The Cinderella Arrangement by Vanessa Waltz Page B

looked at Luke. His accent changed from American to British. He raised his eyebrow at me. “What?”
    “Nothing, mate ” I ribbed, smiling.
    He smirked back.
    Brandon returned with three sopping mugs of dark beer and set one down in front of me.
    I curled my fingers around the cold plastic and brought the frothy rim to my mouth. The beer was thick and full of complex flavors. I smacked my lips in appreciation and wished I had something sweet to contrast the bitterness.
    “The crowd seems crazy.”
    A group of West Ham supporters behind our row slurred a song about bubbles.
    “West Ham and Tottenham Hotspur have a huge rivalry. It will be mad.” Brandon smiled at Luke. “Remember that time in Liverpool? They kicked you out of the stadium.”
    Luke flushed a bright magenta as he took a sip from his beer. “Yeah.”
    I leaned in closer, enjoying the embarrassment shining on his face. “What did you do?”
    Brandon spoke before Luke could get a word in. “He beat up a couple people.”
    “They deserved it.”
    How interesting. “I never would have guessed you could be such a hooligan.”
    Luke gave me a roguish wink.
    The fans behind me continued to sing. “ Forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air. ”
    One of them kicked the back of my seat and my beer slopped all over my hands. Luke turned around in his seat to glare at them but I took his hand and squeezed it.
    “Sorry, love.” The man who had kicked my seat gave me a toothy grin, his cheeks ruddy from alcohol.
    “It’s cool,” I said as I wiped my hand on the wall.
    His red-rimmed eyes scanned my clothes and narrowed in suspicion. “Who are you supporting?”
    I suddenly knew that they were drunk enough to fight anyone who wasn’t rooting for their team. “West Ham,” I said before others could intervene.
    “Good.” The fan leaned back into his seat and they resumed the team song.
    Brandon’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Like we’d say anything different surrounded by this lot.”
    At last, the players spilled over the field, and the red and blue fans stood up in unison, letting out earsplitting shrieks and cheers. I clapped my hands over my ears as the fan behind me screamed encouragement to West Man and shouted filthy obscenities to the black and white Tottenham players.
    “Sod off, you fucking cunts!”
    The man who had kicked my chair was standing on his seat, gesticulating as he bellowed insults. Taken aback, I looked at Luke and Brandon, who didn’t seemed perturbed by the filth streaming out of his mouth.
    Maybe it’s a British thing.
    West Ham kicked off and the fast-paced game began. Within the first five minutes, the Tottenham forwards had passed the ball through West Ham’s defense. The right defense sprinted back toward the forward—he was inside the goalie box and everyone around me was screaming, even Luke was bellowing something intelligible. And then the Tottenham forward stumbled forward and tripped over the West Ham defense’s leg, foiling what could have been a goal.
    The stands were in an uproar as the referee blasted his whistle and ripped out a bright red card, which he held up high. The reaction from the stands was downright frightening. Thousands of them stood up to hurl insults at the referee as the player argued with him. I was close enough to see the veins popping out from his neck.
    “I don’t understand—what happened?”
    Luke’s face pinched with worry. “Well, the defense tripped the Tottenham forward within the goal box, so that’s an automatic red card. They must play one man short the whole game.”
    I pitched forward and the rest of my beer spilled on the floor as the fan behind me jostled my seat in his haste to stand up.
    “HE TRIPPED! IT WAS A BLOODY ACCIDENT, YOU FUCKING TWAT!”
    His voice stabbed my ears with every syllable. He hurled his empty cup onto the field; I saw it sail over my head, sprinkling my hair with drops of beer.
    “Fuck’s sake.” Now I was drenched in