“I think I’m just nervous. I’ve never performed in front of such a big crowd before, and frankly, I’m fucking scared. I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t know how you handle all this pressure all the time.”
His eyes soften as I catch his gaze briefly glide to the white scar beside my eyebrow before he looks away. It’s something I’ve caught him doing a few times.
“You won’t mess it up. I’ve seen you dance. You don’t stand out at all.”
I cock my head at him, laughing. “Thanks, I think?”
“I mean, you blend in with the team. You look like you're meant to be there.”
His words bring a smile to my face. My mother’s never said anything like that to me before.
“Do you ever get anxious about playing?” I’m curious. Nathan always appears so confident. So sure of himself. I’m unsure if it’s all an act or if he is just that lucky to be so self-assured.
“Sometimes. But I don’t let it get to me. You can’t. Worrying about what could happen won’t change the outcome.”
Anxiety can twist your imagination, painting futures that haven't even happened yet. Small, insignificant little worries can quickly pile into a mountain of what-ifs, the peak impossible to reach. Yet, it controls so many of us.
“Worrying about tomorrow won’t make it any brighter. Coach Darrell likes to use that line,” Nathan says, and I blink, suddenly feeling oddly calm about the situation.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
He turns to me, his eyes intense. It isn’t until now that I realise how close we are, our arms brushing as we breathe. His eyes flicker down for a split second, hovering on my lips before he knits his eyebrows together.
My palms begin to sweat as he looks down at my chest. He doesn’t shy away. He doesn’t pretend not to be looking. He relishes in it for a few greedy seconds before gulping and standing up.
If this is how he looks at me when I’m clothed, how would he look at me if I were naked underneath him? Fingers gripping his forearm. Tits pressed into his chest as I arch my back. Legs spread.
“Bennett needs me to run through some media training with him.” Nathan stands, stretching his shoulders, face sullen.
I don’t want to get up. I’m afraid I’ve soaked through my spandex shorts. Why do I feel like some horny teenager around him?
“Thanks for patching me up.” I slip my sock and shoe back on, the fabric a little snug due to the slight swelling.
Nathan’s lingering and muscular arms hang limply beside him as he grinds his teeth together.
Would it really be so bad if he were to fuck me right here on this bench? Would anyone know? Do they have cameras in here?
“What are you looking for?”
I snap my head back to his, not realising I’d been searching the roof for surveillance without even realising.
“Nothing. I thought I saw a… bird.”
A chuckle falls from his lips as he nods slowly. “Right.” The word is long and drawn out.
“I’m gonna hang here for a bit. Take a breather, you know?”
He doesn’t look convinced, and it appears he's battling with himself on whether to object, but after a few seconds of deliberation, he nods. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I glance down at my ankle, placidity coursing through my veins.
Why is it that someone so anxiety-inducing can also chase it away with just one conversation?
Because now I’m looking at game day in a whole new light. I’m not scared shitless anymore. In fact, I’m looking forward to it, and the fact that Nathan managed to do that to me in a matter of minutes is redirecting my worry to a whole new place.
How the fuck am I supposed to survive being around him for the rest of the season without fantasising about doing things we can’t?
16: Nathan
