Strike (Sphere of Irony 2)

“Kate! Get your butt out here!”

Whoops! Coach’s angry shout from the locker room door has me moving. I must have been lost in thought longer than I realized.

“Sorry Coach Russo.” I jog past him to join the team at the entrance to the pitch.

“As long as your head’s in the game out there,” he points towards the stadium, “I don’t care what you do otherwise. You ready?”

I nod.

“Alright ladies! Let’s get out there and kick some ass!”

Amid the hollers and cheers of my teammates and the fans, we run out onto the pitch. After the preliminaries, everyone gets into place. I inhale the scent of fresh cut grass, loving the cool breeze, the clapping from the stands… everything about this game. With Dax gone and my parents far away, this is what keeps me grounded. I’d be lost without the sport I love.

I catch the sight of Mateo and some of the other men’s footy players in the stands. They’re standing up cheering for us. We support each other when we can, the men’s and women’s teams. When we can, a bunch of us girls go to their matches. Football doesn’t get the same massive crowds that the American gridiron team pulls in.

The referee blows her whistle, I tense up for the drop, and the game begins.

“Get up!”

My head is so groggy with sleep it takes me a minute to realize that Abby is in my bedroom.

“Go away!” I pull the covers over my head to block out the bright morning sun.

“Kate. Get up.”

The impatience in my flatmate’s voice is obvious, but I’m shattered. “Abby. I’ve had a late night. We went to a frat party to celebrate after our win and I didn’t get home until three. I’m having a lie-in, so sod off.”

Of course, the men’s footy team joined us at the party, since some of them are members of the frat. I chatted with blokes when appropriate and got a few lustful stares from several of them. They left me alone for the most part. I must have been giving off unapproachable vibes or something.

One or two of my teammates were caught snogging a few of the blokes in different back corners of the frat house. That’s par for the course at university. Especially around a bunch of horny athletes.

My duvet is suddenly ripped off of the bed, exposing me to both the chill of the room and the ever-present L.A. sun.

“Christ, Abby! What the hell is it?” I snap, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“This! That’s what!” A magazine lands on my lap, the pages fanning open.

“So? What is it? A gossip mag?” I glance at the cover. Hmmm, tha

t Andrew Forrester bloke from that new movie. I run my finger down hi picture. “He’s quite the hottie, yeah?” Frowning, I feel as if he looks familiar, but can’t remember where I’ve seen him before.

Abby huffs. “Not him.” She flicks the pages to one that is folded down and stabs at a picture with her finger. “Right here.”

My brain hasn’t woken up yet, so I process the information slowly. But once I figure out exactly what I’m looking at, I’m most definitely awake.

“What in the bloody fucking hell is this?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Abby says. She flops down on my bed next to me, waiting for me to say something.

My mouth opens and closes like a fish, unable to come up with anything more than a few creative curses. “I knew it! That stupid cow and that lying, cheating bastard!”

“You don’t know that he’s cheating, Kate. It’s only a picture.”

I stare at Abby in disbelief. “You’re the one who brought me the sodding magazine, Abby! It’s right here in print, plain as day!”

On the “Who’s Out and About” page of CelebWeekly is a large color photo of Dax and Lila, looking quite cozy at a dance club in Chicago where they went to a party a few days ago. Dax’s usual icy expression is gone, and in its place is someone who is laughing and smiling and having a fantastic time.

Lila, the whore, is wearing the skimpiest white dress I’ve ever laid eyes on and has her arm threaded through Dax’s elbow, her pouty face looking right at the camera.