Thinking about it, I guess I haven’t watched any clips seriously in months. Too caught up studying, I guess. And partying. And bothering Colten when he’s not outright ignoring me.
There’s another moment with a counterattack. I track my sprint speed as I push through the channel.
My first touch set up the shot, but my foot was slightly off balance when I struck the ball, causing it to sail just over the crossbar. I knew it was coming, but I still grimace.
Then I notice number 8, Colten. He’s moving through the midfield behind me.
I rewind and play it again. During the obsessive rewatching, I always focused on myself, on every little thing I did wrong or right, and how I would improve it all when I got back on the field.
But I didn’t focus on what Colten was doing.
Technically speaking, he’s executing a perfect supporting run, staying just outside the defensive block, and ready to receive a cutback pass. His positioning is textbook, and his timing is even better.
I lean forward slightly before rewinding and playing again, this time solely focused on him.
Colten intercepts a pass near the halfway line, using his body to shield the ball.
His footwork is quick with tight touches, scanning the field before making the pass. The ball leaves his foot in a long, precise diagonal line across the field, cutting right through the defense.
My stomach does a weird little swoop. It really was a good pass. I could learn a lot watching him.
I rewind the video and watch him again.
The power behind the kick and the way his whole body rotates through the motion—it makes my gut clench, my face overly warm. I swallow hard.
Then my brain, apparently no longer interested in soccer analysis, decides to remind me about the bathroom.
Specifically about Colten’s hands on my shirt, and how strong his hold was.
Which makes sense, since Colten works out his upper body just as much as his legs. Something about kinetic chains and muscular balance?
In any case, it explains why his grip on the back of my neck earlier as he pulled me closer had been so—
I pause the video and blink at the screen. “…Hm.”
Colten appears frozen mid-stride, legs strong and focus sharp, his hair neatly tied back as his jersey clings to his shoulders.
I lean back into the couch and take another sip of beer.
His shoulders seem smaller than they are now. Has he built more muscle?
My brain helpfully supplies the memory of those same arms wrapping around me during our wrestling match.
And then his hand gripping the back of my neck, eyes closed as he tilted his head up toward me.
My stomach flips, and I take a long drink of beer.
“…This is still soccer analysis,” I tell the empty apartment. The apartment does not argue.
I try to focus on the screen again, but my mind keeps wandering in useless circles that have nothing to do with anything, especially not soccer.
Instead, I think about all the laundry I still need to do, or about how Colten hasn’t been eating all of his carefully portioned meals, or about how Colten looked at me right before he passed out.
It’s frustrating, stupid, and a waste of time.
You know what? I’m wasting a perfectly golden opportunity to use the empty apartment.
It takes just a few clicks to pull up a soccer-themed porn video, and soon the apartment is echoing with pornstar Betty Boobs’ sultry voice during a soccer team gangbang. She’s moaning all about how she wants to play with the soccer team’s balls.
