Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Happy Thursday!

Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).

Chapter 8. Semifinals.

I look at the clock and turn on my bed again — the minutes click and I am still unable to relax enough to let sleep find me. This the biggest deal of my career — the opportunity of a lifetime. The World Cup is only held every four years. I'll be twenty-eight for the next one, and I might not even make the team. I've been preparing for this my whole life, and somehow I still find myself distracted.

My mind should be on the tournament, on what's at stake, and it is, but not entirely. Because honestly, how can I pass up the opportunity to get to know Bella? I've been waiting so long for someone to make me feel... alive. I know it might not be the best timing, but I can't help how I feel, can I? When would we meet otherwise? As far as I know, she works full time in the US, and I live in England. This is really our only chance.

Can I do both? Give my all to my team and the World Cup while attempting to pursue her? It doesn't seem like she's going to make it easy for me, which will certainly require a lot more of my already limited time. But I think I could do it — I definitely want to.

God, I should really be catching some sleep right now.

I groan and turn on my bed again, covering my face with the pillow, hoping that the images of Bella carry me to sleep.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I don't have to knock twice on Seth's door, and when he opens it, he's already dressed and ready to go. I'm glad he's an eager beaver today. I don't know if I would have had it in me to wake him up without going back to bed myself, having gotten virtually no sleep last night.

As soon as we get to the field, I shake off my tiredness, ready to get my body moving. I won't get to play today, but at least I get to train with Seth. We practice free kicks and some dribbles — nothing too fancy or strenuous, just enough to get in the right frame of mind.

I beat him in free kicks, obviously, but he beats me in drills. In my defense, the kid is exceptionally fast! It's understandable, really — why he's faster than me — he's at least nine inches shorter and over forty pounds lighter… I am almost okay with the tie.

Seth looks at his watch and drops flat on the turf with a groan. "Six hours until the game."

I sit next to him, trying to balance the ball on my feet while sitting down. "Listen, kid, you can do this. What you showed during training yesterday… I've never seen anyone so fast… ever. If you can pull that off today, no one is going to stand in your way."

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Seth gets up on his elbows and looks over at me. I nod at him with a shrug. "What made you want to help me?"

"Nothing in particular." I juggle the ball between my feet and bounce it off my knees while still sitting. Not only is this good ball control practice, but also a great ab workout.

"C'mon, something must have made you change your mind."

Yes, a feisty, tiny brunette…

"Well, I realized this is not a one-man show. We're a team, Seth, and the emblem on the front of our shirt is more important than the name on the back."

"I see…" he says, smiling, but it doesn't look like he bought it. "So it wasn't that reporter lady." He chuckles through his words, and I look up at him in surprise, grabbing the ball with my hands.

I throw the ball at his chest and get up, deciding to just ignore his comment.

"Let's go," I say, gathering my stuff. "We have to be at the stadium at noon."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Even though I'm not playing, I ride with my team and help out with the warm up and practice, desperate to be involved any way I can.

Once we're done, we head to the dressing rooms and I shower and change before going to the bleachers to meet Bella.

I sit by myself in the VIP area, and I wait…

Five whole minutes of the game pass, and she's not here yet, so I text Bernard impatiently. "Where is she?"

"Still shooting." At least his answer is prompt.

Dammit.

Two more minutes pass, and I am unable to sit still anymore. At least the game seems even — both teams in control and playing well — even though it's still too early to say.

I stand in front of my seat, one hand pulling at my hair, until Bella arrives.

She hurries to the seat next to me, her heels clicking along the way, and an eager smile on her face. Luckily, she's not wearing one of those skirts today, although the distraction might have been welcomed.

"What did I miss?" she asks as she sits. I look at how she crosses her legs in those tight jeans and decide she actually doesn't need the skirts to distract me.

"Not much." I sink next to her and try to relax as the game continues.

There are three defenders marking Seth. He dribbles past each of them. Every single one of them fouls him, but Seth somehow keeps running, controlling the ball, without letting himself fall.

"That could've easily been a free kick, if he had let himself fall." Elbows on my knees, I rest my chin on my hands with a huff.

"I like Seth's style," Bella says, her eyes on the game. "Look at his control of the ball. Even from the ground! Look at that!"

"Yeah... yeah..."

"I hate divers."

"I'm not a diver!" I snap back defensively, facing her.

"I didn't say you were." She turns her gaze to me, a smile tugging at her lips.

I've been criticized for diving before, so I know she's teasing me, but I can't help it — I take this shit seriously! "Besides, it's not diving if they foul you."

