His to Win (The Alpha Soccer Saga #1) (17 page)

Al nodded approvingly. One couldn’t help but to be impressed by the sign. “Something like that would look good at Notre Dame. It’s got the right colors and everything. Just need to replace the soccer players with some young men in pads and helmets. Is Patrick on there?” He asked, scanning the faces.

Ellie reminded him that Patrick had only just joined the team, and that he hadn’t been there long enough to be considered a legend just yet.

“Well, he ought to be.” Al stated flatly, soaking in the scene.

Ellie gave her dad a hug and gave herself a tiny pinch, still afraid she was going to wake up from this incomprehensible dream. It occurred to Ellie that Patrick was in there somewhere, and she suppressed the urge to stand up and shout his name.

The bus dropped them in the West End, an area paved with cobblestone streets and filled with shops, pubs, and spired buildings made of stone.

They stuffed themselves at a restaurant Tess from the museum had suggested, The Ubiquitous Chip, and then ended their whirlwind tour of Glasgow by collapsing at the Grand Central; Al falling instantly into hibernation. Ellie was as restless as her six-year-old self on Christmas Eve, hopeful that Santa was somehow going to cram a pink bicycle down the Peavey chimney.

Opening day of the Scottish Premier League season dawned bright and sunny, an early August day so perfect it seemed the Glasgow Chamber of Commerce must have ordered it.

Ellie dressed the part of a fan proudly wearing one of Patrick’s replica jerseys. When Al emerged from his bedroom Ellie was suitably impressed by his game-day attire—a crisp green polo complete with the Celtic FC logo.

“Dad, I thought only ‘sissies’ played soccer?” Ellie teased her father.

“Do I look like I’m planning to play soccer today?” Al asked, holding up his hands in mock innocence.

The two made their way to the lobby, ate breakfast, then hit the street, which had transformed into a river of green-clad humanity streaming toward the Parkhead section, toward Paradise.

Songs were sung, chants recited, and the joviality was contagious. It was as if the entire city was celebrating, and in a way they were. Their heroes had returned to once again defend the honor of Glasgow, and indeed Scotland’s, Catholic populace.

Ellie and Al had planned to take a taxi to the stadium, but they instead were swept up in the fervor of the masses and took the long walk to the stadium. Ellie lent her singing voice to the chorus and her dad puffed out his green chest proudly.

Walking got them into the stadium a bit later than they’d planned, but they still had time to enjoy the ambiance before kickoff. After picking up their tickets and walking through the gates of sixty-thousand-seat Celtic Park, both Peaveys stopped in their tracks to admire the view.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen grass so green!” Al marveled. “Do you think Patrick can introduce me to the groundskeeper? I’d love to get my lawn this color.”

As ridiculous as the request sounded, Ellie knew her dad was used to getting what he wanted and that he was completely serious.

“Sure, dad, in fact why don’t we see if the team will fly their entire grounds crew to Columbus to work on your yard personally?” Ellie replied.

“Look! There he is!” Al was pointing to the far touchline where Patrick and a group of Celtic players warmed up with quick, short passes. Her dad sounded like a child at his first major league game, and Ellie knew that he was, in his own way, as impressed with Patrick as she was.

They reached their seats amid the raucous crush of green just a few rows from the field on the sideline opposite the Celtic bench. Watching Patrick going through a series of sprints and transforming into the Mad Monk, putting on an intense visage that reminded her of the look on his face when she rode him as moonlight streamed in on the two of them. It made her heart pound in her chest. Her dad’s eyes were everywhere, scanning the field, the crowd, and the stadium. The coach in him didn’t want to miss a detail, no matter how minute.

Patrick, for his part, was in full game mode. He’d been named in the starting eleven, center back, at the heart of the defense. The opponent, Kilmarnock, was expected to finish the season in the middle of the pack and the bookies had Celtic as a heavy favorite. He’d noticed Ellie walking to her seat, and he thought she looked great wearing his jersey, but he was locked in and did nothing to indicate that he’d noticed her.

Lineups were announced, the national anthem played, and the match began. Celtic defended the goal nearest the Peaveys.

