Chapter 2
A few weeks had passed since Charli’s birthday party, and tonight, Grace was preparing for one of the most intense matches of the season. This wasn’t just any game - it was personal.
She was up against Manchester United, her former club, the team she was still technically on loan from. Playing against them was always strange, but tonight, under the bright lights of Tottenham Hotspur Stadium, it felt even bigger. A packed stadium, a high-stakes match, and the weight of proving herself - it was the kind of night every footballer lived for.
When the team bus pulled up, she could already feel the energy in the air. As she stepped off the bus with her teammates, she let the familiar tension settle in her muscles. It was the kind of nervous excitement that made her sharper, more focused. The walk through the tunnel was quiet, filled with small murmurs and the occasional laugh as players tried to shake off their nerves.
In the locker room, most players were lost in their own pre-game rituals - tying their laces, stretching, listening to music - while others exchanged last-minute tactical discussions. But despite all of their different ways to get ready for the game, there was an unspoken understanding between them all: they were here to win tonight. The home crowd expected a performance, and Tottenham was ready to deliver.
Grace sat down at her locker, methodically preparing herself. Her mind was already shifting into game mode, running through formations, recalling her opponent’s weaknesses. She knew she needed to be fully locked in. Just a few more minutes, and she’d put her phone away, push everything else aside and focus entirely on football.
But first, one last check on Instagram - just a quick distraction before switching off. Her thumb swiped up, scrolling through posts mindlessly, until she suddenly froze.
A new story from Kyra.
Immediately, Grace’s pulse skipped a beat.
After Charli’s party, she had followed Kyra on Instagram that same night - only to realize, with a mix of surprise and embarrassment, that Kyra had already been following her. At the time, she had been tipsy enough to brush off the awkwardness, deciding that overthinking it wasn’t worth it.
Instead, she had done what any slightly drunk and overly curious person would do - she had scrolled through Kyra’s entire feed. One picture after another. And for some reason, she hadn’t been able to stop.
She wasn’t entirely sure why Kyra intrigued her so much. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, that effortless confidence mixed with an easy-going energy that made her seem like the kind of person who could make friends anywhere.
Or maybe it was just that Kyra looked ridiculously cute in all of her pictures.
Either way, Grace had never found the courage to send her a message. It wasn’t like she was usually shy, but this was different. It felt like uncharted territory. If Kyra had wanted to talk, she could have messaged first, right?
But she never had. So Grace never did either.
Yet now, here she was, staring at Kyra’s story, trying to ignore the fact that her hands suddenly felt a little unsteady.
She tapped on it.
The image loaded instantly: Kyra, smiling at the camera, as effortlessly cool as ever. But Grace barely had time to take in her expression before her brain registered the background.
The stadium.
Her stomach did a weird little flip. Kyra was here. Tonight. In this stadium.
Grace blinked, needing a second to process it. Was she imagining things? No, definitely not. The seating area behind Kyra looked like the VIP section.
Her heart thudded harder in her chest.
What was Kyra doing here? Had Charli invited her? That seemed like the most logical explanation, but something about it still caught Grace off guard. She hadn’t even known Kyra would be watching Charli's Tottenham games.
Then her gaze drifted lower on the image and that’s when she noticed it. The scarf around Kyra’s neck.
A Tottenham scarf.
Grace’s eyebrows arched in surprise. Kyra, playing for Arsenal - Tottenham’s fiercest rival - was wearing a Spurs scarf in the stands on match night? That was bold, even for her. Posting it on Instagram? A questionable decision, to say the least. Still, most people would likely think she was there to cheer on her best friend Charli. Even so, it was a daring move - one that left Grace both amused and slightly perplexed.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
She should say something. Kyra was right here the stadium and this might be a good chance to finally start a conversation.
But would Kyra even answer her? Or would she just ignore the message?
Grace hesitated. Typed something.
Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted it.
God, she was overthinking this.
