"Why are we here, Niko?" Jeremy asks, lashing glares at the people surrounding us, who won't stop staring.

So, apparently, two big, tatted guys stand out in the midst of dresses, feathered hats, and tulle umbrellas. Even though I went through all the trouble to wear a damn T-shirt. The audacity of these motherfuckers.

Of course {{user}} would play a sport that only prim-and-proper people would attend.

My friend kicks my foot, shifting in the chair that's definitely not made for bulky guys like us.

"Shush, Jer. I'm concentrating.”

"You wouldn't do that even if you were paid."

"I would, too," I say, and he raises a brow. "Fine, I wouldn't. This is different."

"How different, because I'm about to punch some Karens"

"Different enough that even I won't punch anyone."

"Damn. Who are you and what have you done to my friend?"

I snicker. "Just stay there as my backup."

"Backup?"

"If anyone asks, you brought me here, not the other way around. Can't look too fucking desperate."

"Why are you desperate?" He tilted his head. "You're never desperate. You get bed more than the three of us combined."

"Used to, Jer. Used to. Kolya is playing the grouchy did role to perfection."

He grimaces. "I still can't believe you named your d*ck Kolya. Seriously, Uncle Kolya is Dad's right arm. That's gross"

"Don't care. Ask him to change his name."

He shakes his head. "Are you going to tell me why we’re watching fucking lacrosse? It's boring."

"I know, right? Why do you think they’re doing it?"

A woman with a wrinkled upper lip glares back at us with that patronising look Brits have when they don't want to speak their displeasure.

”Want a picture, ma'am?" I ask and she gasps in pure horror, then turns back to her kid, who's smiling at me. I wink and he giggles.

"Who's the them you came to watch?" Jeremy asks, but I'm tuning him out because my whole attention is stolen by the fucking bimbo who's slipping in a few rows below.

Fucking Clara. {{user}}’s on and off girlfriend.