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NOTHING'S GONNA HURT YOU BABY BY CIGARETTES AFTER SEX
Oliver’s in the middle of filling his to-go coffee mug when I wander into the kitchen, hair damp from the shower we took together this morning.
“You put on real clothes today,” I tease, glancing at his black trousers and gray wool coat.
He smirks, grabbing his bag that’s hanging over a chair. “Well, some of us have jobs that require leaving the flat.”
“Some of us are lucky to work remotely on light days,” I counter.
“There are no light days when Carlos is involved,” he quips. Oliver opens the fridge and gestures inside. “Made you breakfast.”
I peer past him and spot a container of scrambled eggs and bacon. “My hero.”
He grins, leaning down to kiss the top of my head on his way past. “Yes, I am, considering your breakfast otherwise would have been coffee and more coffee.”
“There is nothing wrong with a breakfast of coffee,” I retort.
“There is when two hours later you have a stomachache and don’t know why. I tell you it’s because you’ve consumed nothing but coffee and you don’t believe me.”
I smile and head into the living room, sinking into the couch and throwing a blanket across my lap. He shifts around my apartment, putting a protein shake in the fridge for later and slipping on his shoes. It feels so normal, like this is something we do every morning.
"Alright, I’m off,” he says, lingering in the doorway for a moment like he doesn’t actually want to leave.
“Be nice to all the other kids at training,” I call after him.
He gives me a mock salute, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the quiet apartment. The blanket is warm, my coffee is perfect, and there’s breakfast in the fridge—because in the middle of his routine, Oliver thought of me.
And maybe that’s what’s making my chest flutter a little. Not the eggs, or the kiss, or even the teasing. It’s the fact that for the first time in a very long time, there’s someone I look forward to seeing every day. Someone who feels worth missing the second they’re gone.
With Matt, any time I spent alone in the apartment meant keeping my head down, watching over my shoulder in case he came home early and found me doing something he didn’t like. Even something as harmless as baking cookies or reading in bed would set him off on the wrong day.
But now, when Oliver leaves, I look forward. I miss him the second he’s gone. I spend my time counting the hours until he comes back. I peer out the windows, waiting excitedly for him instead of anxiously bracing myself.
Because I miss him.
And because I want to tell him about my day.
There’s such a difference between being controlled and being seen.
By noon, I’ve made two calls, answered four emails, and stared at my to-do list long enough to convince myself that simply “thinking about it” counts as work.
I reward myself by spending most of the day unapologetically binging British reality television.
Right now, it’s a marathon of Four in a Bed, and god, I love it so much. It’s one of the most quintessentially British things I’ve seen since moving over here. It’s literally just bed-and-breakfast owners staying at each other’s places, judging every little thing like it’s life or death.
I lean forward with anticipation as one woman runs her fingertip along the top of a wardrobe, then pulls it back like she’s discovered blood at a crime scene.
“Ohhh,” I say, to literally no one. “Dust. She’s gonna knock them for the dust.”
There’s something so wonderfully absurd about the passive-aggressive things they find to complain about. The woman right now is complaining about lousy sleep because the cows made too much noise—on a literal farm.
The tension is so thick, you could spread it on toast.
By the time the fifth episode ends, my brain feels like it's slowly turning into mush. I’ve been curled up on the sofa for hours, except for my brief venture into the kitchen to bake cinnamon rolls.
One of the bed-and-breakfasts had them, and I couldn’t get it out of my head, so into the kitchen I went.
I need a change of pace. I grab my phone and decide to FaceTime my mother. Dad is away on business in Ohio, so I know she’s alone in New York right now.
“Hi!” Mom’s face fills the screen, her short brown hair down and blown out. She’s at her desk at the office, a cup of coffee in hand. “How are you, honey?”
“Good,” I say, taking a sip of my own coffee. “Working from the apartment today.”
“Getting anything done?”
“Well, I made cinnamon rolls,” I quip. “How’s work for you?”
“Funny you should ask,” she says with a sly grin. “We wanted to tell you this after your father got back from Ohio, but I’m too excited. I’m retiring in May.”
I blink, shocked. “What? No, you’re not.”
“I am,” she says, eyes sparkling. “So is your father.”
My mouth drops open. “Okay, seriously, what? Work has been your life since before I was born. Both of you.”
“I know. We’ve loved our careers. But we love each other more, Addison. It’s time.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Well, we made a list. A bucket list.”