Celtic began the match with a jolt of adrenaline, attacking the Killie goal aggressively. They hit the post within the first three minutes and forced the opposing goalkeeper into two fine early saves. The crowd was in full voice and the two Americans in the fourth row could easily have been confused for Glaswegians. They sang, screamed, applauded, and were fully invested from the first minute.

Fifteen minutes in, Patrick went forward for a Celtic corner kick and his first offensive contribution for the team was realized. The corner kick was lofted across the penalty area, longer than planned, but Patrick broke when the ball was struck, circling deep behind his defender. He rose above the crowd, heading the ball back into the middle, directly onto the head of teammate Walter Stroud who rammed it past the flailing Kilmarnock goalie.

Celtic led 1–0, thanks to an assist from Patrick Sievert and suddenly Ellie was hugging strangers. Al was giving high fives all around and the mood turned from expectation to jubilation.

A scant four minutes later young Scotsman Stroud struck again, this time on a breakaway down the far sideline. Celtic were rolling and Killie were helpless. Near halftime, a booming punt sent the ball into the corner directly in front of the Peaveys. A clever flick sprung a Kilmarnock winger clear into the penalty area, but Patrick saw the play developing and he snuffed it out and the chance was gone. The nonchalance with which he relieved the opponent of the ball belied the difficulty with which he took the ball without fouling, but the defensive effort and subsequent smart pass into the Celtic midfield drew appreciative applause from the sophisticated Celtic Park crowd.

“I told you he’d make a great linebacker!” Al shouted over the crowd to Ellie.

The halftime score was 2–0 and Celtic added a third midway through the second half for a three goal win, a clean sheet, and an early spot atop the league standings. Al, in his exuberance, had sweated completely through his shirt while making friends with every Celtic fan within shouting distance. To Ellie’s half-embarrassment and half-beaming pride, he also announced to anyone and everyone who would listen that his daughter was “Patrick Sievert’s girlfriend.”

Patrick couldn’t have been happier. He stole glances from time to time at Ellie and Al and whenever he did he saw nothing but smiling excitement on their faces. He loved seeing them, especially Ellie, enjoying themselves and he was proud of the entire team for their effort, especially defensively. Kilmarnock was held without a single shot on goal, as perfect a result as a goalkeeper or defender could hope for.

A brief postgame interview session, address from the manager, and time in the whirlpool to keep his legs fresh couldn’t end quickly enough for Patrick. He knew Ellie was waiting and he had no further team obligations to keep them apart for the duration of her visit. For the first time, he wished she’d come alone, but he liked her dad and hoped that with a hearty enough meal, and maybe some strong Scotch whisky, that the old man would sleep deeply enough that he and Ellie might manage some private time after all.

The trip back to the Grand Central became a pub crawl. A celebratory mood filled the streets of Glasgow and upon hearing American accents on the father and daughter pair clad in Celtic swag, the locals were in a buying mood. Ellie was more of a wine girl and although Al was no stranger to a beer watching a ballgame, neither Peavey was prepared for the kind of drinking festive Scotch football fans were used to.

Moving with the flow of humanity, the two wound up in and out of half a dozen pubs within a few blocks before managing to escape into a taxi to finish their journey, still somewhat sober.

“Dad, did you hear what they were singing in that last place?” Ellie asked, once they were settled in the cab.

“I heard Patrick’s name, but I couldn’t make out much more over the noise. Did you catch it?”

“I think so. I heard it at the game, too. I think it went like this: ‘Only one Patrick Sievert! There’s only one Patrick Sievert! Walking along, singing our song, living in a Celtic wonderland!’”

“You’re lucky I don’t still live at home, or you would be
so
sick of hearing me sing that song!” Ellie exclaimed.

Well aware of his daughter’s history of obsessing over singers and songs and singing them to death all day long, it was Al’s turn to roll his eyes.

“It is a catchy little tune, if a little short on lyrical content,” Al chuckled.

They arrived back at their hotel, exhausted from the sustained emotional crescendo of the past few hours.

Patrick called shortly thereafter, and the three agreed that an early dinner sounded like the way to go, since everyone was hungry and the Peaveys had a morning flight to catch.

“I’ve got us the private room at the Bothy for dinner. It’s called the Snug; they usually save it for larger parties, but I think we’d all enjoy the peace and quiet, no?” Patrick asked as they drove to the West End.

