Chapter 37
Ryan
“Do you need to throw up?” Jamie bends down to talk to me while I’m lacing up my boots.
“What the hell do you want?”
“You’re as white as a sheet.”
I straighten myself up and stand in front of him.
“Don’t you have anyone else to take the piss out of?”
“Mmm…nope. It’s your turn today.”
“Today?”
He flashes me a goofy smile. “You’re my favourite.”
I shake my head and chuck my bag down onto the floor, but he won’t budge.
“You’re getting on my nerves.”
“Am I making you nervous?”
“Who’s nervous?” Ian latches himself onto the conversation.
“Are you two a couple now or something?”
Jamie looks at Ian, then turns back to me.
“Nah, he’s not my type. But stop changing the subject.”
“Why? Were we talking about something?”
“Sure – how nervous you are.”
“I’m not nervous. Or at least I wasn’t, until the world’s most beautiful couple made their appearance.”
“What’s up? Stage fright?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve been played since the first minute.”
“I’m not nervous, like I told you.”
“Oh, hang on,” Ian says, taking his phone out from the pocket of his hoodie.
“Shouldn’t you be putting that away by now?” Jamie says.
Ian flips him his middle finger and answers the phone, taking a few steps away from us.
“So…”
“Shut up, Jamie.”
“Oh, really?” Ian raises his voice and gives me a look. “Well, well… little Ryan,” he says, hanging up and coming back over to us. “So, we have an audience today…”
“What?” My voice is strained.
“Audience?” Jamie asks excitedly.
“Looks like Ryan’s invited someone…”
Fuck.
“Who? Let’s hear it…”
“A woman…” Ian starts.
“So, this is your business now?” I interrupt him.
“Hey, your business is my business.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“That was Riley, she just bumped into Chris in the stands.”
“Who’s Chris?” Jamie asks, turning to me.
“No one.”
Jamie crosses his arms. “Do you want me to call a team meeting and tell everyone that you’ve invited a woman to the game?”
If he wasn’t our captain, I’d have knocked his teeth out by now.
“I invited her son, and I had a spare ticket, so…”
“Son? How old is this friend of yours?”
“Thirty-two,” Ian answers for me.
“So you like an older woman…?”
“Can you just drop it?”
“And how old is this son?”
“Sixteen,” Ian pipes up again.
Jamie looks at me, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Okay, so what?”
“Boys! Let’s go!” The assistant coach saves me from my embarrassment.
I stride past them without making eye contact, but Jamie grabs hold of my arm. “We’re not done here.”
I roll my eyes and head for the changing room door. If I thought I was nervous before, I’m actually about to throw up now. The thought of her being in the crowd wasn’t enough – apparently, I needed their comments to douse me in anxiety, too.
Okay, so I invited her. Her son was coming along, she was on her own…What’s wrong with that?
Nothing, that’s what. It’s not a big deal. It’s just a match, end of story.
So why, when I step out onto the field and join the others in the centre, do I glance over to the stands and smile like an idiot when I see her bright red hair lighting up the row?
“Hey, bro. You need to invite people to watch you play more often,” Ian says during half time, poking me playfully.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, you’re just more enthusiastic, more… more motivated, that’s it.”
“Don’t bullshit, I’m always motivated.”
“No Ryan, you’re never motivated. You play to win, like we all do, but you never have the right motivation. At least, not until today.”
“Don’t start sticking your nose into my life, Ian. It’s nothing, okay?”
“Fine, it’s nothing. But I like this nothing, and clearly so do you,” he wiggles his eyebrows at me before heading towards the guys to talk about tactics.
I take another two minutes to breathe, to try and control the thoughts pulsing aimlessly around my mind.
Because I’ve lost my way, and I have no idea how to get back on the right track.
We head back out onto the field, ready to fight to the end and bring home the victory. I instinctively glance towards the stands again, where Christine and Evan are chatting animatedly – I can see it even from here.
Christine gesticulates, brushes the hair out of her face, and blushes, just as she always does. Then she throws her head back and laughs.
And I realise just how little I know about this woman – yet I feel like I know everything I need to.
I know that I like it when she gets angry, when she looks at me, furiously, and when she gets into my head and crushes me fearlessly.
I know that I like it when she’s knackered, but doesn’t want to show it, hiding just how tough her day’s been, masking all her problems and doubts with that charming smile.
I know that I like the way she nurses a cup of coffee in her hands, as if it were precious, and she was ready to rip off anyone’s fingers who tried to take it away from her.
I know that I like hearing the sound of her voice, which transforms in a second depending on her mood. The way it caresses my ears and my thoughts, infiltrating my body and giving it life again.
I know that I like her lips, the way she nibbles on them, when they laugh, the way they rest against her cup of coffee. The frenzied way that they move as soon as she opens her mouth.
I know that I like everything, even though I shouldn’t.
I know that I like Christine. I like how she makes me feel, and the way she gives me hope. But I also know that I could never like the person I’d become with a woman like her.