The Moving Pact
Alicia
Waking up to the soft patter of rain gently tapping against the bedroom window is a delight—let’s not kid ourselves.
But when that awakening includes Clara’s naked body pressed against mine, with one of her legs tangled between mine and her slow, steady breath caressing my collarbone, it’s like touching the sky with my hands.
I lie still for a few minutes, holding my breath so as not to break the spell.
The grayish morning light filters timidly through the slats of the blinds, tracing lines of light across her back.
Her hair is tousled, her lips slightly swollen from last night’s wild kisses, and she has that peaceful expression she so rarely shows when she’s wearing her work uniform.
I try to shift a little to stretch my left leg, but my knee—that eternal pain in the neck—protests with a subtle crack.
Instantly, I feel Clara stir beside me. She wrinkles that perfect little nose of hers, lets out a sleepy grunt that melts my insides, and, without opening her eyes, slides a warm hand up my thigh until it rests right on the joint.
“Your kneecap cracked. And the tendon’s tight,” she murmurs in that hoarse, just-woke-up voice that gives me goosebumps. “If I find out you’ve been acting crazy in your sleep, I’ll put you on a stretching regimen you’ll never forget.”
“Good morning to you, too…” I reply, letting out a hearty laugh and wrapping my arm around her waist to pull her closer to me. “You’re so obsessed with physically examining me the moment I open my eyes. Can’t you just hug me like a normal person and tell me how irresistible I am?”
Clara half opens one eye and leans against my chest with a sidelong smile.
“You’re pretty irresistible, I won’t deny it,” she says, giving me a playful nibble on the chin.
“But even though I’m not your physical therapist anymore, I’m still the one responsible for keeping that leg in shape, so my professional bias is included in the package.
By the way, it’s your turn to get up and make coffee.
I already put in enough physical effort yesterday carrying you around on the couch. ”
“Hey!” I protest, utterly indignant as I tickle her sides, making her squirm under the sheets and burst into a delightful laugh. “Let me remind you that I was the one who took control in the second round—after all, I am number nine on the Ravenhill FC roster, and I’ve got enviable explosive power.”
“You’ve got power to spare, wild one, but you’re a bit short on finesse,” she teases, nimbly wriggling free of my hands and sitting up in bed, revealing the perfect curve of her back.
“Come on, get moving. If we don’t get a move on, you’ll be late to the facility, and Hugo’s going to hang you from a pine tree. ”
At the mention of the training facility, the festive atmosphere in the bedroom undergoes a subtle shift.
The reality of what we did yesterday at the gym—that kiss right in front of the entire team and coaching staff—begins to hang heavy in the air.
I’m not afraid, not in the least, but I know full well that the front office doesn’t handle things with the same ease as we do in the locker room.
I sit up slowly, leaning my back against the headboard, and watch her as she puts on some clothes.
“Do you think the news has reached Julián yet?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light but unable to hide my curiosity.
Clara turns around, pausing halfway through pulling her hair into a makeshift bun. Her expression turns serious, professional, analytical.
“Julián can’t do anything anymore. You were within your rights to do that interview, and I…
well, I completely ignored the fact that I’m no longer a member of the club and therefore can’t just walk into the training facility whenever I want,” she replies, coming over to my side of the bed to plant a tender kiss on my lips.
“But don’t worry about that. Just focus on getting your knee back in shape and scoring goals. ”
“No way,” I snap, grabbing her wrist gently but with unyielding determination. “If he says anything to you, I’ll go remind him that my contract has a termination clause that would give more than one sponsor a heart attack if I decided to exercise it.”
Clara smiles, running her knuckles across my cheek in a gesture full of tenderness.
“Come on, go to the kitchen before I pounce on your mouth and keep you from leaving here.”
The breakfast routine is pure domestic comedy.
Her kitchen is small, with a minimalist design that isn’t meant for a woman who’s nearly six feet tall to move around freely without bumping her elbows against the cabinets.
I end up burning the first batch of toast because I’m mesmerized watching Clara try to reach the bowls on the top shelf, standing on her tiptoes and displaying a flexibility that makes me lose my cool.
