Page 6 of A Little Bit More

“Then let’s get it over with.” Archie stalked to the center of the pitch.

There was nothing to do but follow, and a few minutes later, the game was underway.

It was the longest ninety minutes of Flynn’s life.

Jena accidentally tripped Josh, which sent him limping out of the game and left their team a player down. Megan seemed to spend more time kicking her brother’s shins than actually aiming for the ball. Their referee abandoned running up and down the pitch to follow the game because it made him double over and wheeze. Instead, he blew his whistle from his position in a deckchair on the sideline while sipping coffee and eating cake.

And Claire scored seventeen goals.

Every time she took possession of the ball, she’d slowly dribble it up the pitch, unimpeded by Flynn’s team, who cowered under the glaring eye of her husband. Then, when she reached the goal, Grunt smiled encouragingly and stepped out of the way. When she unsurprisingly scored, she threw herself into Grunt’s arms and basked in his praise.

For scoring in an open goal.

Once, Claire’s shot went wide and missed entirely. To Flynn’s utter disgust, Grunt just retrieved the ball, handed it to her, and told her to try again. When his team objected, he’d folded his arms and scowled at them while Claire concentrated on hitting her target.

“This isn’t a game,” Matt said from beside Flynn as Claire scored again. “It’s a bloody travesty.”

He wasn’t wrong.

At long last, Archie blew the final whistle, and the opposition celebrated with hugs all round—except for Claire. None of the men dared touch her with Grunt glowering at them.

“So,” Lachlan said as he ambled over to Flynn, “I believe the deal was that the losing side bought lunch for the winners.” He rubbed his stomach. “Have to say, that game definitely worked up an appetite.”

“You’re an arsehole,” Flynn told him. “And we both know you couldn’t beat me in a fair game.”

Lachlan scoffed. “The game is irrelevant. I’ve been wiping the floor with you since we were kids.”

“Aye, in your dreams.” Flynn put his hands on his hips to keep from striking out. “Golf. Next Saturday. Loser buys the beer.”

“Good job you’re loaded. You’ll be needing the money to cover the bar tab I run up when I win.” With a smug smile, the bastard sauntered away.

Claire came bouncing up to Flynn. “I scored seventeen goals! Can you believe it?”

Before he could tell her exactly what he thought of those goals, Grunt appeared behind her.

“Aye,” Flynn said, his gaze on Grunt. “I can totally believe you scored seventeen bloody goals.” He pointed at his useless goalie. “You’re fired.”

Grunt grunted. Which Flynn took to mean he didn’t give a crap about anything other than his wife’s happy smile.

As Flynn watched his dejected team drag themselves off the pitch, his five-year-old soon-to-be-adopted daughter came to stand beside him. Katy folded her arms and gave him a look of utter disappointment.

“I told you this would happen,” she said primly.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Did too.” She stuck her chin in the air.

“Did not. You said you should be the referee because Archie would probably die.”

“Aaaaaaand I told you that not letting Auntie Jena and Auntie Megan and Auntie Claire on the team was a big mistake. Just because they’re girls doesn’t mean they can’t play football better than the boys.”

“Which I know, because I’m the one who told you that. I’m also the one who told you that having those particular women on our team would cause chaos. I didn’t realize they’d sign up for the opposing side and ruin the damn match anyway.”

Katy shook her head in disgust. “If Auntie Claire had been on our side, Uncle Grunt would have made sure her goals got past the other team.”

“Which isn’t how this game’s played,” he pointed out. “That wasn’t football. It was twenty players being held hostage by an overgrown American so his wife wouldn’t break a nail while he pandered to her.”

Katy blinked at him. “I don’t know what that means.”