I'm officially late, but Happy Birthday, lovely Kate accidental-rambler (okay I didn't mean for that to rhyme hehe). I was trying to think of what was "our thing" and the one thing that came to me is our 'friendly' arguments about the term football vs soccer ;)
Professional football player Klaus Mikaelson is busy trying to focus on his upcoming match; until some blonde American popstar decides to mess with his pre-game ritual (I'm channelling Posh and Beks).
Who Do You Think You Are
FA Cup Final: Manchester United vs Liverpool FC
Old Trafford Change Rooms: 65 minutes until kick-off
"How have you never heard of Royalty? Have you been living under a rock or something?" His teammate Matt asked as they stretched in the change rooms.
"There's only one set of Royalty I know and that's Lizzie, William, Harry, Kate, George and co."
"But they are only the biggest girl band in the world right now."
"And why should I care about this again?"
"They are in this very venue right now, they are playing before our match."
"I'm a little concerned you know all of this, Donovan," he observed, cocking his left eyebrow. "I never really took you for a pop music fan."
"Well, I'm not but have you seen them? I mean hot isn't a strong enough adjective to describe just how fine these ladies are."
"Bonnie is definitely the best one," Enzo piped up, interrupting their conversation, something that wasn't an uncommon occurrence with their teammate.
"Bonnie is cute too but Katherine can certainly hold her own," Matt added. "You know I've always had a thing for brunettes."
"You know as interesting as this little conversation is, we have a final to warm up for, fellas. After we win this premiership you can mess around with whichever women you want but how about a little focus in the meantime?"
"Don't worry Klaus, their lead singer is a blonde, you know given your preference for fair headed ladies."
"I'm absolutely thrilled, Lorenzo," Klaus growled. "Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going over to the other side of the room, far from all this mindless chatter." Klaus placed his earphones on and sat over at one of the far benches, trying to get into the zone. The last thing he needed was some stupid distraction to derail his game.
Klaus closed his eyes losing himself in his carefully selected musical playlist, trying not to focus on the fact that this was his most important match to date. Even though the volume was high, Klaus could hear some wolf whistles in the background, pulling him unceremoniously out of his trance.
He peeled open one eye his annoyance reaching new levels when he spotted his team crowded around the television in the corner. From what he could make out and the reactions from the players the entertainment had begun. Before he could look away, a flash of blonde caught his eye.
He really wished he hadn't looked because now he couldn't look away. She was breathtaking, strutting around the makeshift stage in black leather pants that fit her like a second skin. Her golden waves were cascading down her back and even from this distance he could make out some bright, blue eyes.
Klaus really hated to agree with Enzo but he was right about her. As he watched her dance in unison with the other group members (Klaus figured this must have been the Bonnie and Katherine they'd been drooling over earlier) he couldn't help but think just how the moves only accentuated her dangerous curves, no doubt on purpose.
He shook his head, trying to regroup his only salvation was the thought that she probably couldn't really sing. No one could be that beautiful and talented.
He slowly removed his earphones to prove his theory, just as she belted out a powerful and impressive high note. Damn. He was in trouble.
Half Time: Old Trafford Changing Rooms
"What the hell are you doing Mikaelson? Two missed goals?" Alaric barked, throwing a football his way in frustration. "My three year old daughter could play better than you have so far tonight."
Klaus knew exactly what had happened or more importantly whom. She was nothing more than a wicked jinx and any untoward feelings he may have felt stirring in his groin earlier had been replaced with pure rage. This woman was going to be the death of him, literally.
"I'm sorry, coach," he admitted, feeling the eyes of his fellow players boring into his back.
"Well sorry isn't going to cut it when we lose the FA Cup, Mikaelson. If you don't score in the first five minutes you'll be warming the bench for the rest of the match, got me?" He bellowed, his red face glowering menacingly in his direction.
"Got it," he managed to bite out, feeling his determination return. Klaus had no intention of letting some blonde distraction ruin his career, he'd worked too hard.
Full Time : Player's Party - The Alchemist Cocktail Bar
They'd won 3-2, the relief and joy overcoming him as the final siren sounded out around the ground.