“Alicia, the toast is smoking!” she shouts, pointing at the toaster with a furrowed brow.
“It’s an avant-garde smoking technique that’s all the rage in Spain, Doctor—you just don’t understand haute cuisine,” I defend myself, hurriedly scraping the charred slices with a knife while bursting into laughter.
“What I do know is that if you quit soccer, you’ll starve to death as a waitress,” she mocks, snatching the knife from my hands and spreading the jam with exasperating slowness.
We sit down at the small kitchen table, sharing the space with a closeness that fills my chest with an unfamiliar sense of peace.
It’s a strange but wonderful feeling. I’ve spent years living in hotels, in sterile rental apartments, jumping from one training camp to another, feeling deeply alone despite being surrounded by thousands of fans chanting my name every weekend.
But here, sharing some burnt toast and a latte, I feel like I’ve found my place in the world.
“Clara,” I say suddenly, setting my cup down on the table and looking her straight in the eyes.
She pauses, with the toast halfway to her mouth, sensing the seriousness in my voice.
“This whole thing about having to coordinate our schedules—me coming here or you going to my apartment… it really gets on my nerves.”
Clara sighs deeply, setting the toast down on her plate, and her gaze grows thoughtful, filled with that maturity that always fascinates me.
“I don’t like it either. But that’s what couples usually do, isn’t it? Besides, now that they know we’re a couple, I highly doubt the press will stop hounding you and turning our relationship into a soap opera.”
“Well, screw the press,” I snap at her with that vehemence so typical of me, leaning toward her across the table. “It doesn’t matter how much they hound us. In the end, my life… I want my life with you. I want this, Clara. Every single day.”
She watches me in silence for a few seconds that feel like an eternity. I see the emotion welling up in her eyes, her expression softening, and her swallowing hard as she tries to take in the weight of my words.
“Are you proposing to me…? Or is it the caffeine making my head spin?” she asks with a trembling smile, though her fingers squeeze mine tightly.
“I’m proposing that you stop paying rent on this apartment and move everything over to my place,” I blurt out point-blank, without beating around the bush, with the same determination I bring to a one-on-one with the opposing goalkeeper.
“My apartment is ten minutes from the sports complex, it has a huge terrace, a room where we could display all your trophies and mine, and, most importantly, it has a bed that’s way bigger than this one.
What do you say? Do you dare move in with the league’s most troublesome forward? ”
Clara lets out a choked laugh, her cheeks flushed with a lovely blush, and shakes her head as if she can’t believe my audacity.
“You’re one presumptuous girl. Since when do you ask your partner to move in with you like this?”
“Ever since I knew exactly what I wanted. I’m not going to waste a single second,” I reply, winking at her with total swagger.
“All right, I accept,” she says, reaching out to give me a kiss that tastes of coffee and jam. “We’ll move in together. But on one condition: I get to decide how to display all the trophies, because your taste in decor is about as subtle as your runs into the box.”
“Deal,” I say, laughing heartily, feeling like the luckiest woman on the planet.
· · ·
Two hours later, the idyllic atmosphere of the kitchen vanishes the moment we walk through the security gate of Ravenhill FC’s training complex.
The rain has stopped, leaving the asphalt gleaming and the scent of wet earth filling the air.
We decide to enter separately to avoid fueling the club’s gossip, but the main hallway is already a hive of whispers.
I run into Alba at the entrance to the locker rooms. She looks at me with an ear-to-ear smile and gives me a subtle nudge in the ribs.
“What a killer goal you scored yesterday at the gym. The girls are still talking about that play,” she teases me in a low voice.
“Cut the crap—we have a video session today, and I’m not in the mood for jokes,” I reply, trying to keep a straight face, though my smile gives me away.
I head to my locker, quickly change into my practice gear, and step out into the hallway, planning to stop by the treatment room to talk to Iván and ask him about the results of the latest tests.
But as I approach the office area, I see Julián coming out of his office.
He’s carrying a folder under his arm, his jaw set, and wearing that stern expression that doesn’t bode well.
As soon as he sees me, he gives me a curt nod.