She took a deep breath, pushed aside the doubt, and quickly typed:
"I like your scarf. Have you finally switched sides and joined the right part of London now?"
And hit send.
The second the message disappeared, she bit her lip. Too much? Too playful? Maybe she should’ve said something else. Or maybe she shouldn’t have said anything at all.
Before she could spiral any further, a voice broke through her thoughts.
“Grace, you coming? The others are already heading out.”
She looked up to see Charli watching her with a raised eyebrow.
For a split second, she hesitated. Then, before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out. “Did you invite Kyra?”
Charli’s expression didn’t change, but there was definitely something knowing in her eyes. Then, to Grace’s horror, a slow smirk appeared on her face. "Yeah, of course. Why?”
“No reason,” Grace mumbled quickly, shaking her head, probably way too fast to be convincing.
Charli’s smirk widened, but thankfully, she didn’t push. “Come on, we’ve got a game to win.”
Grace exhaled, stood up, and grabbed her jersey. One last glance at her phone.
The message was still unread.
Her fingers itched to check again, but she forced herself to shove her phone into her locker and focus.
It was too late now. She had sent the message. And all she could do was wait.
What better way to distract herself than by playing one of the biggest matches of the season, under the stadium lights, with thousands of fans watching?
Yeah. No pressure.
-
Outside, during warm-ups, Grace tried to lose herself in her usual routine. Jogging first, feeling the stretch in her legs, the rhythmic pounding of her cleats against the grass. Then ball work - small, controlled touches, crisp passes, the familiar comfort of movement.
Finally, the structured drills from the coaching staff. Her body moved through them automatically, reacting on muscle memory, but her mind was elsewhere.
The stadium was massive. The floodlights burned bright, illuminating the sea of fans already filling the stands. It should have been overwhelming, but instead, her focus narrowed. She caught herself scanning the spectators, looking for something - or someone - without even realizing it.
A scarf. A ridiculous white and navy colored Tottenham scarf.
And just like that, her mind returned to the message she had sent. A harmless joke, nothing more. So why couldn’t she shake it off? She had barely known Kyra before Charli’s party, and now - what? Now she was scanning the crowd for her like some ridiculous fool?
But before she could unravel that mess of a question, the match started a few minutes later. And then everything fell apart.
United came out relentless. Their press was suffocating, cutting off passing lanes, forcing errors. Grace couldn’t settle. Every touch felt rushed, every decision a fraction too late. Loose passes. Lost duels. The frustration built with every mistake.
Then the goals started coming.
One. Two. Three.
By the time the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read 0-4. A complete and utter humiliation.
Grace stalked off the pitch, jaw tight, frustration burning hot under her skin.
Losing was one thing. Playing badly was another. That was the part she couldn’t stomach - the helplessness of watching the game slip through her fingers and not being able to stop it.
Back in the locker room, she dropped onto the bench, elbows on her knees, head bowed. Sweat clung to her skin, but she barely noticed. Her mind was still on the game, replaying every mistake in painful detail.
She had completely forgotten about her message.
Until -
A buzz.
She glanced at her phone. A notification.
Kyra: "No, of course not. But I have to say, that scarf didn’t bring you much luck today, did it? And judging by some of the looks I got, I don’t think the fans were too happy either."
For the first time since the final whistle, something other than frustration flickered in Grace's chest. A small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips. The tension in her shoulders loosened, just a little.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
"Maybe it’s bad luck to wear a Spurs scarf as an Arsenal player. And in a stadium like this. But still, bold move. Fashion statement of the night."
She hesitated, biting her lip, then hit send.
Almost instantly, a reply.
Kyra: "Oh, totally. Next time, I should go all in. Full Spurs kit. That’ll go down well, right?"
Grace let out a soft chuckle, warmth spreading in her chest. This felt… easy.
Playful. Familiar, somehow.
She hesitated, then typed:
"I think we can make that happen. Could even get you a customized one for you. Cooney-Cross, #32. That would suit you for sure!"
The second she sent it, a horrible realization hit her. Was that flirting?