My tone comes out condescending, and now I know I've done it… Sweet Bella is gone and Tiny Terror comes clawing out. "If they foul you, and you let yourself fall, even though you could've kept going, that's diving." She has her index finger up, pointing, emphasizing.

"That's football."

If she thinks she can teach me about football…

"It doesn't have to be that way. Look at Seth!"

So stubborn…

"Jesus Christ, woman!" I rub my hand over my face. "I thought you were going to help me calm down, not annoy me to insanity."

She opens her mouth, as if she is going to say something else, but then her lips snap shut and she takes a deep breath. "Sorry." A sweet smile slowly spreads on her face.

Unable to resist reciprocating her smile, I exhale loudly and turn my attention back to the field.

The game continues tight, both teams playing defensively, not risking it. I think I've shifted on my seat about a hundred times in a matter of minutes. I hate sitting down for long periods of time. My legs can't stop bouncing. My hands shift from my knees, to my face, to my hair, to my neck.

Seth is showing some amazing skills, speed and control of the ball, but being completely unassisted at the front doesn't translate to goals. Eric is totally useless, and I'd be surprised if he's touched the ball more than five times.

The minutes pass, and I can't contain the colorful expletives that leave my mouth; I also can't contain myself in my seat anymore. I pace in front of Bella, biting my nails absentmindedly. She keeps pulling on my shirt, asking me to relax and sit down — saying I'm blocking her view — but I can't. I hate being on the outside. I hate watching my team struggle. I hate not being able to help.

"This is fucking torture!"

Almost forty minutes into the first half, Seth is fouled hard from behind and this time he goes down.

"Oh no!" Bella is next to me in a flash, her hand around my elbow.

I fist my hair and pull at it hard.

He's okay... he's okay... he's okay.

Seth covers his eyes with his arm — he seems to be in pain. The ref shows a yellow card to the Italian defender, and he apologizes to Seth. The medics are dousing Seth's ankle with numbing spray and helping him up. He limps twice before signaling Coach that he's okay.

I release the breath I didn't know I was holding.

Bella's hand is patting slightly on my back. "He's okay," she says. "He's going to take the free kick."

The kick is just outside of the box. I mentally calculate the distance and angle between the ball and the net. It's not perfect for Seth's left foot, but it's doable if he aims for the right corner of the goal.

The Italians arrange the wall as Seth prepares for his kick. Instead of being focused on the ball, or the net, he's looking to the sides… saying something to Jasper.

"Focus on the ball, kid — on the ball!" I yell at him uselessly.

When he takes the kick, the ball goes over the wall, heading for the right corner, but bounces off the crossbar. He runs a hand down his face and looks over to the bench, right below where we are sitting, disappointment written all over his face.

I sink on my chair with a huff, and Bella sits down next to me.

"He's doing well," she says with a hand on my arm, as if she knows what her touch does to me.

I turn my attention over to her and she gives me a small smile, but before I can say anything, her phone starts ringing.

"I gotta go." She looks at the phone sheepishly and stands up. "I'll be back for the second half."

I nod at her with a weak smile before she leaves.

I gruelingly return my attention to the field, and the five minutes remaining of the game go on without much happening. Once the ref whistles the end of the first half, I head to the locker rooms.

I find Seth in the infirmary, having his ankle taped. He's propped on his elbows, wincing as the medic tests his ankle.

"You okay?" As soon as he sees me, he composes his face — kid's trying to be brave. "You should tell Waylon if you're in pain. You shouldn't play like that."

"I'm okay. Just preventing it from twisting again."

"Seth—"

"What, did they send you in to do a Miyagi on me?"

"Do a Miyagi on you?" I struggle to keep a straight face through that sentence.

"You know, that ancient Japanese healing ritual—"

"I know who Miyagi is," I interrupt him before he can ruin his "joke" any further. "I would just never say 'do a Miyagi'... sounds like you mean something else."

"How would you say it, then?"

"I might say 'go Miyagi on your ass'... maybe. But I don't know if that works either."

"Oh..."

"And for the record, if you have to explain a joke, it most likely didn't work."

Seth laughs and looks down. "Okay."

"Listen, kid, don't worry about the free kick. You've been a real nightmare to the defenders. I don't think they'll be able to keep up with you for another forty-five. Just continue doing what you're doing, and keep your eyes on the ball."

He gets down from the examining table and tests his foot on the floor a couple times, not showing any signs of pain.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," he says, jumping in front of me, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck, getting ready to go back out on the field.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

When I go back to my seat, Bella is not there yet. I start getting anxious — my legs start bouncing. I wish I could just jump on a treadmill or something. Just sitting here drives me insane. I palm my face as I see the players come out. I observe Seth carefully. He does seem fine, so I try to relax.

