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A woman a few seats to our right gets up and shuffles toward us. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Uma, Hans’ wife.” She has long blonde hair and a figure that’s as thin as her German accent is thick.
I’m pretty sure Hans is the Regents’ goalkeeper. I checked the lineup earlier today so I wouldn’t be completely clueless.
“Hi.” I offer a smile. “I’m Roxy, and this is my friend Lina. I’m Wade’s, em, girlfriend.”
I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve said that out loud. Even though we’ve been dating for over a week now, voicing it still feels strange—and does odd things to my stomach.
“Nice to meet you.” Her smile is warm and genuine, and I immediately like her. “First time?”
“Yeah.” I grimace. “Is it that obvious?”
“You’re early. The wives usually come in just when it starts. Sometimes, even a few minutes late.”
“What about you?”
“I’m early for everything.” She chuckles. “Social anxiety and all that.”
We chat for a while longer before she returns to her seat. A few drinks later, the stadium is packed, and the seats around us start to fill. But it’s only when the players step onto the field that everyone finally streams into the VIP section. And when I say everyone, I mean the “wives.” Or should I say “the supermodels,” because they all look like they belong on our magazine pages. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen a few of them on there before.
After the pre-game ceremony, when they sing both clubs’ anthems and toss a coin to decide who gets the ball first, the referee blows his whistle to indicate the start of the game. And just like that, the entire stadium comes alive.
My pulse quickens as I spot Wade, which is pretty easy given his single-digit number and position of centre forward. This is the first time I’ve ever actually wanted a football team to win. Even if I don’t fully understand the hype, it’ll make Wade happy, and, by association, it’ll make me happy.
At first, Wade doesn’t have the ball much, but then, things begin to shake up. His capacity for acceleration blows my mind. One second, he’s practically standing still, waiting for something to happen. And the next, he’s sprinting toward the goal at full speed. The third time’s the charm. He traps the ball, accelerates toward the goal, and shoots it into the right-hand corner of the net. The stadium roars and rumbles like a wild animal. Lina and I are in each other’s arms, jumping in place. Pure joy.
“Waaaaaade Hunter,” the speaker announces. “One-nil for the London Regents.”
Wade’s now in the corner of the pitch, celebrating with the fans as his teammates embrace him and jump on him.
Minutes later, we’re back in the game, and the tension remains palpable until halftime. No other goals are scored, but both teams get close. There was quite a lot of foul play, and a few players got hit, but only one Italian guy wriggled like a worm on a hook.
At halftime, we get up to stretch. Sweat is dripping down the back of my neck, so I lift my mass of hair to feel the breeze. It’s stifling here, especially since we’re getting all worked up and perched on the edge of our seats most of the time. Lina and I were quite demonstrative compared to the other “wives,” but then again, it’s our first game.
“So, you’re Hunter’s new girlfriend,” asks a tall girl with sleek raven hair—not unlike Kim’s—as I’m getting us another pair of cocktails from the bar.
I stammer, “Y-yeah. Hi. I’m Roxanne.”
“Emily. Andrea’s girlfriend,” she says without smiling. “You’re the girl who finally cracked the code, then?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Uh?”
She narrows her eyes at me, their intensity making me uncomfortable. “Not a bad year to be Wade’s girlfriend. I know I sure as hell could use some sun.”
I’m not sure what she’s talking about, so I just smile politely and grab our drinks, ready to return to my seat.
Emily places a hand on my forearm to stop me. “I’ve introduced Wade to countless friends. Model friends, and he never wanted more than a night of fun with them.” She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “What’s the secret?”
Oh, if only she knew. “There’s no secret. We just clicked, I guess?”
“Maybe he’s just not into models and prefers plus-size, average-looking girls?” she hisses before turning on her four-inch heels.
I just stand there with my mouth agape, wounded by the cheap shot. Looks like games are not only played on the pitch.
11
High
Wade