She groaned, dropping her head into her hands. What was she doing?
A voice broke through her self-inflicted misery.
“Still brooding over the game? Or just mad at yourself?”
Grace looked up. Beth England stood over her, arms crossed, an amused expression on her face.
“What?” Grace said, trying to play it cool.
Beth smirked. “You’re making a face. The ‘oh no, what have I just done?’ face.”
“I don’t -” Grace started, but Beth just raised an eyebrow.
“Uh-huh,” Beth drawled, clearly unconvinced. “Looked pretty intense, whatever that was.”
Grace quickly locked her phone, avoiding eye contact with her team's captain. “It’s nothing.”
Beth hummed, unconvinced but choosing not to push. “Right. Well, come on. We’re heading up to the VIP lounge - meet some fans, see family and friends.”
Friends. Her stomach flipped. Was Kyra going to be there?
As if the universe was listening, another message popped up on her screen.
Kyra: "Are we seeing each other in the VIP lounge? Or did you play so bad you’re skipping out on the whole thing?"
Grace’s heart skipped. Her fingers moved before she could overthink it.
Grace: "Oh, I’ll be there. Someone has to make sure you’re not getting kicked out for treason."
Kyra: "Please, I was very subtle. Almost no one noticed."
Grace: "Sure. The scarf was practically invisible."
Kyra: "Exactly. A stealthy act of betrayal. See you up there."
Grace stared at her phone. A stupid, ridiculous smile crept onto her face.
She needed to shower. Change. Definitely fix her hair. Shaking her head at herself, she grabbed her towel and stood up.
Why did this suddenly feel more important than the game?
-
As Grace stepped into the VIP lounge, the weight of the game still clung to her. Even after her shower, she couldn’t quite wash away the frustration of the loss
But the moment her mum wrapped her in her arms, everything else seemed to melt away, if only for a second. Her mu m’s voice was soft, reassuring, as she whispered in her ear, “Tough game, but you’ll bounce back. I know you will. Grace closed her eyes for just a moment, letting the comfort wash over her, but the knot in her stomach refused to loosen.
Her dad stood beside her mum, always the quiet anchor. He patted her shoulder firmly, his smile steady and warm. “Keep your chin up, kid. You’ll get ‘em next time,” he said, his words simple but grounding.
Grace nodded, offering a small smile in return, but her thoughts were already elsewhere.
She exchanged a few more words with her parents, but her mind was already scanning the room. Searching for someone in particular. That one Aussie wearing a Tottenham scarf. But at first glance, she couldn’t spot her.
“Wait, I’m just going to grab a drink and some food,” she excused herself to her parents. She started walking toward the food and drink area, her stomach twisting with nerves as she continued to look around. What if Kyra had already left? What if she was too busy or maybe the tension between their teams had made it awkward for her to stick around?
But before she could spiral any further, she felt it: a tap on her shoulder. Light, gentle - a sensation that immediately felt good to Grace.
She spun around, her heart skipping a beat. There stood Kyra, casual as ever, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her face. The brown leather jacket she wore added to her effortlessly cool vibe. With her hands tucked in her pockets, Kyra’s dark brown eyes met Grace’s, a playful glint in them. Her lips curled into a soft but confident smile.
“Looking for someone?” Kyra’s voice carried that unmistakable teasing edge, the kind that made Grace’s pulse spike against her will.
Grace, who had very much been looking for Kyra, immediately went on the defensive jokingly. “Yeah, actually. Charli. Heard she was supposed to be around here somewhere.” She squinted dramatically, scanning the empty space behind Kyra as if her teammate might materialize at any second.
Kyra crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Oh? Charli?”
“Yep. Blonde. Aussie. About this tall. Thinks Tim Tams solve everything. Kind of annoying, but in an endearing way,” Grace continued, gesturing vaguely, a joking tone her voice. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen her, would you?”
Kyra tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm. No, but if I do, should I tell her you’ve been wandering around looking suspicious, totally not waiting for someone else?”