God, I'd give anything to be able to play.

Where the fuck is Bella?

A couple minutes after the ref starts the second half, and before I completely lose my mind, I hear her heels clicking my way. I turn to see her, a relieved smirk on my face.

Thank fucking God she's here.

She rushes to me and sinks on her seat. "How's Seth doing?"

"He's okay, I think. He even tried to crack a joke. He did poorly… but still."

"Aww... He's a sweetie, isn't he? Are you guys close?"

I snort at her term of endearment for Seth. "Not really. I don't know... He's a pain in the ass."

"He probably just looks up to you, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah… Look where it got him so far — suspended one game, trying to do everything by himself the other. What a nice role model, huh?"

"Hey, stop." Her hand brushes my arm again. "You've tried to make it better, right?"

"Guess who got up at four this morning to practice free kicks with him?"

"Is that why you look so tired?"

Her question surprises me, and I look at her carefully. Her eyes are so telling I can feel her concern through her gaze. I don't think I want to get into the fact that waking up at four would have been all right if she hadn't kept me up all night. So I go for a "yeah" and a shrug instead.

"That was very nice of you, Cullen."

"I told you I can be nice." My fingers run over hers, and when I'm starting to get excited by the fact she hasn't pulled her hand away, her cell phone starts ringing and she grabs it out of her purse.

"One sec." She raises a finger to me. "Paul? What's up?" she says into the phone.

I wonder who the fuck Paul is, and why is he interrupting our moment.

"What does that have to do with anything?" She frowns, not looking at me.

I want to turn my attention back to the game, but I can only manage to look in the direction of the field. Everything else is invested in the woman sitting next to me, who seems to get more and more annoyed with this Paul guy by the second.

"Oookay then, gonna hang up now, bye." And with a huff, she angrily presses her finger on the phone.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she says dismissively, with a fake smile plastered on her face, pretending to be immersed in the game.

I look over to the field as well, deciding I could ask her about this later.

The game continues the same way the first half ended. Seth is still trying his best. He's had a couple of chances, but he hasn't been able to finish. He's wearing the defense out, though — I can see that — but whether he's wearing himself out as well remains to be seen.

As the Italian defenders get tired, they start fouling Seth more. There's a guy blatantly grabbing Seth's shirt, pulling him back, but the kid keeps running, keeps controlling the ball, until he's fouled down.

I need to teach this kid how to dive.

There's another free kick, but this time Seth lets Eric take it. I can't even watch as Eric sets the ball down. The angle is wrong. The positioning is wrong. He only takes three steps back. The ball just hits the wall.

"Goddammit!" I punch the chair in front of me. I could have taken that. I would have made that shot.

Shit!

I'm panting as if I'm the one running down there, while I hold my hand to my chest. When I feel Bella's fingers around my wrist, I close my eyes and try to breathe.

"Edward, calm down," she says sweetly next to me.

I let her wrap her hand around mine, but I keep my eyes closed and concentrate on breathing my anger away.

"Try to channel you anger." Her tone is soft, soothing, but I want to laugh… bitterly, of course.

What could I possibly channel my anger to? There's nothing for me to do but sit here and watch. I can't even fucking kiss her because I promised I wouldn't unless she wanted me to, which she clearly doesn't.

Fuck!

Her fingers are tracing circles on my palm, and I try to focus on that. Even though my hand should be throbbing from hitting the chair, her touch is numbing, and I breathe out in relief.

I can't believe what a fucking pussy I am. My teammates are busting their asses against the Italians, and I'm fucking having an anxiety attack, with a girl holding my hand. I groan in frustration.

"Sorry..." Bella exhales through her nose. "You hurt your knuckles again."

I don't feel the pain in my hand until I look at it — funny how the brain works.

They're really not that bad, just scrapes. I take my hand away from her and rest it on top of my bouncing knee, deciding I don't deserve her comforting touch. Seth is playing with a twisted ankle — I can deal with bruised knuckles.

When we pass the eightieth minute, I think I might have bitten my fingernails raw. I'm exhausted just by looking at my team run. I'm pacing again, sweating through my fucking designer clothes.

That's when it happens.

Seth receives a cross from Jasper on his chest then controls it with his feet, right at the midfield, where he begins his run. He flies like a rocket past one, then another of the Italians. He dribbles around one of the defenders and then squishes through two more, right in the middle. And then it's just him and the goalie. When I think he's going to shoot, he dribbles again, leaving the goalkeeper behind, so that it's just Seth and that goal.

When he puts the ball easily into the left corner, my heart skips a beat — I can't fucking believe it!

