Adrian

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.

I greeted the group and took a seat at the far end of the table, trying to hide my irritation under a bright smile.

“Who is your pretty friend, Brigitte?” Olivier was asking with a nod of his shaggy head toward Janey.

Olivier Caton was our best defender, but was constantly making lewd comments about women and racist jokes about Negroes. I hated the bastard.

“She’s a journalist doing a story on Adrian for the Sorbonne rag, no?” Brigitte said.

“On Adrian, of course,” Olivier snorted. He looked to me, a lazy sneer spread under his scraggily beard. “You’re late. And you forgot to bring the girl with you. She’s still in your bed, eh?”

I shot Janey a quick glance then took a seat at the end of the table. “Va te faire enculer, Olivier,” I said, straining to keep my voice casual.

Olivier held up his hands, a cigarette perched between two sausage-size fingers. “Why else are you so late? But come now, you didn’t even bring her here?” He snorted a laugh. “Poor girl must be thirsty—”

“Do you ever shut your mouth, Caton?” I snapped, glowering at him. “I said, fuck off.”

The table went quiet and Olivier chuckled, unperturbed. “What’s gotten into you, Rousseau? I’m only kidding.” He gave Janey a lascivious wink. “Or are we touchy in front of our new American girl?”

Blood rushed to my face and my hands balled into fists under the table.

Lucie, who was paying more attention to her fingernails, wondered aloud, “Where did you go, Adrian? You were gone for ages.”

I tore my gaze from Olivier and fought to come up with an excuse. “One of the reporters cornered me to talk about next season.”

Everyone sat up, the cloud of tension evaporating with electric excitement.

“They did? What did they say?”

“Did they want to talk about anyone else?”

“What did you say?”

The weight of their hopes fell on my shoulders, pressing me into my seat. I managed my wide, bullshit smile. “I told them what I always tell them; that we have to play two more games before we start talking advancement.”

Robert frowned. “I hope you weren’t an ass,” he said. “We don’t need any bad press for the team, you know. We’re depending on you.”

No kidding.

“I know you are,” I said. “And we won’t have bad press.” I looked to Janey. “That’s what Janey is here for, right?”

“Yes, Janey!” Brigitte said. “This was your first football match. What did you think?”

“Were you able to understand the rules?” Olivier asked, batting his eyelashes.

My hands balled tighter but Janey ignored him.

“It was…faster than I expected,” she said. “To be honest, I thought it might be rather boring but watching it up close…” Her gaze met mine. “It was breathtaking.”

I sucked in a small breath as her words hit me in my head, heart and groin; all at once.

“So glad you loved it! You should come to the next one, next Saturday,” Brigitte said. “I insist.”

“I….sure. Thanks. Love to,” Janey said. She turned to the table at large, her cheeks flushed pink. “Congratulations on the win. Only two more games in the season?”

“Yes,” Robert said. “Both home games, as luck would have it. We need two more wins, IC Chambry needs to lose their match, and then we advance to Ligue 2!” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “And that, my friends, deserves a round.”

He motioned for the waiter and a round of Pilsners were brought over a few minutes later. Robert raised his glass.

“To Chambry playing the worst game of their lives so that we may play for the rest of ours.”

“Salut!”

The others raised their voices and glasses, then drank.

“We still have to win,” I said into the quiet.

Robert set down his glass with a thunk and fixed me with a pointed stare.

I shrugged, and sat back in my seat, affecting a casual pose. “I’m just saying I think it’s bad luck to toast to something that hasn’t happened yet. We need to focus on us; play our best and…see what happens.”

“See what happens,” Olivier said, and chuckled. “Such inspirational words from our fearless leader.”

The table laughed and the mood remained cheerful but for Robert who gave me a final, dark look before joining the talk around the table.

I stared into the gold of my Pilsner, turning the glass around and around. The talk grew louder, the club began to fill up, and my group became noticeably more drunk.

Finally, Lucie had to use the restroom and the entire booth shuffled out to let her. When they shuffled back in, Janey ended up at the end, next to me.

On purpose?

It didn’t matter. Having her closer was like basking in the sun.

“Having fun?” I asked.

“You owe me half an interview,” Janey shouted over Led Zeppelin and the loud talk and laughter around us.

I laughed. “You’re right. Come on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Janey stiffened. “No, thanks.”

My smile faltered. “Didn’t you just say—?”

She leaned over the table. I could smell the wildflower scent of her perfume.

“I’m not getting up so everyone can watch me leave here with you.”

I felt myself stiffen. “Of course not.” I took a long pull from my beer, draining the glass, then set it down. “Meet me at the Stade Jean-Marc tomorrow afternoon, one o’clock.”

She frowned. “You want to do the interview on the soccer field?”

“The football pitch,” I corrected. “You clearly need the lesson. One o’clock.”

Janey nodded. “For the story.”

“What else would it be for?”

Our gazes caught and held, and then she looked away, letting the long locks of her hair shield her blush.

“Leaving so soon?” Olivier said, watching me rise to my feet. He heaved a dramatic sigh. “So many women, so little time.”

“Yes, I have to run,” I said. I drained my beer and set it down. “Your mother is a very impatient woman, Caton.”

Olivier bolted to his feet. Robert, sitting beside him, rose too, and put a hand on his chest. “Back off.” He looked to me. “Adrian, a word?”

He walked with me to the front of the club.

At the front, he stopped and jerked his head back to our table. “What’s the story with her? The American.”

“The story is, she’s doing a story,” I said. “What’s the big deal?”

Robert’s eyes bored into mine. “I hope nothing. We need you to play like you’ve been playing. We need to win.” He looked to where Janey sat. “And I don’t want a single thing to change that.”

I affected a winning smile, even as I clenched my teeth. “Relax, will you? She’s just a girl, not the black plague.”

He regarded me for a moment more and then nodded. “Just a girl. Okay, good.”

Just a girl, but the first girl I’d ever wanted to know for more than a night.