Grace huffed, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t waiting for you.”
Kyra smirked, leaning in just slightly. “Didn’t say you were.”
Grace blinked, momentarily thrown off. Kyra looked good - maybe even better than she remembered from Charli’s birthday after a few drinks or from the pictures on her Instagram.
The kind of good that made Grace’s brain short-circuit for half a second longer than she’d ever admit. She quickly averted her gaze, knowing her cheeks were betraying her, a soft pink spreading across them. She wasn’t ready to admit how much she had been hoping to see Kyra for real.
“Right,” Kyra cleared her throat, apparently searching for something to say. “So, how’s the mood? Are they planning to throw you out of the Tottenham stadium after that performance today?”
Grace groaned. “Not you too,” she muttered, her voice full of the frustration she had been bottling up all evening. “I’ve already replayed every mistake in my head a hundred times.”
Kyra tilted her head, a grin tugging at her lips. There was something in her expression that softened, a playful sympathy mixed with something else. “Should I be extra nice to you, then?” she teased. “Or should I just get it over with and roast you now, while it’s still fresh? As an Arsenal player, I’m really supposed to make life difficult for Spurs players after a terrible defeat.”
Grace snorted, her mood lifting a little despite herself. She had to laugh at that. “Roast me later. For now, let’s talk about your brilliant decision to wear that scarf. You do realize you’ve basically committed football treason, right?” She gestured toward Kyra’s Tottenham scarf, her voice light, even though the tension was still there in her chest.
Kyra’s grin was unrepentant as she shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, I know. But if I’m going to be at a Spurs stadium to support Charli, I might as well do it right, don’t you think?” She laughed, the mischief in her eyes undeniable. “I mean, next time, I’ll wear the full Spurs kit. Maybe even walk out with the team. What do you think?”
Grace gasped in mock horror, her hand dramatically clutching her chest. “I mean, if you really want to piss off every Arsenal fan on the planet, go for it”
Kyra’s laughter was light, full of amusement. “Perfect. Full kit wanker energy it is for me then. Love that,” she replied, tossing her hair back like she was already imagining the chaos. “Guess I’ll have to embrace the madness. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Grace laughed at Kyra’s laugh, or rather, she loved to make Kyra laugh. “Honestly,” Grace said, her voice quieter now, “I’d pay to see it. The look on everyone’s faces would be priceless.”
She then lowered her voice, her expression mock-serious. “So you know, I can hook you up with your own kit for real. Even with personalization. Don’t worry. I’ve got contacts.” She said it lightly, but with a hint of mystery.
Kyra looked at her, curiosity piqued. “Oh, you’ve got contacts, huh? I didn’t take you for the type to have an ‘in’ with the Spurs gear department.” Her voice was teasing, but there was an edge of challenge in her tone.
Grace leaned in slightly, her voice dropping, now laced with playful mystery. “Well, what can I say? I’ve got my ways,” she said, her eyes locking with Kyra’s.
She lingered in the moment, caught in the warmth of Kyra’s gaze. Dark brown eyes shimmered with something Grace couldn’t quite place - something playful, something electric. It sent a thrill through her, making it impossible to think straight.
In that moment a thought suddenly struck her. A dumb thought. One that felt so crazy and reckless in that instant that she almost had to laugh. But it wouldn’t leave her mind.
It was wild. It could go wrong. But… she knew Kyra would have fun with it. And she wanted to spend more time with Kyra, keep making her laugh. She really liked her laugh. And now she had the opportunity.
Grace knew her idea was totally impractical, but something inside her screamed: Do it.
She remembered Charli’s birthday party, how Kyra had dragged her into something a little reckless. Maybe it was time to turn the tables.
It was absurd. It could backfire horribly. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Kyra would be just as up for it as she was.
"Okay, Kyra," Grace started, her voice lowered, her excitement bubbling beneath her words. "I have a plan for us."
Kyra looked at her, intrigued. “A plan? What kind of plan?”
