well, thanks. I was never as good with fans as someone like Will was. When he engaged with people, you could really tell that he appreciated them. For me, it was always more of a trial – not that I didn't appreciate their support, but that I had more to say on the pitch with my play than off it.
Still, Will and Jessie had drilled into us this week that engaging with fans comes with the territory, and if we want the Thunderbirds to be a success, that happened off the field as much as it did on the field.
So this was my job.
Hey, at least I could drink while I was at work.
"Get this man a drink!" The blonde guy thrust another beer into my hand. One by one, his friends came up and patted me on the back, or shook my hand, their faces arranged in broad smiles, only slightly influenced by the beer. They'd evidently been drinking all night.
"You know, I was never into soccer much at college. Thought it was a game for pussies. That you guys, you're pretty cool. I could see myself watching more."
Well, I guess that was a compliment, of sorts. I nodded and smiled, and posed for selfies, and drank my beer as fast I could without seeming too much like I was trying to escape. After a few minutes, I managed to extricate myself and slipped out the front door before anyone else noticed me. Behind me, the music swelled, and as I glanced back over my shoulder. The last thing I saw was the blonde Ricky had gone with dancing on one of the tables. She was shaking her ass in Ricky's face, and he looked ready to peel those jeans off right away.
Good luck to him, I thought, although he'll have plenty of time to regret tomorrow.
Walking a little way down the Street, I got to my car and started the drive home.
As I drove, I thought about the fans and how lucky we were to already have a community here in Cheyenne. Some teams play for years and nobody gives a fuck. After one game we've already got people posing for self is with us.
That was something to be proud of, and it didn't just come from the way we played on the field.
Will was right; it came from how we conducted ourselves off the field, and the message we sent about a game.
Three
Keisha
"Man, I'm a total lightweight. I can't believe I'm this drunk after one glass of champagne." Nicole leaned back on our old sofa and threw her hands in the air. I deftly retrieved her champagne flute – they were crystal, after all, one of the few things of value I'd brought with me – before it disappeared over the back of the sofa.
"Well, there's all that stuff about your body being a temple, right? I mean, as a physiotherapist, presumably you're practising what you preach to your clients. Right?" I waggled my eyebrows suggestively at her, and she scowled.
"Yeah, yeah,. Sometimes it's a case of do as I say, don't do as I do. Besides, a girl's got to have fun sometimes."
Nicole and I had been housemates for three months now, and I'd loved every minute of it. She was sassy and irreverent, and didn't let me get to down about anything. In return, I listened to her crazy stories about being out all night, and her misadventures with guys. And, I kept her in champagne now and again.
Sometimes when she comes home after an evening out, we'd talk about dresses and shoes and music. Sometimes, though, all she wants to do is tell me about the guys she's hooked up with. I don't mind, and in any case living vicariously through her is about the only action I'm getting right now.
"You might not realise this, Keisha, but I think this guy is the love of my life."
"Oh yeah? What makes you say that? Do you, like, actually remember his name?" I couldn't help being politely sceptical, and in any case, she expected that of me by now.
She wagged a finger at me, and reached for the bottle again. It was only 3 p.m., but it was a sunny Sunday afternoon, and neither of us had anywhere to go, so drinking in the sun and girl talk sounded pretty damn good.
"Yes, I remember his name. I even tagged him in a photo. Look, here,." She fished out her phone and presented me with a photo of her arm around a dark-haired guy, leaning in and smiling. Brilliant white teeth took up most of the photo, but behind them, I saw strong features and Nicole's mane of blond hair buried in his neck.
"Okay, Nic. What were you actually doing to his neck at the point this photo was taken?"
She appears at the photo. "That's a good question. Maybe that's way he was complaining of hickeys this morning." She shrugged, champagne flowing delicately into her glass as she did. "Occupational hazard maybe."
"Looks pretty damn hazardous to me, you're right. Do you know what he does?"
She shrugs again. "Nope. We mostly talked about music, and then we were dancing, and… Yeah."
"You know, I don't know why you feel the need to go out and meet guys at bars. Seems to me that the physio has an endless supply of muscular guys right there, under her hands. It's kind of like going out for dinner, when you have takeaway delivered to your house."
She shook her head vigourously. "Nope, no way. You know I've still got a hard and fast rule that I don't get involved with sports guys. Ever. Trust me, it's not worth it."
I raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Really? I mean, I thought lots of girls dream about hooking up with a hot athlete, right?"
She swirled the champagne in her glass, and looked at it speculatively. "Yeah, sure, but it's different if you can be running into them the next day. Believe me, it can get real awkward when a guy walks into your practice and you realise you were hooking up with him the night before, or the week befo
re." She shakes her head. "Nope, although I won't deny it's tempting sometimes, definitely no sports guys for me. You, on the other hand, are in desperate need of a date, if you don't mind me saying so."
I shook my fist at her. "I do mind you saying so. Sure, I I get most of my excitement out of hearing your stories – no, it's not that creepy, get your mind out of the gutter – but you know I've got a career to build, and I can't be having with guys messing that up."
"You sure? Seems like maybe you could do with a hot athlete as a distraction sometimes. Whenever I come home, you're always here working on this here sofa. Typing away, frowning, typing some more, frowning some more." Nicole reached forward and put her fingers to my temple. "You'll give yourself worry lines right here, I'm telling you now. A no-strings-attached fling is just what you need. It does wonders for the skin, believe me."
I smiled at her and stood up. "Well, you're a health professional, so I guess I can't disagree with you. I've got this article I have to write about the Thunderbirds soccer team for Jessie, so I guess maybe there will be some hot guys there."
She raised a finger. "Aha! Hot guys smorgasbord! Why don't you profile some of the players? I mean, you've talked about how you don't want to just write another puff piece, right? So, why don't you choose a couple of the players and spend time shadowing them? Find out what makes them tick? Get them to rip off your clothes – sorry, forget I said that."
Her face took on a speculative look. "On the other hand, maybe that's not a bad idea. They used to say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right? These days, maybe the way to a man's pants is through his ego." She leaned back, evidently very pleased with that line.
"Nic, this is supposed to be a serious piece. It's not an opportunity for me to hook up with my content. It might amaze you to learn that journalists actually have the same rules you do about getting involved with the subjects of their stories. I'm not saying it doesn't happen, but… I need to get this right, or it's back to writing top 10 lists for me."