I guess Beck might understand more than my stubbornness after eight months of officially dating, because I’m less irritated and more cheery as I watch my three companions take in the chaos the anticipation is effervescing. It is spectacular.

We reach the stadium, and I guide my companions to the side entrance. One flash of our badges is all it takes to bypass security and head through the tunnel toward the seats reserved for us. I don’t know if Beck requested these particular seats or they were just given to him, but we’re right on top of the field.

It’s insanity. Pandemonium. I’m watched plenty of clips of European football games, but this is the first one I’m witnessing in person. Television screens don’t convey the energy and excitement of a sold-out crowd.

I try to take it all in, but it becomes a blur. Anthems, announcements, applause. Once number twenty-three appears on the pitch, nothing else can hold my attention.

My father and Matt are content to just take the atmosphere in, but Hallie keeps pestering me with questions. Are they allowed to cross that line? What does the whistle mean? Is he going to score? I simply grunt in response to most of them, too focused to formulate an answer.

The first half is scoreless and mostly even. I dig my nails into my palm for the start of the second.

“This is much more exciting than I expected it to be,” Hallie announces as the noise level in the stadium rises again.

I roll my eyes. Sometimes, I’m not sure how we’re related.

Ten minutes into the second period, I watch Beck steal the ball from Portugal’s star striker just past the center line. “Go, go, go,” I whisper.

He does, dodging defenders with a beauty and grace even an impartial viewer would appreciate. I’m the furthest thing from one. Not only am I invested in the sport, I’m invested in him.

Not because he’s the most famous footballer in the world.

Because he calls me every night before I go to bed, despite the fact that it’s the middle of the night for him.

Because he sent me a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream on the anniversary of my mother’s departure, so I didn’t have to go buy it myself.

Because I’m completely, devastatingly in love with him, even if I haven’t told him so.

One powerful kick, and Kluvberg is winning. Beck’s surrounded by his teammates. Noise I didn’t think could get any louder rises exponentially, filling the stadium with cheers I imagine overflowing the stadium and flooding all of Kluvberg.

“Oh my God!” Hallie screams. “He scored! He actually scored!”

I’m too busy cheering to laugh at her out loud, but I definitely do inside.