Coach’s whistle cuts through the banter. ‘Move!’
We jog back to position. My thighs burn from yesterday’s gym session, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in my face. I used to dish it out; now I’m the punch-line.
Doesn’t feel great, to be honest.
The drill starts. I focus on the ball, the grass, the space. Not on her serious expression when she laid out the ‘rules’ of our so-called relationship. Not on the giggle that escaped her when I made that joke. Not on how electric her hand felt in mine or how her pulse jumped when I touched her.
And not that cute rosy flare that I can’t wait to see again.
The ball sails over my head.
‘Fuck’s sake!’ Coach roars. ‘Get your head out of her lap and on the ball, Lennox!’
The team erupts in laughter.
I blow them a kiss, and I’m grinning, but they don’t know what happened, how fucked up it all is. And I intend to keep it that way.
Eventually Coach makes us run suicides. Sprint. Touch the line. Turn. Again. And again. Lungs burning, legs screaming, sweat pouring down my back. By the end, I’m ready to collapse.
‘That was a shite session, lads,’ Wallace says. ‘Hit the showers. Lennox, a word.’
The others trudge off. Coach waits until we’re alone. ‘You with us, Finn?’
‘As I said last week during the crisis meeting, one hundred per cent, Coach.’
‘Because your head seems to be elsewhere.’ He folds his arms. ‘Management’s watching you. You’ve used up all your favours, Lennox. One more fuck-up and even I can’t save you. Don’t make me regret backing you.’
My mouth goes dry. ‘I know. And I won’t.’
‘Good.’ He claps my shoulder and walks away.
The reporters start shouting questions, but I ignore them, heading for the changing room to get my stuff. Won’t make it into the shower, though. Because it’s almost time.
* * *
Right on schedule, a mint green Fiat 500 putters up to the kerb, looking like it escaped from a children’s cartoon. Theo’s car, exactly where her plan said it would be. In another life, she’d have made an excellent bank robber. The photographers lurking by the fence perk up.
‘That your girlfriend’s ride?’ Connor grins, shouldering his gear bag. ‘Seems like a Tic Tac.’
This is it. Our first public appearance as a ‘couple’. Lenses twitch and flash, hungry for the show we’re about to give them.
‘Hope she brought your juice box and colouring book.’ Connor laughs at his own joke.
Each step toward her car loads my calves with sand. It’s the cameras making me nervous, I keep telling myself, not Theo. Definitely not the fact I’m about to kiss her in public for the first time. Professionally and all that.
Through the windscreen, I spot her fussing with her ponytail. Her fringe sits perfectly straight across her forehead. Her coat’s the kind of green that makes her pale skin glow. It’s true that I don’t have a type, I love them in all sizes and shapes. But damn, she draws the eye – whether she means to or not – and I keep noticing details I normally wouldn’t.
The car door opens, and she steps out. Those serious blue eyes scan the scene, clocking the reporters, my teammates, the choreography of this moment.
‘Hi, babe,’ she says with a beaming smile, loud enough for the nearest paps to hear.
‘Hey…you.’ The two words rumble out rough in a way I didn’t plan.
We’re one foot apart. Close enough to catch the trace of sweat cooling behind her ear, sweetened by whatever body wash she uses. Skin-soft and fresh. It hits low. Blood, focus – all rushing south.
Theo looks flustered underneath her pro-facade, colour striping up her neck again.
As I said, really fucking cute.
