Page 156 of The Penalty

Heat rushed to my face. He couldn’t have done everything I’d requested this fast. Then again, I shouldn’t underestimate the ultra-wealthy who have the world at their fingertips.

“It’s called a surprise, Mr. Monroe.” Amusement colored Bennet’s tone. “I like keeping people on the edge.”

Killian choked on a walnut. Max buried his face in his hands.

The announcer exclaimed something about a foul in the penalty box, drawing all our attention to the TV.

“Jesus Christ,” Bennet muttered. “They bloody fouled Erik Vande Velde.”

“Who’s that?” I asked, sitting next to Killian.

“Only the best striker on the Netherlands side.”

We watched the replay. I’m not sure who all the players were for England. I only knew Cade and Xavier. It appeared some guy stuck his foot out to stop the ball and tripped the Dutch player.

“VAR review confirms it,” one of the announcers exclaimed. “Penalty for the Netherlands. Reckless decision by Zach Donovan to make that kind of move in the box. Oh boy, this couldn’t have come at a worse time for England. Under two minutes left to play. If the Dutch score here, England have to win their next match to qualify.”

“I literally don’t know what he’s talking about,” Killian said. “But Xavier looks pissed.”

Several emotions paralyzed me when Xavier popped up on the screen. He did look annoyed. But he also looked determined.

And fucking hot.

Blazing eyes, set jaw, larger-than-life stance.

It’s been a minute since I’ve seen him in the heat of competition.

“This is a great duel for sure.” Excitement dripped from the announcer’s voice. “The best against the best. Xavier Maddox hasn’t been tested much in goal tonight. Will the Royal City keeper be England’s hero? Or will Vande Velde tame The Three Lions?”

Not one of us moved. All eyes remained glued to the TV. The Dutch player strolled to the penalty marker. When the camera switched to Xavier, I sucked in a breath. I’ve never seen him so focused. He stood on his line, rolled his shoulders, and waited.

Do all soccer players ooze such overt sexuality just doing their job? Seeing Xavier in his natural element hit all my hot buttons, and then some.

I swallowed, stealing a glance at Bennet. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a grin.

Nothing gets past this guy, I thought, turning my attention back to the game.

Both players stood motionless, staring the other down. The crowd noise hushed from a roar to scattered murmuring. My hands clasped so tight the knuckles turned white.

If I was this stressed out, I could only imagine how Xavier felt. Then again, ice water runs through his veins when he’s competing.

The referee blew his whistle.

The Dutch striker trotted toward the ball, stopped short, then ran forward and kicked.

A resounding smack preceded pandemonium on the field. Xavier moved fast enough to block the kick, and slapped the ball away. He’d saved the penalty shot.

His actions resulted in a corner kick but that didn’t seem to matter to England’s players. When the final whistle blew, they piled on Xavier, celebrating a scoreless tie like they’d won a major tournament.

“That really didn’t need to be so intense,” Killian grumbled.

“Welcome to football,” Bennet replied, glancing at his phone. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a few calls to make.”

The boys and I watched some of the post-game interviews. I recognized the brunette asking Xavier questions. Her professionalism was evident, but so were the demure glances and obvious attempts at charming England’s hero.

Hiding my jealously from Killian was impossible.

“Ex-girlfriend?” he asked.

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