Chapter 5: Eightieth Minute

On Friday the quarterfinal kicked off at seven, and I was on the couch at six forty-five.

Gabriel came in with two beers and stopped in the doorway.

I had my knees pulled up and my feet on the cushion, and I was wearing the number nine jersey and nothing else.

"Ball's not in play yet," he said.

"No."

"So you're just sitting there."

"I'm waiting for the whistle."

He set a beer in front of me and sat down at the far end of the couch.

His ring was gone from his finger again.

I did not mention it, and neither did he.

The referee blew his whistle, and the stadium on screen roared.

I crossed the couch on my knees, took the beer out of his hand and put it on the table.

"You said ninety minutes," he said.

"Mm-hm."

I sat on him, facing the TV with my back against his chest, and his arms came around me right away.

It felt like coming home.

For half an hour he kept his hands on my stomach and watched the match.

His breathing grew heavier every minute.

I could feel him hard against the base of my spine, and I rocked back against him slowly in the quiet moments, and he let me.

In the sixtieth minute a blue shirt went down in the box.

"Penalty," Gabriel said. "Watch. He's not going to take it."

His hand slid lower on my belly, and my breath caught.

"Gabriel."

"Watch the match, Lainey."

His fingers pushed under the hem of the jersey and found the waistband of my underwear.

I stopped watching the match.

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