7. W I L K S

SEVEN

W I L K S

“Tell us again, Wilks.” It’s Christopher Hart, our center-fielder whose voice echoes the loudest down the tunnel as we make our way off of the pitch. "How in the hell did you manage to swing in that last beauty of a shot?”

I straighten my spine, proud beyond measure. “What can I say?” I accept the receptive pats on my back as I’m reminded of my game-winning goal. “I’m the GOAT.”

There’s no greater feeling than basking in the praise my team sends my way. Today might have very well been one of my best matches. Tough, sure, given that Croydon FC is one of the strongest teams in the league, but no team, no matter how good they are, has what we’ve got—a mutual love and respect for one another.

This team, they’re my second family, which means that as much as they can be my biggest supporters, they have absolutely no problem taking a pin to deflate my at times massive ego.

“Alright, mate.” Daniel Green, our main defensemen and my best mate, speaks up first. “I wouldn’t go that far. You’re more like the sheep.”

The lads burst into laughter as we pile into the changing room, prompting me to roll my eyes and smack Green with my sweaty jersey once I’ve whipped it off my slicked body.

“Yeah, yeah. Goat, sheep, say whatever you want, Green, but I’ve got an anaconda in my pants. Can you say the same?”

The team erupts into a series of ooo’s as Green lightheartedly shakes his head in laughter. “Mate.” He places a hand against my shoulder. “The reason why I’m not the tallest is because of all that length? Well , it went to my?—”

“Can you lot stop comparing dick sizes and listen up, please?” Coach blows into his in-famous whistle, demanding the team's attention as we take into account the fact that he’s standing in the entryway.

He always has the most impeccable timing.

“Why? You wanna be in the running?” I joke, prompting an abundance of snickers to follow. “Or are you just here to remind us of how flawless we played today?” I rally the rest of the lads up as they start to cheer enthusiastically.

“Crawfield… Crawfield… Crawfield!” they shout in unison as we dance around like a bunch of knobs. It’s alright, though. We are a bunch of knobs.

Once more, Coach blows into the whistle, prompting us all to freeze. I tilt my head to the side, surprised by the look I’m met with. For once, he’s not unamused, he’s smiling. He’s happy…

“Wilks,” he says my name over the silence. “I hate that I’m saying this, but for the first time, you’re right.” He takes a few steps forward, embracing us all in a group huddle. “I’m here to tell you all just how proud I am of you. You’ve done amazing so far this season. Seriously, I’m so fucking proud.”

There’s absolutely nothing quite like hearing those words of affirmation fall from Coach’s mouth. Sure, Coach isn’t the most vocal when it comes to expressing his emotions, but his face has always told us everything we needed to know.

He’s always been proud of us. But on the very rare instances where the look in his eyes matches the words that come out of his mouth, you learn not to take these moments for granted.

“Aw, fatherhood is making you soft, Coach,” Hart remarks, patting him on the back. “Or are you just starting to warm up to us?”

Warren has been the coach for Crawfield for almost seven years now. Most of the lads, myself included, weren't even here when he started, so the idea of him “warming up” to us is ludicrous. Coach warmed up to each and every single one of us the day we met him.

We wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t.

I met Coach when I was sixteen after I’d been training under another local team. Yet, how we got acquainted isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

After years of training, when the time approached for me to finally begin my debut, to make a long story short, the team didn’t know if I was going to be the best fit.

Therefore, they cut me.

I was devastated.

I’d worked for years for just a simple chance, and they took it away from me before I could show them what I was made of.

The news spread throughout the football community, and before I even had a moment to mope around, I got a call.

“Heard you’re looking for a spot?” The voice came through the line, commanding my attention.

“Who’s calling?” I couldn’t help but wonder, given that the number had no caller ID.

“Your future,” Coach’s snarky voice threw back my way, and within a five-minute phone call, suddenly, I became the newest member of Crawfield Football Club.

Coach started me on game day. A first for any rookie. I think he was trying to make a point to the bigwigs who dropped me, whereas I sunk the knife in deeper when I scored in the first half.

Since then, Coach and I have been thick as thieves, and even after five years, there’s no greater praise than his.

“Ah, shut it.” Coach rolls his eyes, flashing Hart, along with the rest of us, a playful stare as he pulls back from the huddle. “No more sappy shite. That’s the only compliment you’re getting from me today.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the team jokes in laughter, returning to their individual stations to get ready for the showers.

