Why Shouldn'T You Support The Clubs In 'Who Are Ya?: 92 Football Clubs'?

Russell James called me plain. He said I didn't have what it took to drive a man crazy, then crawled back into bed with the supermodel he'd been hiding from me. I found out the hard way, with my own eyes and what little dignity I had left. By then, he'd already signed his professional football contract, become a rising star, and decided I was no longer in his league. A year later, my life is falling apart. My mother's surgery is unaffordable. My younger brother's hockey dreams are slipping away. My final semester fees are overdue. Then my half-sister offers me a deal. Seduce a powerful fashion executive at an elite Madrid nightclub and help secure her place in Europe's most prestigious fashion show. In return, my family's problems disappear. I say yes. I spend the night with the man she described. By morning, I discover I've slept with the wrong man. "Connor?" he repeats, amused. "My name's Andre." Andre Fernandez. Real Numancia de Madrid's golden boy. Europe's most sought-after footballer. Forty-eight million followers. A €150 million market value. And the biggest rival of the ex-boyfriend who shattered my heart. Before I can process what happened, Andre finds me. He clears my family's debts and makes one impossible demand: "Be my girlfriend." I say no. Andre Fernandez clearly isn't used to hearing that word. When paparazzi catch us kissing at a high-profile party, the internet explodes. To save Andre's reputation, his PR team pushes us into a fake relationship complete with staged appearances, rehearsed interviews, and public displays of affection. None of it is supposed to be real. Except the longer we pretend, the harder it becomes to remember where the performance ends. Russell sees the photographs and is annoyed at his rival's proximity to me.

Callum Harris is famous on and off the pitch. His club stays near the top of the table season after season. He’s wealthy beyond a normal person’s wildest dreams. He’s got a beautiful house in Alexandria that’s a short drive to the training centre his football club owns. He’s the apple of his family’s eye, with an older sister who dotes on him and a baby brother who looks up to him. He’s even got a best mate, Isaac Martin, that he spends all of his very limited free time with. The only problem is that he’s keeping a massive secret from his club, his friends, his family, and even Isaac. Especially Isaac. Callum is in love with Isaac. He plays in the Premier League, though, so he has to keep it a secret. There’s no such thing as an openly gay player at their level. It’s got to stay secret if he wants to keep playing the sport he loves. It’s got to stay secret if he wants to keep playing for one of the best clubs in the league. It’s got to stay secret if he wants to keep his family’s approval. It’s got to stay secret if he wants to keep his best mate…

The first time I meet Solana Charvet's childhood friend, Tyson Hatch, he claims that he's the best fraud buster ever. At the dining table, he keeps lecturing me. "Men shouldn't overdress, you know. If not for the fact that Solana actually told me that you're her boyfriend, I'd definitely group you up with the gigolos together." Solana keeps agreeing with everything Tyson says. "You're far too flashy when it comes to your fashion sense. Just listen to Tyson and change your habits, yeah?" I can't be bothered to listen to a word Tyson says, so I come up with an excuse to use the toilet. But on the way back, I hear Tyson giving Solana his verdict as a fraud buster. "Solana, Charles' posture and the way he speaks are all clear indicators that he's a fake heir who has undergone training. He intends to get close to you for your money, you know! "That watch he's wearing? And the sports car that's worth over a million dollars? How is it possible for a doctor like him to afford all these things?" Fury burns in my gut. I can no longer tolerate Tyson's nonsense, so I dial my mom's number right away. Right, have I mentioned that my mom's the richest woman in the country? "Mom, give me five million dollars right now. I want to buy an agency that specializes in fraud busting and teach a certain someone a lesson!"

My fiancé Gavin decides by drawing lots whether I or his childhood friend Chloe gets to accompany him to the World Cup. In our twelve years together, Chloe won the chance to accompany him to both previous World Cups. Each time, he’d gently coax me: "The draw chose Chloe. I can’t go back on it, can I?" "Next time, no drawing lots. I promise I’ll go with you." I believed him and waited four years. This year, I excitedly bought new sunscreen and packed my luggage early because he said that, after the World Cup, we’d go to the Maldives for an early honeymoon. I was full of anticipation, but when we were about to leave, my fiancé froze. He looked at me, his eyes filled with guilt once again: "Chloe’s birthday wish was to accompany me to one more World Cup. This time, I’m still going with her." "I’m sorry, babe. Next time, I promise I’ll go with you." My heart suddenly clenched, and I stood there in silence. Meanwhile, he was meticulously planning the trip, even thoughtfully packing pads for the other woman. Suddenly, I didn’t want to wait anymore. I called my company’s director: "I’ll take the overseas assignment to Northern Europe."

The night before the World Cup, Reid Callister made a post on social media. In the photo, he wore a Portugal jersey and was smiling at the woman beside him. He had written something sweet: [Officially done with Argentina. It's all Ronaldo from here.] Our mutual friends all went quiet. Everyone knew that the night Argentina won the championship four years ago, he had cried in my arms until dawn. That was also the night he slipped a ring onto my finger. He said, "Messi got his fairy tale. Let's go get ours." Someone in the comments section asked what happened to his Messi obsession. He replied, "I was young and stupid back then. Now, I know who's worth rooting for." I stared at the post for a long time. I did not comment. I just set down the divorce papers on the coffee table. Before I left for my flight, I tucked the ring into the pocket of his blue-and-white jersey. This time, I would not be watching the game with him.

I'm Alpha Kaelen's fated mate. It took him ninety-nine tries to win me over, and every wolf in the pack knows he loves me more than life itself. But after we were mated, he started breaking his promises. My birthday, our anniversary... he always had an excuse. "Sorry, baby, an important ally is visiting. I have to be there." "Honey, there's trouble on the border. I have to handle it. You'll have to spend your birthday alone." Every time he bailed, he'd give me a ridiculously expensive house to make up for it. So, even though I was disappointed, I still believed he loved me. Until the day he gave me the ninety-ninth house. That's when I got the photo from his ex-girlfriend, Eileen. In the picture, Kaelen was asleep beside her, completely unguarded. "Did he tell you he had pack business last night? The truth is, I told him I wasn't feeling well, and he came running. ;)" So all ninety-nine times before... it was always her. My heart shattered. This time, I was the one to hand over the papers. The one-hundredth property transfer. And tucked inside, I'd added something a little extra: our bond dissolution papers. Kaelen didn't even look. He signed it without a second thought. And in one month, on the night of the full moon, our bond would officially be broken.