Which somehow, believe it or not, has made me even more infamous.
Some hate me because I lived in the same house as he did, which is a very weird reason to hate someone. Some offered to be my friends if I dished out dirt on him, which I absolutely refused to do. So basically, everyone hates me a little more than they did last week.
Yay me.
We reach the field just as someone asks the question, “Can we get your autograph?”
Before I can figure out who said that or Arrow can even respond to it, another one jumps in. “And a picture?”
“We don’t have a phone, idiot,” someone says.
“So what? We can just use Coach TJ’s phone,” the second girl throws out.
Coach TJ is the lady standing by Arrow with a clipboard. Like every other teacher at St. Mary’s, she’s stern – not as stern as Miller though – and has a tight bun. “Girls –”
Coach TJ doesn’t get to talk because yet another girl speaks out. “I’m so sorry to hear about your injury,” the third girl says, and the mood of the group quickly changes, becomes somber. “Galaxy was so close to winning the cup second year in a row.”
The first girl who asked about the autograph jumps in then. “Yeah, we all thought you guys had it in the bag. It was such a sure-shot deal.”
Several other girls murmur the same thing, but I’m more focused on watching him. Watching the new Arrow.
His reaction at the mention of his fake injury.
I watch as his jaw clamps and his summer-blue eyes narrow for a few seconds, before his folded arms flex and his stance widens. I watch as his anger sort of flows from one part of his body to another.
And I get this stupid urge again, to touch him.
To touch this newly formed anger.
“Yeah, it is,” he says in a tight but polite voice. “You think you’ve got something in the bag but turns out that you haven’t. You deal with it though.”
I bite my lip as the urge grows.
It grows and grows.
I so wanna go to the front of the group and talk to him. I so wanna ask him about things.
But I won’t.
I absolutely will not.
Because over the weekend, I’ve promised myself something.
Just because he’s at St. Mary’s now where I’ll have to see him all the time, in the hallways, and on school grounds, the soccer field, doesn’t mean that I get to bother him. That I get to let myself loose and do… wrong things.
Especially now.
When he’s just broken up with my sister. When he’s just coming out of an eight-year-old relationship. He doesn’t need an overeager little sister to barge into his life and ask him questions like I did at the bar.
So I’m going to do what I’ve always done, keep him safe from my witchy ways.
“Can you teach me how to head the ball?” someone asks, breaking my thoughts.
Just like earlier, before Arrow can answer, someone else is ready with another question and it simply snowballs from there.
“I read somewhere that Real Madrid has been eyeing you. Will you be traded to play in the European League next season?”
“Have you met Messi? What about Beckham?”
“Yes! Have you met Ronaldo?”
“How much do you bench-press?”
“Can you bench-press me?”
This generates a lot of laughter until someone asks, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
At this, I stiffen.
My eyes go wide and my lips part as I once again watch anger move from his cheekbones to his shoulders. A shadowed look passes through his eyes and I remember my sister’s words.
He was upset…
My witchy heart starts to pound and pound as his anger reaches his teeth and he clenches them once before throwing out a smile.
A practiced half-smile that I’ve seen so many times on TV.
“Soccer takes up most of my time right now,” he replies, giving his standard answer. “So I’m not looking for a relationship.”
Yeah, that’s what he usually says.
Soccer is my life right now.
Or I’d rather not talk about my personal life but I’m happy to talk about the game.
He’s always kept his love life under wraps.
Mostly because soccer really is his main focus and he wants to be known for only his game and nothing else. And secondly, because when Arrow joined the league, Sarah was still in college and he wanted to protect her from all the gossip and paparazzi.
See? It’s so, so hard not to love him.
Why does he have to be so good and dependable and so fucking protective?
I’ve never seen anyone like that in my entire life.
No wonder my sister fell for him, and no wonder I fell for him too.
But anyway, that’s his standard answer. However, a second later, he digresses and adds, “But who knows? Things can happen. I’m actually finding out that it’s great to roll with the punches.”