“Oi, Coach.” I stop him as he makes his way out. “We’re going to Tenner’s tonight.” I refer to the infamous pub our team has seemingly claimed as our personal victory spot, and our go-to every Friday, Saturday, and sometimes even Sunday night. “You wanna come?”

Coach shakes his head. “Sorry, lads, I can’t,” he declines. “Fatherhood has made me soft ,” he jokes, causing a few groans as he escapes the room.

Since Delaney came into the picture, Coach hardly takes us up on our offers anymore. I can’t blame him, especially not right now. If I had someone, I’d probably drop the lads, too, but unfortunately, that’s not the case.

“Are we walking, Wilks?” Green asks, removing his boots. “Or I can drive. I don’t mind being the DD.”

I shake my head. “We’re walking. Tonight is a celebration, after all.” I raise my hands into the air. “Because tonight, drinks are on me.”

“How does this sound?” Hart hands me his phone. He’s attempting to sext some girl he met last week at the pub and said he needed my opinion.

I read the text out loud.

“ How about you come to my place tonight ?”

“That sounds alright.” Green nods in agreement, walking alongside us as we break away from the rest of the team on our way to Tenners.

“Yeah, it might sound okay.” I shake my head. “But Christ Hart. Learn how to bloody spell.”

He furrows his brow. “What the hell are you on about? It looks fine.”

I narrow in my stare, stopping dead in my tracks as I turn the phone to Green, showing him what the message really says:

How bout’ you cum 2 my place tn?

He bursts into laughter. “Oh, c’mon, Hart.” He pokes fun. “Now that is just painful. How do you expect some girl to sleep with you when you’re spelling ‘come’, c-u-m?”

Hart snatches the phone from my hands as I join in on the laughter, dapping Green up in the process.

That was a good one.

“That’s the last time I ask either of you pricks for advice.” An embarrassed look rises to his cheeks as he throws the phone back into his pocket.

“Ah, stop getting your panties in a twist.” I attempt to mitigate his scowl. “We’re trying to help you, Hart. By learning to spell come now, you’ll ultimately be able to cum later.”

Hart shakes his head, visibly fed up. “You’re both complete twats. You know that?”

“Oh, yeah?” Green raises a cocky brow. “Spell twat.”

Hart clenches his jaw, charging his way towards him—the two are always getting into spats like this. They have this ability to say just the exact thing to each other that’ll set them both off, leaving me in the line of fire.

“Alright, enough.” I break the two of them apart as if they’re two drunk girls at a party.

That’ll be them later.

“Hart, hand me your phone again, and once you do, do yourself a favor and buy a dictionary for Christ’s sake and Green…” I catch his attention next. “Talk when you have a girl.”

The two are silent as I take Hart’s phone back from his hand and begin messaging this anonymous girl on his behalf. The dickhead hadn’t even said ‘hello’ before he jumped into sexting.

He’s got a lot to learn.

“Me? What about you?” he protests. “Where’s your girl, Wilks?” Green narrows in his stare as we continue our way to Tenners. “I don’t see her around anywhere. Is she invisible? Or does she just not exist?”

Hart stifles a laugh, joining in on the shit fest.

“Maybe she only exists in his imagination,” he chimes back up, smirking over at Green as they laugh in unison.

The two of them give me whiplash.

I shoot them both an unamused stare. “Do you both want free pints tonight or not?” I question, cocking a brow. “‘Cause I can revoke it.” I shrug. “You know, I’d be happy to give them to someone else?—”

“Oh, we’re just taking the piss.” Hart peers back down at his phone, visibly pleased when he sees that not only have I secured him a date with this bird, but she’d agreed to come by his place later.

Gary Wilkinson: the ultimate sexter.

“Maybe he was,” Green rebuts Hart’s claim. “But I wasn’t. Where is your lady? Huh?” He pries with a purse of his lips. “You’re always going on about who you’re seeing, but we never see them.”

I chew down on my bottom lip as I process his remark.

What do I say? That I can get them in the bedroom no problem, but it's maintaining anything beyond that that I struggle with.

Fuck no.

I opt for the easier answer instead.

“There’s too many for you to meet.”

Green rolls his eyes, shaking his head in dismay as we continue to parade our way down the street.

“Besides…” I’m on my high horse now. “I could get any girl I wanted. Name one, and she’s mine. Done.”

