Chapter 24 Chloe
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHLOE
The first thing I notice is the ache in my lips. It’s faint, but it’s there, like a ghost of last night’s bruising kisses, like my body reminding me. You did that. You let him in. And you wanted it.
I’m still lying in bed, tangled in sheets, hair sticking out in a hundred directions. My phone sits on the nightstand, face down, but the memory of it buzzing at midnight flashes through me. A single word from Ollie after I got home. Safe?
That’s what undid me, more than the heat of his mouth in the locker room or the weight of his hands. That simple, quiet check-in that cut through all my defences.
I drag myself up, pad barefoot into the kitchen, and turn the kettle on.
My flat smells faintly of toast from yesterday, and the curtains are only half drawn, letting in pale morning light.
Everything looks so ordinary. My life hasn’t changed on the outside, but inside?
Inside I feel like someone’s taken a crowbar to the walls I built and pried them open.
I should be terrified. And I am. But under the fear is something warmer. Something dangerous.
I make coffee, pour it into my China mug, and pull my laptop open at the counter. Work emails. Spreadsheets. Notes for next week’s pitch meeting. The normal hum of life that usually grounds me. Today it feels flat, like a cover song that can’t quite hit the right notes.
Because all I want to think about is Ollie.
The way his grin tugged sideways when he leaned in last night. The feel of his chest under my hands, solid and real. The sound he made when I tugged his jersey. And the shock of Jonno’s voice catching us in the act.
I cringe into my coffee. Of all the people. Jonno isn’t a gossip, but still, the risk of it spreading makes my stomach knot. The team finding out? Murphy finding out? It’s one thing to let myself fall. It’s another to blow up his world in the process.
My phone buzzes again.
Ollie: Thinking about you. Breakfast plans?
I stare at it, lips caught between my teeth. My instinct is to pull back, to keep my ground. But then I remember last night, how I melted the second he touched me, how the air felt electric, charged. I can’t pretend I don’t want more.
I type back before I can overthink.
Me: Not breakfast. Coffee. My place. Eleven.
When the knock comes, I’ve already cleaned the kitchen twice and changed my outfit three times. I settle on jeans and a cropped jumper, casual but not too casual.
I open the door and there he is, hair damp like he’s just showered, hoodie pulled up, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. The kind of grin that says we’re both remembering the same thing.
“Morning,” he says, low and warm.
“Coffee,” I answer, pretending my pulse isn’t sprinting.
We move around my kitchen like it’s a dance we’ve rehearsed, him grabbing mugs, me pouring coffee, shoulders brushing as we cross paths. Every touch sparks. I can feel the heat radiating off him, like his body can’t stop reminding me what it felt like pressed against mine.
But instead of tearing into each other, we sit at the counter, steaming mugs between us, and talk.
About the game. About Murphy’s ludicrous shinpad goal reenactment. About Jacko’s brownies. About nothing, and everything.
And it’s nice. Too nice. I’m not used to nice.
At one point, he catches me staring. “What?” he asks, smirking.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. But my cheeks burn, and I know he can see right through me.
The conversation drifts and I ask about his physio sessions, he admits his hip’s been screaming at him. “Coach is on my back about it,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.
“Because he actually wants you to last the season without shattering something,” I point out.
He shoots me a look that’s half amusement, half fondness. “You sound like Mia.”
“Maybe Mia’s right,” I say, sipping my coffee.
“Maybe I just need better distractions,” he fires back, and the way his eyes linger on me sends heat rushing through my veins.
I laugh, but it comes out shaky. God, he’s dangerous.
He doesn’t look away when I laugh, not even when I duck my head to hide how flustered I feel. His gaze stays pinned on me, steady and sure, like he’s not afraid of what he wants me to see.
“Better distractions, huh?” I say, teasing, though my voice comes out softer than I intend.
The corner of his mouth curves, slow and deliberate. “Exactly like that.”
Before I can fire back, he reaches across the counter, fingers brushing mine.
Just a light touch, but it’s enough to send my pulse tripping.
Then he stands, circling the island with a predator’s patience, every step deliberate.
My breath catches as he comes up behind me, caging me between his body and the counter.
His hand slides along my hip, warm through the fabric of my shirt. “You know how hard it is, sitting here, pretending coffee’s enough?”
I turn, caught between his chest and the countertop. My heart is racing, hammering in my ribs. “Maybe coffee’s safer.”
“Since when do we do safe?” His lips brush mine, just once, barely there. The restraint in it makes me ache.
