black. Ted, Asian. Sean, redhead. Got it.
“How do you know Oz?” Ted asked as all three of them rounded the sofa to join her and Jared by the mini fridge.
“I don’t, really. My company installed the security in his house earlier this week. Jared and I work together. How do y’all know him?”
The three men exchanged unreadable glances before Sean replied. “Glynn and Oz went to college together. Ted’s a video game reviewer and I’m a programmer, and we met Oz at an Outlaw Brigade launch a couple years ago. Do you play?”
She blinked. “Play what?”
“I guess that answers my question.” Sean smiled warmly. “Outlaw Brigade is a military-themed, first-person shooter video game. Oz has an endorsement deal with the company who produces it.”
She nodded, deciding this probably wasn’t the right time to inform them she’d shot someone in real life and it wasn’t fun at all.
“Video game reviewer is a job?” Jared asked.
Kate cringed, but Ted didn’t seem offended as he explained, “It can be if you’re good enough. I started out interning at a newspaper, and now I have columns in magazines here and in Australia.”
Jared grunted and turned to the fridge. “Who’s ready for a drink?”
Sean and Ted joined him in discussing the multitude of options on offer, while Glynn slid open the glass door. It led to a private stand positioned just above the halfway line, with spectacular, uninterrupted views toward both goals.
“This is amazing,” she murmured, joining Glynn outside. The match was due to start in a few minutes, most of the seats were full and the tense, excited atmosphere reached all the way to their sky-high tier.
“Are you a big soccer fan?” he asked.
“Total novice. This is my first match.”
“I’ll be honest, I wasn’t into it until I met Oz. It’s a lot easier to take an interest when you know one of the players.”
“You said you met in college? I thought he went pro when he was, like, seventeen.”
“He made a deal with Roland Carlsson. He would move to the US only if he could study while he was playing. It took him an extra semester to finish, but he did it.” He shrugged his admiration. “We actually went to different schools, but it’s easier to say we met in college. I went to MIT.”
“And where did Oz go?”
Glynn watched her for a second too long, as if he was waiting for the punch line, then he answered, “Harvard.”
“Oh. Right,” she stammered, her cheeks heating. “I guess I should’ve known that.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “It barely gets a mention in the press. Reporters are much more interested in how many goals he scores than his philosophy degree.”
She nodded noncommittally, fighting the urge to turn and run all the way back to her crappy one-bedroom apartment. She was way out of her comfort zone. These were not her people, this was not her sport, and Oz was definitely nothing more than her client.
“For you, fair maiden.” Jared appeared at her side and handed her a glass of champagne. Sean and Ted followed him and they all arranged themselves in the hard plastic seats lined up outside the box.
A cheer went up as the two teams filed out of the tunnel and lined up alongside each other while the announcer boomed the names and numbers of the players. The Jumbotron at one end of the stadium showed each player’s photo, and an unexpected thrill went through her as a familiar face flashed larger-than-life and the deep voice declared, “Number eighteen, Özkan Terim.”
The two teams shook hands, and then the players moved into position. Kate watched as Oz raised cupped hands, lowered his chin and murmured to himself, then brought his palms over his face.
He was praying. In front of seventy thousand people.
No wonder he’d found his way onto Citizens First’s list.
The whistle blew and the game began. Kate watched the two teams pass the ball back and forth and back again. No one had scored after ten minutes, and she could tell from Jared’s fidgeting that he was as bored as she was.
“I’m going to grab another drink,” he said, rising from his seat. “Want anything?”
“I’ll take a beer if they’ve got it.”
“Be right back.” He pulled his phone from his pocket as he stepped inside. She suspected he might be awhile.
The crowd gasped at something and she returned her attention to the match. Tucson’s goalkeeper booted the ball all the way back to the center line and players in brick-red Skyline uniforms raced after it.
Glynn nudged her. “Do you want some play-by-play?”
The crowd sucked in a breath at something else she couldn’t see, and she nodded gratefully. “Yes. I have no idea what’s going on.”
Ted leaned around him. “You’ve come to the right place. Glynn loves externally processing everything that happens in a match. Pass to Silva, Silva loses possession, Vidal charges up the side, but can he win it back?” He expertly mimicked Glynn’s voice.
“Don’t forget the facts and stats,” Sean added. “Random striker hasn’t scored at Skyline’s ground in his last five appearances. Oz has never conceded a goal against so-and-so subbed in from the bench. And did you know what’s-his-name is from Cameroon and despite its Francophone classification, Cameroon was briefly a German colony?”
Glynn smiled broadly, and she wondered how iceman Oz had managed to round up such a nice group of friends.
“Please ignore these gentlemen, whose love for the game massively exceeds their deeper understanding of its nuances. First, let me set the scene. Skyline had a banging start to the season after finishing in the top four last year. This is Roland’s—and Oz’s, come to think of it—third year in Atlanta and the Carlsson turnaround is in full swing. The first year he instilled European discipline and sophistication. Last year he attracted a wave of up-and-coming players, and this year Skyline should have a clear run at the title.”
“Except.” Ted inclined his head knowingly.
“Except their star winger, Rio Vidal, went down with torn ligaments in March, and then one of the center backs, Paulo, was out with a pulled hamstring. Vidal and Paulo are playing again but the last couple of months have been terrible.”
“They haven’t been that bad,” Sean protested. “Oz has kept a clean sheet more often than not, we just aren’t scoring goals like we need to.”
“Our ginger friend here is an optimist,” Ted explained.
“No, I’m just not as cynical as you two,” Sean countered. “What’s the point of supporting a team if you aren’t hoping for them to win every time they kick off?”
“Hang on,” she raised a hand to slow them, peripherally noting Jared’s return as she accepted a bottle of beer from him. “Rewind. Clean sheet?”
“Oz is a left-back,” Glynn replied. “That makes him part of the defense, which means his performance is measured in how many goals he lets in as opposed to how many goals he scores. If your defense keeps the other team from scoring at all, it’s called a clean sheet.”
“Like a shutout in football.”
“Exactly.”
“But Oz keeps running up to the other team’s half, like right now.” She pointed to where all of the Skyline players were clustered near Tucson’s goal.
Glynn squinted at the pitch. “He should fall back, actually. They’re pretty open and Tucson could easily break out to counter. Anyway, Oz is