Hart sees this as a proposition, cocking his brow as he tilts his chin up and gestures just ahead. “Oh yeah?” he speaks. “How about her ?”

I swiftly dart my attention over my shoulder, following his eyes across the road, where I am not only greeted by a familiar storefront but also by an unmistakable face.

I told you I never forget a face.

Chelsie.

I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought about her once… twice… maybe more than three times since our encounter last week. Dwelling on unique ways I could casually stumble into Ruby’s Bakery and walk away with a whole lot more than just her name...

She looks even better than when I’d seen her last. Her short blonde hair is down this time, tucked behind her ears as her bag aches to break free from her shoulder until, all at once, it drops suddenly to the floor.

I see my opportunity.

“Watch and learn, lads,” I declare, grimacing at the way they shoot me an impressed stare as I speed my way across the street.

“Looks like you need a hand,” I proclaim, my voice loud. Chelsie jumps back, visibly startled, as she scans me up and down. “Lucky for you, I’ve got two that I know how to use quite well…”

It takes her a second to resettle, but when she does, I can see it in her eyes that she recognizes me.

That she remembers me.

How could she not?

Regardless, I take the liberty to remind her just in case. “It’s Wilks…” I flash her a tender smile before I quickly correct myself. “ Gary ,” I clear my throat. “ Remember ?”

She reaches to pick up her bag from off the ground, securing it back onto her shoulder as she stands. “The crazy cake guy,” she speaks coyly, yet softens her gaze. “How could I possibly forget?”

I can’t tell if she’s being flirtatious or sarcastic. It doesn’t matter, all that matters is the way she’s commanding my attention with that glimmer in her eyes.

“So, does that mean you missed me?” I playfully throw her way, carefully studying her face as she twists the key into the lock and closes up the shop.

Christ .

She’s got these long eyelashes and sweet lips. They’re so rosy, plump, soft… or so I’m assuming. I suppose the only real way to know would be to?—

“Drop another cake onto yourself?” She furrows her brows, yet her eyes are full of questions. “Or are you just following me?”

She’s got a sense of humor. I don’t know if there is any hotter trait in a woman.

“Following you?” I repeat. “Nah, that’s not my style, love,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “I was already walking this way, and you just so happened to be here. I hear they call that fate. Destiny. It’s like we’re meant to be or something.”

She bashfully rolls her eyes, clearly not used to this kind of attention .

I can’t understand why, though.

She’s beautiful.

Surely, I’m not the only guy who's attempted to shoot my shot with her.

Am I?

“What?” I seek clarity in the smile that threatens to break through her stoic face, only motivating me that much more to force one out of her. “Haven’t you had someone flirt with you before?”

She places her hands on her hips, tilting her head to the side. “This what you call flirting?”

I run my tongue along my lower lip, biting down ever so softly to suppress a smirk. God, her voice is enchanting —I remember that from the first time we spoke. But now that I’m under less strenuous circumstances, I can really assess the intricacies of her accent.

What part of England is she from?

She’s Northern. Yorkshire, perhaps?

I’m encouraged to ask until I’m reminded that I still haven’t answered her question. I attempt to speak, but I’m cut short.

“ Oi , Wilks!” Someone calls out, driving Chelsie’s eyes away from mine and in the direction where the voice came from. “Give her a snog, will ya!”

Shit.

For a second, I forgot that the lads were watching. Now, I wish they weren’t, especially given that as I follow her gaze, I can see Green slapping one of the boys, who called out in the chest, attempting to settle him down.

The other players have evidently caught up to Green, Hart, and I’s early departure…

“Do you uh—know them?” Chelsie asks, staring into my eyes for reassurance.

I shift my body so that she's out of their direct line of view. I’m unsure if it’s an action to help shield her from their belligerent remarks, given that I could’ve sworn someone just shouted, “Show us your tits!” Or it’s to soothe the troubling emotion that courses through me.

There’s something about the way they’re looking her up and down that pisses me off beyond measure. I can’t explain it. All I can do is grind my teeth as I respond. “Unfortunately. They’re my teammates,” I explain. “So, it's kind of like when you have a family. You don’t get to pick them, you know?”

Somehow, she laughs.

Fuck, what a sound .

“So you play football?” She narrows in her curious stare, pointing a delicate finger in my direction. “Is that right?”

