Page 5 of Come Fly With Me

“I’m beginning to see how annoying that advice is,” Matt muttered.

Matt’s sister Megan rolled her eyes. “You’re all just scared because you know the real sporting talent in this family lies with the women.”

Flynn was about to argue that point when a roar went up from the goal behind him, and the man-mountain that was Grunt came charging down the pitch toward them. Everyone except Claire took several steps back, away from the irate American. She skipped toward him.

“How do I look?” She bounced in front of her frowning husband.

“Baby,” was all Grunt said, but Claire must have taken it as a compliment because she squealed with delight and wrapped her arms around him.

Grunt glared at the players on his team. “Anybody lays a finger on my wife, they get their head ripped off.”

A wail of outrage sounded from Flynn’s team as the opposing team’s captain laughed.

“How are we supposed to play properly if we can’t tackle Claire?” Josh demanded.

Grunt shrugged, making it clear it wasn’t his problem.

“You heard him, boys,” Lachlan called to his brothers, who lined up behind him, grinning like lemmings. “Our tactic is to get the ball to Claire.”

The opposing team cheered.

Flynn studied the sky, looking for strength from above. He’d never had these problems when he was in the Premier League.

“Are we getting this game started or what?” Archie McPherson, their referee, demanded. “I’ve got a game of dominoes over lunch.”

Flynn took his eyes off the sky to look at Archie and instantly regretted it. The old man was dressed in a luminous blue tracksuit, the legs of which were tucked into white socks that he wore with brown leather slippers.

Archie caught Flynn staring at his slipper-clad feet. “What?” he demanded. “I’ve got bunions.”

“This whole thing is a farce,” Flynn muttered.

“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.”