Chapter 9 #2
“Well.” She wanted, suddenly, to confide in him.
To have someone to tell all of it to – the pressure of being captain, of the way the team were looking to her, and had been looking to her for months.
She couldn’t talk to Rach or the rest of her teammates; they were part of the pressure, after all.
Georgia's mum and dad didn’t understand – they were too proud of her living her dream – and Tam was always too busy fangirling over stories of Westcliffe and England to give any decent advice.
Georgia rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Last season was tough,” she started. “We didn’t play well. And then, this year…”
“You know,” Matt said, interrupting. “I always thought you had it in you to go all the way.”
Georgia blinked. “You did?”
“Sure,” he shrugged. “Everyone did. There was something about you, an intensity to your game. The girls followed your example – and not just your team.”
He actually meant it. He'd said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the obvious thing in the world. And it sounded like he’d been listening to Maggie. Or that Maggie had been listening to him.
“You’re still intense.” He flashed her a crooked grin. “But it suits you. Now I want to see where it takes you.”
Georgia shook her head. "My mother used to say I was intense. I think she just meant I was stubborn."
"Nothing wrong with that," Matt said, moving his cloth napkin out of the way of the returning waiter. "Stubborn gets things done."
Georgia spooned some of the calamari and a generous dollop of aioli onto her plate. "It also gets me in trouble."
"Story of my life," Matt said. "Once I've made my mind up, I'm not backing down."
"Same," Georgia said around a bite of calamari. "I've had the same pre-match playlist since uni. The girls hate it."
"Let me guess," he said, scratching his stubble thoughtfully. "Bit of old school pop? Like the Spice Girls or McFly? Busted?"
"Eighties rock," she admitted. "With full-on, Glee-style choreography. It's totally cringe and terrible, but I don't care."
Matt laughed, genuine and warm. "Alright, you win. I can't compete with choreography."
"Didn't think so." She took a sip of her drink, trying not to smile too hard.
***
After dinner, they wandered down past the marina.
The old docks had been renovated and turned into a home for posh yachts and over-priced cocktail bars.
The metal shrouds on the masts dinged and clanged as their boats rocked with the waves.
She could see the pier in the distance, the neon lights of the arcades a shining beacon in the night.
Out of nowhere, a seagull swooped down, dive bombing the woman ahead, aiming for the bright orange Sainsbury’s bag in her hand.
The woman shrieked, flinging her hand up over her head for protection.
The bird smashed through the plastic, sending her groceries crashing to the ground, bouncing along the tarmac, and swerved upwards.
It skimmed past Georgia and Matt, close enough that she could feel its wingbeats against the top of her head.
Georgia screamed.
Matt was laughing, shoulders shaking. “Fucking hell!”
He leant back against the metal railings, ignoring the boats behind him to laugh at her. Georgia reached up to check her hair hadn’t somehow been swept away in the bird’s wake.
Matt reached for her hand without making a show of it, thumb tracing small, aimless circles on her knuckles. He looked sideways at her. “You always this jumpy around wildlife? Or just the ocean murder birds?”
Georgia snorted, shaken out of her funk. “It almost took my ear off!” A feather spiralled to the floor between them like it was mocking her. Georgia lifted a hand to her ear, then brought it away to check for blood. “Did it break the skin?”
He stepped in, gentle now. “Let me see.”
Before she could argue, his fingers swept her hair back from her cheek. His touch was light, and it sent little sparks of electricity through her. He cocked his head, inspecting, breath ghosting warm across her neck.
“No blood,” he murmured. “Crisis averted.”
Georgia prodded the side of her head, checking everything was still attached. "Barely."
"Here," he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Proof of life."
His fingers lingered just long enough for her to notice, and Georgia’s breath caught. Everything below her ribcage was soft and treacherous. “Jesus, Matt.”
He pulled back with a satisfied smirk. “What? Had to check it was still attached.”
She shoved him in the chest, hard enough to make him take a step back, but her fingers curled into the lapels of his coat.
He dipped his head, and then his mouth was on hers, warm, coaxing, a little hungry.
Her pulse leapt and she kissed him back hard enough that he laughed, arms wrapping around her waist to draw her in tighter.
“Been wanting to do that since you walked up,” he confessed, voice rough.
She bit her lip, tilting her head up to look at him. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
Georgia felt her entire body flood with warmth, and she looked away.
A passing couple, wrapped up against the autumnal sea breeze, were looking at them.
She stepped back, putting a more respectable distance between their bodies.
It was too cold for too many people to be drinking on the terraces, and the chill wind made Georgia pull her own coat tight around her shoulders.
“Got cold again since the weekend,” Matt observed needlessly. “Want to grab another drink somewhere inside? My treat.”
He gestured to the bar closest to them, full of men in gilets and girls in low-slung jeans, their hair long and straight, unbound and tossed deliberately over their shoulders.
Georgia looked down at the dark water below them, the reflections of the string lights wobbling in the breeze.
“I’ve got to be up early tomorrow,” she said, her voice softer than she’d intended.
Matt’s face twitched, then hardened. He gave a little nod, tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Yeah, I get that.” He swallowed, nodded again. “Same here. Busy life, eh?”
Georgia watched him as he watched the movement of the boats. He was very good looking. His hair fell just right across his forehead, and his shirt might as well have been made for him. She stepped a little closer, the distance just enough to let his warmth seep between them.
“Well,” she said. “I suppose… you do owe me.”
The old confident grin slid back onto his face.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Matt reached for her hand, taking her fingers between his own. For a second, she was back in control, and everything - everything - would click into place if she just let it.
“Come on, then,” she said, and tugged him up the hill towards home.