Page 24 of The Keeper and I

“That,” he said. “I’ll have one.”

She blinked, her smile faltering for the first time. “Really?”

“Yes.”

The smile came back. “Right away, sir.”

Back in his studio, Jordan added in some shadows to the Laci in Blue painting when he got his first text from her. It let him know that she had posted the photo, and he had her permission to do the same. Making a note to post before he went to bed, he pulled up her page first. There was the photo, already with several thousand likes and comments. She had even tagged him. He chuckled as he read the caption:F*ck a soft launch

Chapter 6

Forthefirsttimein his career, Jordan was late to training.

His teammates had shared their shock at his announcement in the comments on his Instagram post. So many DMs and texts had come through that he had to turn his phone off. Even turning it on silent didn’t stop the screen from lighting up every two seconds. He hadn’t minded ignoring it because he was hardly on the damn thing anyway. It just threw a wrench into reaching out to ask Laci when they could see each other again. But ignoring his prying teammates took precedence. Plus, he was almost finished with his painting of Laci in Blue.

With a sigh, he entered the locker room.

As soon as he came through the door, he was met with a dozen wolf whistles and jeers. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Romeo,” Hector Rizo, a young midfielder from Colombia, joked. Jordan affectionately referred to him as “a walking shot of espresso” as it was the only apt description of his energy level.

“Fuck off, Rizo,” Jordan replied. “So I’ve got a girlfriend. What’s the big deal?”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were seeing her?” Luka, a Croatian left back whose tackles were some of the best Jordan had seen, asked.

“A man’s entitled to keep his business to himself, isn’t he?” Jordan said. “We don’t need to get all fucking—group therapy about it.”

“But, dude, it’s Laci Miller,” Israel Etefu Amare, an Ethiopian national and one of the finest center backs Jordan had the pleasure of working with, added. “She’s like—”

A sound from the other end of the locker room cut him off. It came from Peter O’Riley, a forward, and a prick in Jordan’s opinion. O’Riley had caused more than enough problems last season when the club signed Ethan Knight because O’Riley had wanted to play in the number nine position. This year he still wore a number eleven on his shirt, but the coaching staff was working with him as a sort of false nine. Whether or not that was because of their faith in Peter’s ability or the fact that they hadn’t been able to sign a proper striker to replace Ethan during the transfer window remained to be seen. The sound he’d made was unmistakably mooing.

Jordan stiffened as he heard it, followed by the snickering of Peter and his henchman both on and off the pitch, Devon Scully. Jordan’s frown sapped the lighthearted mood from the locker room in an instant, all eyes flicking between him and Peter.

Stomach roiling with rage, Jordan approached his least favorite teammate. The smirk on Peter’s face faltered only a moment before he reinstated it.

“What was that?” Jordan growled.

Peter scoffed and glanced around the room. The rest of the team averted their eyes. “Oh, come off it. You’ve all seen her.”

“Seen what?” Jordan pressed, drawing himself to his full height.

Peter took a small step back. “Look, no offense, Frawley, but she’s massive. It’s disgusti—”

Jordan rammed his forehead right into Peter’s nose. Peter dropped to the floor, clutching his face and groaning. Devon knelt to help him, but Jordan faced the rest of the room.

“Anyone else have something to say?” he challenged.

They all shook their heads silently.

“Good.”

With Devon’s assistance, Peter sat up and pulled his hand away from his face to examine it for blood, but it was clean. “Fucking hell, Frawley! What’s the matter with you?”

“Mock her again, and you’ll get worse.”

“You could’ve broken my nose!”

“Believe me, O’Riley, if I wanted to break it, I would have.”