All of a sudden, I get tongue-tied… again , just like I did the moment we first met. She has this effect on me—making the one thing I’m most confident in talking about the thing I feel the most nervous sharing.

“Yeah.” I nod agreeably, removing my hands from my pockets and rubbing them together. “I play for Crawfield. The local football club. I’m their uh—captain.”

“Captain?” She juts out her bottom lip, impressed. “You don’t say.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “You seem surprised.” I’m taken aback by her willingness to entertain this conversation, but thanking my lucky stars she is.

“Maybe a little,” she speaks through a smile. “I’m just wondering how you manage a team if you can’t manage a cake?”

I scoff in laughter. “Are we really back to that? Was I really that memorable?”

She chews on the inside of her cheek. “Fine. I’ll drop it… just like you dropped the cake.”

This time, I can’t help but burst into laughter—only prompting her to do the same.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you that one. That one was good.”

Her cheeks light up as the tensity in her shoulders lessens. There’s something oddly comforting to know that I’m a part of the reason.

“So, where are you all heading?” she probes, visibly intrigued by the group.

“To celebrate,” I explain. “We had a big game today, and not to brag…” I lean in close. “I was the reason we won. I’m kind of a big deal around here.”

There’s that cocky side to me coming out, one she disregards with a roll of those perfect blue eyes.

“The lads and I are heading up the road for some pints at Tenners. Care to join us?”

I’m hopeful she’ll say yes, given the interest I can see written all over her face. Only the interest slowly starts to fade as she peers back around me, taking into account the group that keeps on growing as the rest of the team catches up, bracing me for her answer.

“I don’t know.” She clears her throat and rubs along her arms. “I appreciate the gesture, the offer, but it’s okay. I’m okay.”

She’s trying her best to let me down as easily as she can. I know she is.

“As usual…” She kicks some gravel beneath her shoe. “I had another long day at work. So I’m probably just gonna head home.”

As if the lads pick up on her refusal to join, they all begin to shout, only solidifying her decision that much more. “Any girl you want, eh, Wilks? Doesn’t quite look like it, mate.”

I grow defensive as Chelsie uncomfortably displaces her weight from one leg to the other.

“Piss off, will ya!” I shout back, yet it’s not my outburst that makes her flinch, it’s the truth behind their remark.

“Any girl you want, eh?” She smugly purses her lips when I look back at her. Her eyes are full of unamusement, but most importantly, disappointment. “Have a good night, Gary .”

She says my name like no one else has ever said it before, leaving me breathless and remorseful.

“ Chelsie .” It’s the first time I’ve said her name out loud, and only now do I start to wonder why I’ve kept it all in my mind for so long when her name has always belonged on my lips. “Don’t listen to anything they’re saying.” I try to shy away from the reality that they are, but of course, holding me accountable for my earlier claim—one I regret more than anything.

Chelsie isn’t just “any girl”.

I know that.

I’ve always sort of known that.

“They like to pull my leg. Embarrass me. You know what guys are like.”

Chelsie peers down to the ground before she’s back to burning into my gaze. “Something tells me that there’s some truth behind what they’re saying. Maybe your quick charm works on others, Gary, but it’s not going to work on me.”

“So, you think I’m charming?” I curse myself the second I speak. It’s a force of habit—playing on words. Making everything a flirtatious attempt to get closer to her.

“I think you just proved my point.” She officially sidesteps around me. “I hope you have more luck getting ‘any girl you want’ at Tenners.”

Speechless.

She leaves me utterly speechless as I watch her disappear into the distance—stood frozen in time until the lads make their way over to my side of the street. Their company is less than comforting.

“Ah, forget about her.” It’s Green who tries to reassure me at first. “She was a longshot anyway,” he declares. “They’re lots of other birdies at Tenners, am I right?” He encouragingly smacks against my back.

I refuse to nod my head in agreement, given that I know his statement isn’t true. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone like Chelsie—nor has anyone ever left me with such a confusing mixture of emotions.

Am I scorned?

Embarrassed?

Angry?

I don’t know.

All I know is that I feel as if I’ve just completely blown my one chance with the girl I hadn’t realized I ever really wanted one with.

“Wilks?” someone calls out my name as everyone walks off without me.

I peel my eyes back.

“You coming?”

I gulp back the lump in my throat, nodding in agreement as I peel myself away from the storefront of Ruby's Bakery.

“Yeah,” I respond. “I’m coming.”