I don’t want restraint. Not now.
So, I grab the front of his hoodie and pull him down to me, kissing him back hard enough to erase the space he left.
He groans against my mouth, low and rough, and the sound shoots straight through me.
His hands grip my waist, sliding up my spine, anchoring me like he can’t stand the thought of letting go.
The kiss turns frantic fast, teeth grazing, tongues tangling, every movement edged with the urgency we both tried to hold back. He lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing, stepping between my thighs. I gasp against his mouth, clinging to his shoulders.
“Chloe,” he mutters, like my name’s the only word he remembers.
I thread my fingers into his damp hair, tugging him closer, drinking him in. The heat between us is electric, dizzying, but there’s a sweetness beneath it too, like neither of us can believe we get to have this.
When his mouth trails down my jaw to my throat, I can’t stop the sound that escapes me. His teeth graze lightly, just enough to make me shiver. I press closer, legs tightening around his hips, greedy for more.
For a moment, the world is just this - his hands, his mouth, the sharp burn of wanting him.
And then, just as quickly, he pulls back, breath ragged, forehead resting against mine. “If I don’t stop now, I won’t.”
The words land heavy between us. My chest rises and falls fast, and I know my cheeks are flushed. I don’t want him to stop, but the honesty in his voice makes me still.
I nod, though my body is screaming otherwise. “Okay.”
His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, swollen from kissing. His eyes are dark, wrecked, but he steps back anyway, giving me space.
The loss of his heat feels unbearable, but there’s something grounding in it too. Like he’s reminding me we’re more than just this fire that keeps flaring between us.
I slide off the counter, adjusting my shirt, heart still racing. He kisses me one more time, softer this time, almost tender. Then he steps back fully, grabbing his mug like we really are just drinking coffee.
But my body knows better.
“I have to go, I wish I didn’t but I’ve got something on I can’t get out of.” He smiles regretfully then turns to place his mug in the sink. Theres a brief kiss to my lips and then he leaves.
After he’s gone, I curl on the sofa and let myself breathe.
This is real. This is happening. And it’s more than physical. I can feel it in the way my chest loosens when he’s near, in the way I actually sleep through the night after hearing his voice.
But it’s also a problem. Because I don’t do relationships. Not since the mess I created with Murphy. And Ollie? He’s not some faceless fling. He’s in the spotlight. He’s tangled up with teammates who’d never forgive me if they knew.
I close my eyes and press the heel of my hand to my forehead. I can’t let myself ruin this for him. But God help me, I don’t know if I can stay away.
By mid-afternoon, Hannah video calls.
“So,” she says, voice sharp with curiosity. “You’ve been dodging me since Tuesday. Spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill.”
“Liar. You’ve got that smug just-had-sex glow.”
My jaw drops. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do.” She laughs, leaning closer on the screen. “Don’t even try to deny it. That grin’s giving you away.”
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks are already hot. “You’re insufferable.”
“Uh-huh. So… how was it? With Ollie?” Her tone is teasing, but her eyes are sharp, searching.
My stomach flips. We’ve already crossed that line, and Hannah knows it. What she doesn’t know, what I can’t quite bring myself to say, is how it’s different with him. How it’s not just the sex that has me floating.
I bite my lip. “It was… good.”
“Good?” she repeats, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s all I get? Good?”
I groan, covering my face with one hand. “Amazing, okay? The man knows what he’s doing.”
Hannah squeals, clapping her hands together like we’re sixteen again. “Yes! Finally, someone who doesn’t deserve the Chloe eye-roll of doom.”
Her joy is infectious, but there’s a tightness in my chest. I drop my hand, shrugging. “It’s not just that, though. He’s different.”
“Different how?”
I hesitate, words tangling on my tongue. Serious. Steady. The kind of man who makes me wonder what comes next, and that terrifies me. I can’t say that, not yet. So, I settle on, “He actually cares.”
Hannah’s smile softens. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
That night, I’m restless. The flat feels too quiet, too big. My laptop sits open on the coffee table, work documents glowing back at me, but I can’t focus. My thoughts keep circling back to him.
Finally, I cave and type out a message.
Me: Tomorrow. Dinner. My treat.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Ollie: You mean date number two?
I roll my eyes, grinning despite myself.
Me: Don’t get cocky.
He shoots back.
Ollie: Too late, I already am.
And just like that, the weight in my chest lightens. Maybe it’s reckless. Maybe it’s doomed. But right now, it feels unstoppable.