Although it hadn't looked good at half time, Klaus had rallied, determined to block her out and it had worked. He'd scored two goals within the first fifteen minutes of the second half and they'd prevailed beating their great rivals Liverpool by one.
The team had eaten a well-deserved dinner at the Old Trafford function facilities and were holding a private celebration at one of Manchester's best cocktail bars.
"Royalty are here!" Matt bound over to him like an excitable, Labrador puppy making Klaus roll his eyes.
"It's nice to see the Royal Family made the time for us," he quipped. "Especially since Harry supports Arsenal and William, Aston Villa."
"Very funny, Niklaus,' Matt teased. "I saw you checking out Caroline before the game."
"Don't call me that," he growled. "Who is Caroline?"
"The blonde singer?" Klaus couldn't help but think what a beautifully, innocent name his jinx had.
"Whatever, I'm going to get a drink," he mumbled, making his way through the crowd and to the bar.
"I'll have a grey goose martini, dirty." Curious as to who the American accent belonged to Klaus looked discreetly to his left. It was her. His hex, his blonde distraction, bloody great. It didn't help that she looked delicious poured into a fitted red dress.
"So, did you enjoy the match?" The bartender asked, obviously trying to shamelessly flirt with her.
"It was okay. I'm not really a huge soccer fan to be honest." Klaus closed his eyes in frustration. Not only was she the kiss of death she couldn't even get the name of his sport right. Before he could stop himself, Klaus interrupted.
"It's called football, love, not soccer."
"Excuse me?" She asked, turning to face him, her floral perfume infiltrating his nostrils in the process.
"The game you saw tonight is football," he reiterated slowly, hoping he wouldn't have to repeat himself again.
"I heard you the first time," she shot back, pursing her ruby painted lips. "I was merely expressing my outrage that not only did you interrupt my conversation, you were also wrong."
"I think I know what sport I play," he argued, thinking just how conceited she was.
"Well, I know what we play in America and it's called soccer," she replied. "But I guess in this situation, we'll have to beg to differ."
"Except you're wrong." It was at this point the barman stepped away before their argument escalated.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're..."
"Gorgeous and charming?"
"We obviously have different ideas about what constitutes charm. No, I was actually going to say arrogant and stubborn."
"Well, when I'm right I feel the need to make the point."
"Oh, I've noticed that," she muttered, her brow furrowed. Klaus had to admit she looked kind of cute when she did that. He shook his head trying to snap out of the spell she seemed to have cast over him. First during the game and now here. "We already have something called football in America, hence why we call it soccer."
"Not only do I disagree with that reasoning, your version of football has nothing on ours," he boasted.
"Is there anything else you want to criticise while you're at it, buddy? You know because two can play at that game." Klaus was taken aback by her comment unsure of how to proceed. He didn't need to think about it for much longer though as she launched into her next comment.
"You may have won tonight but that first half dispay on your part was dismal," she offered.
"No thanks to you," he mumbled, under his breath, realising that if he explained further she'd probably think he was crazy.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said, your singing is..." he trailed off, unable to complete his sentence because while he knew his first half performance was bad he also knew that her singing was nothing short of phenomenal.
"My singing is what?"
"Uh, I mean what kind of a group name is Royalty anyway?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" She baulked, hands on hips. Klaus was realising that Caroline looked pretty damn cute with whatever expression she was wearing.
"Is it because you act like a princess?"
"Says the arrogant soccer player," she muttered, poking him in the chest. "Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?"
"I don't take direction too well," he growled, not noticing just how close they were now standing, her heaving chest within inches of his. She was so close, all he needed to do was lean forward a few inches and capture those tantalising lips. What the hell was she doing to him?
"You know, I feel sorry for anyone that has to deal with your grouchy ass on a regular basis. I've only just met you and I want to kill you."
"Funny, I feel exactly the same way, sweetheart," he grinned, their gazes well and truly locked in a stalemate. It would have been at least a minute of intense staring before she spoke.
"Do you want to get out of here?" She rasped, the huskiness in her voice thick. "It's the least you could do to make up for insulting me."
"I thought you'd never ask, love."
It seemed his initial theory was incorrect and rather than being a hex, Caroline had turned out to be his lucky charm in football, in life and in love.