Chapter 17

Stub Hub Center, Los Angeles, California.

Match of the World Cup.

“Pass the darn ball!” Coach yelled for the third time, but Dominik carried on with the play he had in mind. “Darn it, Weigand” Ewald barked.

The team captain disobeyed his coach's commands and followed his gut. He warned Ewald, but he would not listen.

Herman Delch, centerfield, kept doing signs to pass him the ball like they had done in practice, but Dominik decided to pass it to Edmund Brauer, center forward, who, after getting the ball, did not know what to do since Dominik was supposed to serve Delch, in the event that Carlton and Gates, both US players, cut him off.

Ewald brought his hands to his face and cursed under his breath, once again, seeing how Brauer returned the ball to Weigand.

The score was 2-2 on the second additional minute, out of three on the first half. Germany had a clear shot to score, with all their three forwards in the hot spot.

“Dominik” Delch called once again.

Dom looked at him and noticed Victor Olsen, one of the best US players was too close to his mate and decided not to risk an interception, otherwise, it could become a counterstrike.

He fixed his eyes on the goal, without thinking it twice, he shot. Every German sympathizer held their breath for a fraction of a second, the ball hit the left pole, right onto the feet of the US left back, who turned around immediately, kicking the ball to the other side of the field, rejecting the German attack.

A whistle announced the end of the first half.

“Well done, Dominik” Delch said sarcastically as he walked by.

“Well done?” Dom frowned.

Delch rolled his eyes. He always forgot Weigand was immune to sarcasm.

“Never mind, Dominik” Delch muttered and walked away.

Dom knew he had made a mistake, but he thought it was no big deal. He would make up for it on the second half.

They left the field one on one, headed for the locker rooms. Tense looks were everywhere. Right then and there, Weigand was the biggest imbecile in the world, according to his team mates.

As soon as they hit the locker room, Ewald Metzler lectured away.

“What in the world was that?” Coach reprimanded Dominik giving him a dirty look.

“Sorry” Dom shrugged. “I figured…”

“I am who plans the plays, I get paid for that. You get paid for playing, abiding by my strategies.”

“Olsen was too close to Delch, he would definitely intersect and…”

“I am who decides which move is good and which isn't” Ewald interrupted.

“Shit, Ewald!” Dominik bounced to his feet. “Defense were retreating, had Olsen got that ball, he would have scored.”

“Dismissing my work?” Metzler rose an eyebrow.

“No. I'm just saying we had room for adjustments. You're making it all an attack and we're neglecting our defense” Weigand observed.

“We are a team, Dominik” someone said behind him.

“You need to stop being a star and join us in on the plays” somebody else commented. As he turned around, he saw Edmund Brauer.

“What the hell are you saying? That's what I did! Why did you pass the ball back to me? You were supposed to score” Dominik could not keep his voice down.

“That was not what Ewald instructed. You were supposed to assist Delch, not me” his team mate rebutted.

“Stop it!” coach reprimanded. “We need to focus on how we can regain control of this game. We have clearly underestimated the US team and it's obviously taking a toll on us.”

“They went out for blood” Rodríguez commented.

Dominik headed towards his assigned locker and held his phone in his hands, just to look at Samanta's number. He was tempted to text her, but … What would he say? He felt so dumb in that situation. Standing there, staring at his phone screen not even knowing what to say to a woman who attracted him the way she did.

Attracted?

The huge smile invading his lips acknowledged it.

Just like he took it, he put it back inside the outside pocket of his bag.

Friedrich, who had been chatting to some renowned brand representatives, entered the locker room just as Dominik was opening his locker. Treadaway saw his friend grabbing his phone and looked at it with the broadest smile on his face.

“Alright, take whatever you need, let's go” Ewald announced. “We have only five minutes left.”

Dominik took a pair of clean socks from his bag to change into, he did not like playing one whole game in the same pair of socks, it was one of his special rituals.

Friedrich managed to hide behind some booths on the other side of the dressing room before his friend noticed him. Wasting no time, Dominik headed out and towards the field.

As soon as his friend was out, Friedrich headed for the locker trying to make no noise. He opened the locker carefully, slid his hand into the pocket he saw Dominik left his phone. Once he had it, he tapped on the screen, unlocked it with his fingertip and the first thing he saw was a series of numbers, along with the name Samanta.

«Who the fuck is that?», he thought and felt some serious, wild, primal jealousy. He would not allow anyone nor anything get in his way with Dominik, so he made a choice for the sake of his own interests. He deleted the number from Dominik's phone.

***

Four days had passed since Dominik and Samanta met, although she gave him her number, he had not called. She was very anxious, watching every World Cup game,  even though Carlos told her Dominik was not playing until 7 days later. Samanta watched the whole range on ESPN and FOX SPORT, all she managed to get was a couple pre-recorded interviews with him.

That one afternoon, Samanta was more sensitive than usual and she kept saying to herself:

«Fool girl!

You should have gotten his number, too », the little voice in his head screamed.

She definitely would have called him.

She then remembered that's what desperate women did and, she was not desperate.

Or was she?

A vibration coming from her apron pulled her from her thoughts. Her phone. When she looked at the screen, she did not recognize the number. She rushed to the back of the store to answer.

“Samanta?” it was Dominik's voice.

Her heart was racing.