Grace’s smile was sly, and she leaned in closer, whispering, “No questions asked. At Charli’s party, I followed your plan. Now it’s your turn to follow mine.”
Kyra raised an eyebrow, clearly curious but also wary. “What kind of plan are we talking about here?”
Grace winked, her voice a little more secretive now. “No talking, just absolute secrecy. And don’t worry - you’ll love it. Plus, you can’t get in more trouble than with that Tottenham scarf!” Grace stuck her tongue out playfully and the sound of Kyra’s laugh was everything she had hoped for in this moment.
-
Grace and Kyra slipped into the Spurs fan shop, the door clicking shut behind them as if sealing them into their own little world of reckless decision-making. Their footsteps were quick but careful, their movements deliberate yet edged with the kind of excitement that came with knowing they probably shouldn’t be doing this.
The rush of adrenaline hit Grace instantly. She had to suppress the instinct to scan the room for anyone who might recognize them, had to fight the urge to pull the hood of her borrowed sweatshirt lower. It wasn’t that she was paranoid - okay, maybe a little - but walking into a Tottenham shop with Kyra Cooney-Cross by her side? The risk had easily doubled.
Kyra leaned in, her voice dropping into a whisper. “This is a terrible idea. I’m already regretting it. You’re going to get swarmed for autographs, and me? I’ll be lucky if they don’t chase me out of here with pitchforks.”
Grace, entirely unbothered by the potential chaos, snorted. “Nah, I’ll be the one sneaking out the back while you handle a hundred screaming fans. Don’t worry. They’ll love you after that scarf picture.”
Kyra shot her a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, pulling the hood of her jacket lower.
Grace had thrown together her own disguise in the least sophisticated way possible - an oversized hoodie stolen from her dad, a cap that was at least two sizes too big, and a pair of sunglasses that made her look less like a footballer in hiding and more like someone trying (and failing) to go incognito at a supermarket.
Kyra, on the other hand, was a walking disaster. She had taken Charli’s jacket - an unmistakable one, slightly too big for her, its sleeves practically swallowing her hands. It smelled faintly of expensive perfume and, strangely, of Charli’s hair products. Grace had no idea how Kyra had even managed to get her hands on it.
Grace folded her arms, giving her a once-over. “Does Charli actually know you stole her jacket?”
Kyra adjusted the hood dramatically, as if the motion alone would make her unrecognizable. “First of all, borrowed. And second, define ‘know.’”
Grace narrowed her eyes. “Did you tell her?”
Kyra hesitated. “I told her I needed it.”
Grace arched a brow. “For what?”
Kyra shrugged, her expression perfectly unbothered. “For… something. I didn’t know what I needed it for up until a few minutes ago either.”
Grace let out a laugh, shaking her head. “So, let me get this straight - you told Charli you needed her jacket for an important reason, and now you’re using it to sneak into a Spurs fan shop?”
Kyra sighed dramatically, tilting her head toward the ceiling as if asking the universe for patience. “She didn’t ask why I needed it.”
Grace wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh, she’s going to kill you.”
Kyra waved a dismissive hand. “That’s a problem for future me. Present me is just trying to buy a football shirt in peace.”
Grace shook her head, still grinning. “Right. Because nothing about this situation is suspicious.”
Kyra pulled her hood lower. “Exactly. Now, let’s blend in and act normal.”
They stood there for a beat, both wrapped in oversized layers that made them look more like two teens trying to sneak into a club than professional athletes.
Grace snorted. “We look like we’re about to rob the place.”
Kyra groaned. “Exactly, so let’s just get this over with before someone calls security.”
Still chuckling, Grace turned toward the racks of jerseys, forcing herself to focus. “Alright, let’s grab a kit and get out of here before the fans start showing up.”
She reached for a random jersey, holding it up as if inspecting it. “What’s your size? Small home kit? Or do you prefer the away one?”
