I see the shift in her face as the memory clicking into place.
“You’re right,” she says quietly. “We used to play like this when we were kids. You’d make me goalie even though I hated it.”
“’Cause you were good at it,” I reply. “And ’cause you got mad when I scored.”
She snorts. “You cheated.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” she insists. “You were a cheap shot then too. You always kicked it harder when you were losing.”
I grin. “Still do.”
She straightens before standing up. “I won that one though.”
“You did,” I admit. “Fair and square.”
She moves to pass the ball back to me, missteps slightly, and I reach out without thinking. My hand catches her arm. She stumbles anyway, momentum carrying us both down.
We hit the grass hard.
She laughs on impact, breath knocked out of her. I brace myself above her, palms in the turf on either side of her shoulders, my knee between hers.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Her chest rises and falls fast. Her eyes are bright and focused on my face.
Say it…
I’m hovering too close.
I know it. She knows it.
My heart starts to pound.
Just say it…
Her hand shifts, fingers brushing my wrist. I inhale to speak.
“Oi!”
Voices cut through the moment.
I jerk my head up. The team’s walking onto the pitch, boots crunching, and laughter carrying. A couple of them slow when they see us on the ground.
Frankie’s eyes widen. “Oh my God.”
I push up immediately, offering her a hand. She takes it, a bit too quickly, dusting grass off her leggings.
“Training’s about to begin,” one of the lads calls. “You two having a private match or what?”
Frankie clears her throat. “Research.”
I bite back a smile.
She steps away from me, back into her armour, but as she does, her fingers brush mine again.
And even with the noise, the people, and the interruption I know that moment didn’t disappear, it just got paused.