“Alicia. Just the person I was looking for. Come into my office, please. And you too, Clara,” he says, raising his voice toward the end of the hallway, where I see Clara standing.
I feel the adrenaline surge through me instantly. I assume a defensive stance, clenching my fists inside the pockets of my club sweatshirt. Clara, looking at me, conveys absolute serenity with her eyes—a silent message urging me to stay calm and keep a cool head.
We both enter the office. It’s a spacious room with enormous windows offering a perfect panoramic view of the training fields. Julián takes his place behind his imposing wooden desk, slams the folder down on the table, and crosses his arms, watching us with a seriousness that feels oppressive.
“I suppose you can guess the reason for this meeting,” he begins, his icy voice echoing off the office walls. “What happened yesterday afternoon at the gym was a disgraceful spectacle from the standpoint of club discipline.”
“There was nothing disgraceful about it, Director,” I cut him off immediately, stepping forward with an indomitable arrogance that wells up from deep within me.
I feel Clara give me a light nudge with her foot to shut me up, but I don’t give a damn.
“It was a natural gesture between two adults. We weren’t breaking any rules.
Besides, Clara doesn’t work here anymore. ”
“Alicia, shut up and let me speak!” Julián orders, raising his voice as he taps the table with his index finger.
“The club has multimillion-dollar sponsorship contracts tied to the public image of its stars. The exclusive interview you gave the press two days ago has already caused a stir among the board of directors, but the fact that Clara is wandering around here as she pleases when she’s no longer part of the club is a flagrant violation of our security and privacy protocols.
How am I supposed to justify your behavior to the rest of the team?
What’s more, what will the rest of your teammates think of all this?
I have to enforce strict rules for everyone. ”
Julián’s words cut through the office like daggers.
I know that, from a purely business standpoint, he’s partly right, but the cold, corporate way he lays out the problems turns my stomach.
I’m about to fire back with one of my trademark retorts—the kind that would cost me a fine—when Clara steps forward, positioning herself a hand’s breadth in front of me.
“Julián, you’re absolutely right about my visits and my behavior,” Clara says in a measured, firm voice, devoid of any hint of anger or fear.
The sporting director looks at her, surprised by her composure.
“I took the liberty of using my seniority at this club to come in and see her, but I promise it won’t happen again.
I won’t allow anyone to cast doubt on Ravenhill FC’s integrity, nor will I jeopardize Alicia’s career or that of the other girls.
I’m the first one who wants this club to be at the top of the league. ”
Julián looks at her intently and then turns his gaze to me.
“As for you, I hope you channel all that energy and anger onto the field. The best way to honor the decision Clara made and everything you said in that interview is by proving that you’re the best forward in the country.
I don’t want to see a single distraction in training this week. Is that clear?”
“You’re going to have to hire a new maintenance worker to fix the goal nets, Director. Because I plan to tear every one of them to shreds,” I assure him in a voice brimming with the promise of goals.
“You can go now. And don’t be late for the video session, or Hugo will be climbing the walls.”
As we both leave the office and I walk Clara back to the sports complex parking lot, the walk unfolds in a silence heavy with emotion.
When we reach her car, she turns toward me, leaning against the side of it.
Rain is threatening to fall again from the sky, but I couldn’t care less.
I wrap my arms around her waist with a desperate need, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent with such force that she almost loses her balance.
“Listen to me carefully,” Clara says, cupping my face with both hands and forcing me to look her straight in the eye.
Her smile is wide, radiant, devoid of any hint of regret.
“Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean we won’t see each other anymore.
You’ve asked me to move in with you, so I promise that, from now on, you’re going to get sick of seeing my face and hearing me nag you every time you tell me your knee hurts. ”
I look into her dark eyes—so clear and full of light—and feel my heart skip a beat with pure happiness. The unease melts away, giving way to a mischievous smile that I can no longer—and no longer want to—hide.
“Get in the car now and go pack everything up. We have an official move to organize and an entire league to win. Because if you think that by leaving the club, you’re going to stop working, you’re crazy. I want us to keep doing this together.”
“Don’t doubt it, because I’m never going to leave you.”