Page 163 of Men in Shorts

As they rodethe bus to the Warriors’ home park, Liam assumed that Robert’s quiet, almost smug smile meant the knickers were a good fit. He loved not knowing whether the pink or purple pair had been chosen. It would make for a right wee surprise later.

A more crap surprise occurred when snow began to fall just as they got off the bus near the park.

Liam pulled up his hood and glared at the sky. “Is this one of those days you wish you’d taken that job in California?”

“There are no such days.” Robert lifted his face into the shower of clumpy flakes. “Besides, this’ll never stick. It’s too wet, and the temperature’s rising.”

After warm-ups, the Warriors manager, Charlotte Atchison, called her players to the bench for the team talk.

“Mind,” she said, “Barrowfield’s near the bottom of the league table in a nasty relegation battle.” She met each of her players’ eyes as she spoke, and Liam remembered Robert’s warning not to underrate the other side. “They just scratched and clawed their way into this division last season, so they’ll be fighting like mad to stay up.”

Then she turned to the tactical discussion, noting how Barrowfield were a high-pressing team who liked to send loads of players up the pitch, hoping to pounce on opponents’ errors. Warriors had to be extra careful and precise when they had the ball.

“We can use this to our advantage.” Charlotte pointed to the tactical board, which was covered with a plastic sheet to protect it from the snow-turned-drizzle. “Whenever possible, I want you midfielders making quick, short, clean passes. Think Spanish men’s national team.”

Liam winked at Fergus, their captain/deep midfielder and his closest friend apart from Robert. When they’d watched the last World Cup together, Liam had yelled at the TV in frustration as Spain passed and passed and passed and passed—and then passed some more—keeping the ball for minutes on end.

“Eventually they’ll get impatient,” Charlotte continued, “so just keep luring them in. Then when you see an opening, send a long pass up to one of our strikers.” She motioned to their starting forwards, Shona and Duncan.

Unfortunately, Barrowfield began even more aggressively than expected, foiling Charlotte’s planned tactics. Straight from the kickoff, they surged forward, hell-bent on reaching the Warriors goal. Liam, Robert, and Fergus—along with fullbacks Jamie and Katie and goalkeeper Heather Wek—were left fending off a barrage of shots. Soon Liam’s ears were ringing from all the high-speed balls he’d had to head back out of the danger zone.

“Just a matter of time, lads!” shouted Gerry Mitchell, the new Barrowfield striker who’d slagged off the Warriors defense online. He wiped the rain from his pointy black beard with the collar of his navy-blue jersey, then looked at Liam. “How hard can it be to get the ball past her, right?” He glanced back at Heather, who’d already made two outstanding saves.

Liam kept his face blank, knowing any reaction would just encourage more so-called banter.

But then Mitchell added, “Or is ithim? She used to be a him, right? What’s the status there?” He preened his long, frizzy ponytail. “You know, in case I want to have a go later?—”

“She doesn’t need me to defend her,” Liam said, “but if you don’t shut it, I will staple that pretentious fucking beard to the crossbar.”

Then he turned his back on Mitchell. The threat hadn’t exactly been Liam’s cleverest, but it was the best he could summon on the spot.

Heather sent her goal kick streaking toward the halfway line, and play was underway again.

Liam tried not to be bothered by Mitchell’s words, either the ones he’d spewed just now or earlier this week in that amateur-football forum. Most players in their league had come to accept the Warriors; homophobic, transphobic, and sexist incidents were rarer these days—and at least Mitchell had failed to comment on Heather’s Sudanese heritage (so far). But whenever a new guy came in, for some reason it fell to Warriors to school him. Liam wished that just once, the other straight players would teach their new teammates to show some fucking respect.

Soon, with patience and discipline, the Warriors gained control of play. Liam’s focus sharpened as he took part in their planned cat-and-mouse game, luring the Barrowfield midfield farther and farther forward, their defense following closer and closer behind.

Katie took the ball from the Warriors left midfielder, Colin. By the direction of her eyes, Liam could tell she was hoping to sail a long pass up to Duncan or Shona.

Just then, Mitchell lumbered forward to steal the ball. As Katie went to dodge him, he put out a leg and struck her shin. Thrown off-balance, she tried to catch herself with her other foot, but it twisted under her.

They both went down hard onto the turf. The whistle blew instantly.

Mitchell rolled to his feet with arms spread in the universalI’m innocent!gesture. The referee shook his head and flourished a yellow card at him. Liam thought the striker lucky to avoid a red card—the fact his foot had been near the ball when he’d struck Katie was all that saved him from getting chucked out of the game.

Liam crouched at her side as she sat up. “All right, lass?”

“My ankle.” Katie made a brief attempt to get to her feet, then sank back down and shoved a clump of long, dark hair off her reddening cheek. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Liam waved for the physios, who were already jogging across the pitch with their kit bags. Fergus was headed in the opposite direction, hurrying to confer with Charlotte about what looked like an imminent substitution.

One of the physiotherapists, a woman called Tamara who’d worked several Warriors matches this season, started manipulating Katie’s right foot. The American lass winced as Tamara palpated the outside of her ankle.

Fergus returned to the pitch and waved Liam over. Shona took Liam’s place beside Katie, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“You’ll play left back,” Fergus told Liam. “I’ll move into your spot at center-back.”

Liam felt a flare of fear at the thought of playing out of position. “What about our substitute fullbacks?”

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