What a Hell of a Fight
"Lexington?" Rosalie asked Bella over a plastic cup that held the most delicious Bloody Mary. "Lexington's actually winning a match?"
"Isn't it crazy?" said Bella. "I'm not even sure they've won anything at all. Ever."
They had just finished watching Nashville win their first match of the morning and had turned their chairs around to face the field where Lexington was taking on Charleston. Seeing the score in Lexington's favor was quite a shock. Charleston was good. Lexington was…not. But this guy—this one guy—was carrying the team through the match, and from the looks of things, would be doing so during the whole tournament. Bella watched him carefully. He looked comfortable on the field, like he'd grown up playing. With only a minute left in the game, Lexington would be the unexpected clear winner. When the whistle blew, the fans under the Lexington tent went wild, celebrating their first win.
Bella's brother Emmett, who had finally caught his breath after his match and was downing a bottle of water, gave his own low whistle. "Bad luck, Charleston."
"Wouldn't have believed that if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," added Jasper Whitlock, the Nashville keeper.
As the two teams shook hands and headed for the sidelines, Bella scrutinized the guy who had seemed to be responsible for the majority of Lexington's points. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his gait was somehow familiar as he strode toward the team's tent. And when the helmet came off…
Edward. Edward Cullen.
Holy Mother of God. He'd been handsome the night before in his jeans and fitted t-shirt, but now—red-cheeked and rumpled with sweaty hair standing on end—he looked like pure sex. He made that jersey look good.
Bella had known Edward would be at the tournament, and she'd kept a weather eye out for him all morning, but she hadn't expected him to be playing on such a new, obscure team. But she was extremely pleased to find that it was a team from her own home state.
As if he could feel her eyes on him, Edward turned his head in her direction. Surprise—shock, even—was the first thing to register in his expression, but then a lazy yet winning smile crept across his face.
"Anthony!" someone yelled from the sideline.
Edward snapped his head around to face whomever had yelled and jogged toward the tent. He accepted a bottle of water someone held out to him, and with one last glance in Bella's direction, he disappeared into the midst of his team, earning slaps on the back and congratulations from everyone.
Anthony. He'd definitely answered to Anthony. In fact, it was the second time Bella had heard someone call him that. Under the guise of rummaging through a cooler, she edged closer to Lexington's celebration. She could only hear a few words here and there, but as she watched from the corner of her eye, she became certain that Edward's teammates were calling him Anthony. A few of them called him Masen. For a moment, she was crestfallen that he'd lied about his name when he'd introduced himself the previous night.
But then, one by one, things began to fall into place.
Edward Cullen.
Anthony Masen.
He was straight out of Ireland. His marked accent was evidence of that truth. Cullen was decidedly more Irish than Masen. He'd registered under a pseudonym… Here for the weekend, she recalled him saying. And the way he played…
Bella stopped cold with her hand submerged in the ice chest.
Edward Cullen was a ringer.