“If it’s anything like the place you took us the other night, I don’t care if we eat in the parking lot or on the roof. This whole experience has been first class. I know I thanked you the other night, but I probably won’t say it enough. Thanks for everything,” Al replied.

“I know how much you mean to Ellie and she means a great deal to me, sir. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourselves.”

Ellie gave Patrick a squeeze on the arm as the three of them crossed the parking lot. She had smiled so much the past few days that the muscles in her face were sore. Sharing this time with her dad, with Patrick, and seeing how well the two of them got on filled her heart with a serene kind of joy she could scarcely recall experiencing in her adult life.

The Snug turned out to be a good choice, as Patrick was besieged with selfie-seeking fans upon setting foot inside the Bothy. He obliged a few and Ellie noticed people snapping pictures of her with Patrick as they were ushered away from the crowd and into the private dining area.

Served delicious food—lamb dishes for Ellie and Al, salmon for Patrick—by staff dressed in kilts, in a room that could have been a cabin in the Scottish highlands, made for an exquisite evening. Patrick eschewed his usual self-imposed culinary restrictions and insisted they all try “the best dessert in Scotland.”

Dark chocolate and peanut butter crème brulee was a hit with the entire table, so much so that Al ordered a second helping, making him the envy of both Patrick and Ellie. Watching him savor the second dish Patrick finally caved and ordered a second for Ellie to split with him.

“If my cardiologist, or your mother, saw what I’ve eaten this weekend they’d both kill me,” joked Ellie’s father.

“The gaffer—sorry, my manager—wouldn’t be thrilled with some of my choices the past few days either, sir,” exhaled Patrick, a hand circling his bloated belly.

Arriving back at the hotel, the three of them sat and watched some television in the living room before a yawning Al excused himself to take a shower and go to bed.

“Patrick and I are going to watch a movie. I’ll pack in the morning. Good night, Daddy,” Ellie kissed her father on the cheek, Patrick and Al exchanged handshakes, and moments later the couple heard water running in Al’s bedroom.

At the first drop hitting the shower floor, Ellie and Patrick were all over each other, making out like teenagers. They’d both been shy about kissing in front of her father, but neither could deny their intense mutual attraction.

“Watching you out there today made me so wet, Patrick,” Ellie whispered into his ear as he kissed her neck.

“I want to taste you so badly, Ellie. I’ve missed you so much. You’re so beautiful,” Patrick spoke the words in short, staccato bursts, not wanting to stop kissing Ellie for any longer than was necessary to convey his message.

“Listen, Patrick, my dad snores. He always has. As soon as I hear it, we’re going to my bedroom. We are. We have to. I need
this
,” Ellie punctuated ‘this” by reaching between Patrick’s legs and taking hold of his erection through his pants, squeezing and stroking it, eliciting a moan from him.

The shower over, the make out session was paused so the two of them could feign interest in the romantic comedy on the television set in case Al emerged from his bedroom.

Ellie left her insatiable hand in Patrick’s lap, not wanting to ever lose contact with his granite manhood.

Before long, Ellie heard the telltale sound of Al’s slumber and they tiptoed to her room.

“He’s a sound sleeper but we should try keep the noise to a civilized level in here,” explained Ellie, as Patrick lifted her into his arms and deposited her gently on the bed.

“Oh, Ellie, I intend to do my very best to make you scream loud enough that your friends back in Georgia will hear it,” stated Patrick as he lay down next to her, kissing his way passionately from her mouth to her neck to her chest.

“Oh God . . .” Ellie groaned. “Patrick, please. You know what I need. I’ve missed it so much.” Prior to Patrick’s ministrations, Ellie had been shy about allowing a man to go down on her. She thought of it as something only bad girls enjoyed. Patrick’s mouth, however, banished the prude Ellie Peavey. She’d longed to feel him there again and waiting the past few days had been agonizing. Ellie hiked her dress up lewdly, inviting a salivating Patrick to take his place between her legs.

He stripped off his shirt as he got down to business, his lips and tongue busy at the shrine of her arousal. The scent of her need drove him wild, and he went down on her furiously, probing with his tongue, swirling it here, there, and everywhere. Ellie tousled her own hair, eyes closed, all focus on the wizardry Patrick was performing on her pussy.