Cheering surrounds me as I watch Seth turn around and face the bench's direction, with a smile that's too big for his face, like he can't believe it either. With his arms wide open, he lets himself fall on the turf, while our other teammates pile on top of him.

I turn over to Bella and smile at the adorable sight next to me. She is up and jumping in excitement — her arms over her head as she screams. Her eyes lie on me, and in the next second, she slams into my body and her arms surround my neck.

"He did it!" she squeals as my arms lock around her, holding her to me.

Before I know it, my lips are on hers.

She inhales sharply and a little moan escapes her lips. But just as suddenly, her hand is on my chest — pushing instead of pulling — and I let her go.

"Shit, I'm sorry," I say, only because I have to.

I'm not sorry for kissing her, but I did promise her I wouldn't unless she wanted me to… and yet here we are.

"No… um… I'm sorry." She looks down at her hands, all flustered.

I allow myself a second to gather my thoughts, and even though the game resumes, I'm unable to turn away from Bella. I'm very much aware that these last few minutes will be crucial for my team making it or not, but I am overwhelmed and completely paralyzed by the woman in front of me and my lack of adequate words to say to her.

Her cell phone starts ringing then, and she pulls it out of her purse with a groan. "I gotta go." Without looking at me, she hurries away.

I run my hands down my face and try to relax. I know she's supposed to be working, but I still want to smash that fucking cellphone of hers into a steel beam.

Dammit!

The last ten minutes of the game are excruciating to watch, especially without Bella sitting next to me. The Italians turn over the attack and get a couple of chances, but luckily, our defense is standing strong.

By the last few seconds, I'm pacing in front of my seat, my hands on top of my head, pulling at my hair. I can't take this anymore. I look at my watch repeatedly, wondering if it's broken or if time is actually dragging on. When the ref whistles the end of the game, I sink on my seat with an exhausted huff.

They did it. We made it. The US is in the World Cup finals for the first time ever!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The dressing room is euphoric with jumping and singing and chants. Seth is tripping — the kid can't fucking stop smiling. He even forgets to pretend not to limp. Waylon is ecstatic, to the point he gives us the night off. He advises us we should use it to rest, and keep our eyes on the prize, but a night off is a night off… so resting isn't in my plans.

When they announce that ESPN, and Miss Swan, are coming for an in-dressing room interview, I get edgy. Most of the guys in here are half naked — this is no place for her to be. I'm about to complain to Waylon about it, when in she comes, framed by her cameraman.

The celebrations continue as Bella documents some of it. When she asks Seth if she can interview him, the kid looks like he's about to pee his pants, but with a smile, he agrees. He manages to say a couple coherent sentences, between ers and ums, until Yorkie comes behind him, a towel spread with shaving cream in his hands, ready for Seth's face.

Seth laughs and smiles his way through it, trying to wipe the shaving cream from his eyes. Bella helps him, laughing herself. I find myself wishing I was the one getting creamed so she would have her fingers on my face.

When she gets ready to leave, I rise from the bench and trail behind her. Once outside of the dressing room, I call for her. "Miss Swan?" She turns around, and so does her Neanderthal puppy. "Could I have a word with you?"

She faces the dog in question and whispers something to him. I'm relieved when he leaves without her having to touch him, so I come closer.

"You can stop with the formalities," she sneers. "They have us on video, kissing."

I chuckle. "Oh…"

"It's not funny."

"C'mon… It's a little funny. Who cares, really?"

"I do!"

"We were caught up in the moment — in the celebration. I think they'll cut us some slack."

"Is that so?"

"You can blame me," I offer with a shrug.

"I already did," she scoffs, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Okay, Tee-Tee, I'm sorry." I tentatively reach a finger to her arm. I think her anger melts a little bit at my nickname for her — taking the bitter expression on her face away with it — so I make my move. "Go out with me tonight."

"What?"

"Waylon gave us the night off. I'd like to take a walk around the city, and I'd love for you to join me."

"Tonight? I thought you were tired." Her hands move to her hips as her gaze scrutinizes me.

"I'm fine. Please?"

She takes a deep breath, but I could swear there's a smile tugging at her lips. "Okay."

I feel no need to hide my smile. "Pick you up in an hour?"

She nods before she turns around and leaves. I stare at her retreating form until she disappears down the corridor.

T-minus one hour for a second date with Bella Swan — my Tiny Terror.

A/N:

1000 virtual gummy bears to whoever tells me who Paul is? Hehehe

I'm a little behind in answering reviews, but I promise I'll get to all of them.

See you Saturday for date number two! ;)

Ronnie.