[The Game]

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Her eyes were glued to him. Sweat dripped from his brow, trailing down his tan, slightly flushed face. His green eyes, shining with steely determination, focused in on the target.

She could feel her heart beating loudly in her chest. The world stopped for him as he looked down, letting out a deep breath. Right now, he was the only thing that existed. He took one step, then another, in smooth gliding motions. Her breath hitched.

In the blink of an eye, the ball was in the back of the net. The room around her erupted in cheers. Mac and Layla rocked her from side to side between them, chanting at the jumbo TV screen. Their beers sloshed, spilling on her blue jean shorts.

"Arda Güler GOAL!" Displayed across the TV, with the image of him and the rest of his teammates running across the field in celebration. The fans in the stands jumped and cheered with them, a sea of red.

No one could have predicted that the Turkish national team would make it this far in the Euros. Mikaela liked rooting for the underdogs. But even moreso, she liked rooting for the client that was about to make or break her career in sports betting. The Turkish national team's owners had invested in a partnership with her company, and success like this was good for both of them. Arda, clenching his fist in victory flashed on the TV, sending butterflies to her stomach.

"HEY!" Layla snapped her fingers in her face. "This mean you get to go to Turkey for work now!?"

"Yes." Mikaela smiled, even as her anxiety spiked at the thought of going to Turkey.

"Please take me with you." Layla begged, almost bumping into the shirtless man behind her. The red paint melted down the side of his face as he flipped off the opposing team's fans, slowly sulking out of the bar. It was random for so many people in her small town in New York to be so hyped on the Turkish National Team winning. But, you give Americans a big sporting event to watch, and they'll be there to drink beer and holler obscenities at the TV screen. There was seemingly no logic to their selection of which team to support in the Euros. Her best theory was that they picked according to which color jersey they liked best. But once they picked, it was like they'd been a fan of that team for their entire lives. They'd fight for that team. They'd bleed for that team. But most importantly for Mikaela, they'd bet money on that team.

"You think you'll get to meet golden boy?" Mac motioned up to the screen where they were displaying the final stats of the game, Arda's name at the top of the rankings. "Did you know he's only nineteen? Already making millions of dollars." Mac let out a jealous huff.

Mikaela knew plenty about Arda Güler. The 'diamond' they called him. She'd stalked his Instagram for hours, binged countless videos on Youtube of him dominating the field. He had such a calm confidence on the pitch that was unlike anyone she'd ever seen. Like he'd been there a million times before, and the weight, the pressure had no effect on him. A part of her was curious, trying to study how she could replicate such a calm demeanor when anxiety had its lasting hold on her. And another part of her was envious, even sometimes angry that he did it with such ease. But either way, she had been absolutely mesmerized by him since the first time she'd seen him play.

"I doubt we'd meet any of the players." Mikaela shrugged. "I think they've got other things to worry about than meeting the firm that helps make their owners a boatload of cash."

Mikaela tried not to sound disappointed, but the odds of her interacting with the players was slim to none. Her trip to Turkey probably would consist of all day meetings, followed by stuffy happy hours, and then close out with a battle for a smidgen of sleep in a rock solid hotel bed.

"Well either way – " Mac burped, warranting a disgusted shove from Layla. " – here's to Turkey." He held up his drink.

"To Turkey." Layla and Mikaela echoed before their three glasses clinked.

Mikaela looked back up to the screen, the camera zooming in on Arda. She chugged down the rest of her beer.


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