Save Me, Sinners

“Oh my God! It’s David Adams,” a man’s high pitched voice exclaims. “Sir! I'm such a huge fan. Would you please autograph my nipples?”

I turn to see a tall African-American man, fit as an Olympian, looking at me with a wild expression of awe on his face.

“Knock it off, mate,” I laugh, as the other man gives me a half hug.

“Marjorie this is Willie Bryant, the absolute bane of my existence!”

“Come on, man! Why you gotta be like that!?” Willie complains. “Actually, Marjorie, I'm his best friend—he just doesn’t know it yet. Glad to have made your acquaintance.”

Willie bends his head and kisses her hand. I struggle to stifle a chuckle at the act Willie’s putting on.

“Aww. That’s so... gentleman-like,” she says.

Willie’s the first guy I made friends with when I moved to the States. If I’n honest, the first and the last friend I’ve made so far. Most people don't understand a sarcastic sense of humor while others treat me as a loose cannon, thanks to the image that the media back home painted of their best footballer. Willie’s the only one who doesn't judge me.

“Let’s grab a drink, mate,” I say to Willie in a low voice, making yet another attempt to get away from Marjorie.

“On a weeknight?” Willie raises a brow. I shrug and turn to the woman.

“One drink won’t kill us. Marjorie, why don’t you take a seat and I will grab some drinks for us, all right?”

“As you Brits say, lovely. Don’t take long…” Ugh. She may be trying to be cute but it just makes me cringe.

“Where the hell did you find a piece like that?” Willie laughs as we walk to the bar.

“That bloody bachelor auction. I should’ve just paid Shauna to bid on me,” I grunt.

“Man, I told you those auctions ain’t a good idea. They way she is eye-fuckin’ you, I bet she’ll keep you up all night if you give her the chance!” Willie chuckles.

“Bloody hell! Not in a million years. No way!”

By the time I grab a couple of beers from the bar, Willie’s turned around to talk to a group of women. As David walks toward him, one of them speaks.

“David!” she says, in a thick Eastern European accent. “Fancy running into you here.”

I eye her up and down. She’s tall, voluptuous and has the face of an angel. Finally, this night is getting better. I know I’ve met her somewhere but it’s not coming to me.

“Hello.”

“David Adams meet Victoria’s Secret angel, Ana…” Willie starts making the introduction, but I interrupt.

“Ana Irina. We have met before, haven’t we?”

“You remember!” she beams. “Yes we have, about six month

s ago, at that event before the World Cup final. I was presenting a show for a Czech TV channel then. I was very sorry when you lost the final…”

A serious look comes on Willie’s face. He knows I don't like to talk about the final since it practically made me the most hated man in England. I keep my face impassive.

“Well, it’s just a game, right? You win some, you lose some,” I say, doing my best to put on a charming smile.

“Cheers to that,” she answers and downs her drink in one go, looking at me with suggestive eyes. I’ve been around the block enough times to know what this look means. I lean in close to talk to Willie.

“Willie, mate. Do me a favor. Will you take that annoying rich woman... that Marjorie, off my hands tonight?”

“Again? Man, I believe in taking one for the team, but you’ve used that privilege one too many times now. I gotta have fun too,” he whines.

“Oh come on, mate. Look at Ana. I can’t possibly let this slide,” I whisper.