Kyra took the jersey from Grace, their fingers brushing together in the exchange. “The home one, please. And yeah, small for me,” she answered lightly. But Grace noticed the way her eyes lingered on her for just a second longer than usual.
Grace paused, her gaze flickering to Kyra’s face. For a moment, the teasing, the disguises, the absurdity of the situation faded into the background. The air between them shifted - small, almost imperceptible, but real, while they were looking at each other.
Then, just as quickly, Grace shook it off and made her way to the counter, clearing her throat. “Alright, now you’ve got to decide on the name for the back,” she said, keeping her tone casual. “Cooney-Cross? Number 32?”
Kyra hesitated. Then, with a slow, deliberate smile, she tilted her head. “Actually… I was thinking of getting Clinton.”
Grace froze.
The words barely left her mouth before she blurted out, “Wait, what?” Her voice was almost too loud, but the sudden heat in her chest told her everything she needed to know - this wasn’t a joke.
“You want my name? You want ‘Clinton’ on your jersey?”
Kyra’s grin widened, but there was something softer about it now, something unreadable. A hint of color dusted her cheeks. “Why not? It’s a cool name. And you’ve got this whole ‘cool athlete’ vibe going on. Thought it might be fun.”
Grace’s stomach did a strange, unexpected flip. She wasn’t sure where the joke ended and the truth began by now - and that was the problem.
She struggled to keep her voice even. “Clinton? Are you sure? It’s just… my last name.”
Kyra shrugged, her confidence slipping back in. “Yeah. It’s got a nice ring to it. Plus…” She trailed off, her tone quieter now. “You’re kind of the reason I ended up in this ridiculous situation in the first place.”
Grace felt her pulse jump.
The weight of Kyra’s words settled in, and for a moment, the noise of the shop seemed to dim around them. There was something here - something Grace wasn’t sure how to name yet, but it was there.
“Well,” she said, forcing herself to sound casual, “if you really want ‘Clinton’ on your back, who am I to stop you?”
Kyra’s smile turned knowing, mischief now dancing in her eyes again. “Glad to know you’re not that offended,” she murmured, her voice dropping slightly.
Grace did her best to keep her cool while they waited for the shirt to be printed, but her mind was still spinning. The whole situation felt overwhelming for her by now.
When Kyra finally took the freshly printed jersey into her hands, they walked toward the counter together.
“Anything else I can help you with?” the cashier asked, eyeing the jersey.
Grace flashed her team player card. “Actually, I’m all set. Just this.”
The cashier’s eyes widened. “Oh! Wow, uh… your jersey’s on the house, Ms. Clinton.” His voice was shaky as he glanced between Grace and Kyra, starstruck.
Grace smirked, turning to Kyra. “Alright, let’s get out of here before -”
Too late.
“OH MY GOD, IT’S GRACE CLINTON!”
Before Grace could react, Kyra’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and within seconds, they were running for the door. Their laughter echoed through the air as they dashed down the street, their footsteps fast and light. Kyra’s arm brushed against Grace’s, the touch sending an unexpected thrill through her.
Grace glanced at Kyra, who was grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off the perfect prank. The sheer joy on her face made Grace smile, and for a moment, the chaos of the situation didn’t seem so crazy. It felt… fun. Free.
They slowed to a jog after a while, their breaths still ragged from the sprint, but the rush of adrenaline didn’t seem to fade. Grace’s heart pounded in her chest - not just from the running, but from the way Kyra’s presence seemed to wrap around her in a way she couldn’t explain.
“Well, that was a mess,” Grace said, trying to catch her breath, but her grin betrayed her. She was too caught up in the ridiculousness of it all to feel embarrassed.
Kyra shrugged, not missing a beat. “Best mess ever. Even better than our prank with Charli.”
Grace let out a small laugh, the moment stretching between them. She wasn’t sure what had just unfolded between them, but one thing was undeniable - she wasn’t ready to let this feeling slip away. If anything, she wanted more of it. More of Kyra.
And whatever that would take to make it happen, she was determined to find out.