“Mom, are you—”
“Everyone is fine, Addison.” She laughs, realizing where my mind was going.
“Everyone is healthy and very happy about this. We just made a list of places we want to see and things we want to do. We’ve traveled all over for work, but never really been anywhere.
We decided it’s time to start living instead of waiting. ”
“You’re really serious about this.”
“Yes.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Life is made up of moments. I want more of them, especially while we can still climb mountains and take dance lessons without needing a hip replacement.”
I giggle, but something in my chest twists too, because it’s also so unexpectedly romantic.
“You seem so much lighter and happier,” I admit. I’ve never seen Mom this settled before, and I’ve watched her work a boardroom like no one's business. “I’m really happy for you, Mom.”
She sets her coffee down and studies me, smiling. “You also seem… happy and light lately, Addison. Anything going on with you?”
I hesitate, completely aware of what’s making me seem that way, but unsure of how to explain it. I won’t lie to my mother, and she’d pull it out of me by force anyway.
“Okay… don’t read into this too much,” I start, fiddling with the sleeve of my hoodie. “You know, Oliver, right? I’ve told you about him.”
“The team captain, yes?” she asks. I nod, then her smile turns wicked. “And the man whose hoodie you're wearing?”
Shit.
I glance down and realize I completely forgot I’m wearing his hoodie. It’s a soft, gray hoodie with the logo of the pub in his hometown—the one his childhood friend’s family owns.
“Well, yeah.” I laugh nervously. No sense dancing around this now. “So… we’re kind of… dating. It’s casual. Just for the season.”
Her eyebrows lift, and she gives me that sharp, assessing look she seems to have perfected. “Casual, huh?”
“Yes.”
“And you really think you can keep it casual? Just enjoy it for the season and walk away at the end?”
“I do,” I insist. “We agreed on it. Honestly, it feels good to just be together without all the pressure.”
“But maybe it feels good to just be together because you’re right for each other.”
“Mom,” I warn.
She smiles softly. “I won’t press it. If it makes you happy in the now, then I’m glad you have it.” She pauses for a moment. “But I need you to remember this, Addison. Your life is made up of moments too. Don’t wait too long for them.”
I head down the hallway toward Addison’s flat. It feels like mine too sometimes with how often I’m here. I let myself in with the key she pretends she didn’t mean to give me. It sits on my keyring like it belongs there.
The warm scent of something sweet hits me immediately—cinnamon, I think. Whatever it is, it just smells like comfort, and after today's grueling training session, I need it.
I kick off my trainers and drop my bag by the door. Her face lights up when she hears me come in, and I swear I could come home to that every day.
“Did you move at all today?” I call out, teasing as I look into the lounge. Addison is curled up on the sofa in my hoodie, in just about the same spot I left her in this morning.
“Well, I walked to the kitchen,” she says, grinning. “And back. Twice.”
“Heroic.”
“I know.”
I lean over the back of the couch and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Good day?”
“Mhmm.” She smiles and tips her head toward the kitchen. “I made cinnamon rolls.”
“So that’s what I smelled in the hallway.” I change into sweatpants and join her on the sofa. She immediately plops her feet in my lap like she’s had the physically taxing day, not me.
She’s got the telly on, but we’re not really watching. I tell her about training—how Carlos tripped over a cone and then tried to fight it, how Sebastian got called out for practicing his goal celebrations. She laughs, licking the frosting from her finger.
“I spent the day binging Four in a Bed,” she says, smacking her lips. “Five episodes. I couldn’t stop.”
“You and my mum.” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “She can’t get enough of it either.”
“It’s so good!”
We’ve been at this since December—going back and forth between my place and hers. Hiding out together at night and parting in the morning like nothing happened. Two months of hiding, of stolen glances. All the while I’ve been playing the best football of my life, and that can’t be a coincidence.
We order a cheeky takeaway and watch old Top Gear episodes—the good ones, with the original cast. The only cast, I argue every time. She eats it up, laughing every time Hammond crashes his car or Clarkson thinks he has the challenge in the bag.
Later, when she falls asleep halfway through an episode, I don’t move. I sit there with her, a blanket tugged over us both, her breathing soft against my neck.
This is just easy. Comfortable. She says this is all it can ever be, that we have a finite amount of time. But this… this feels like home.
So I just enjoy this, whatever it is, for what it is. Because tomorrow morning, we step out of the bubble. We go to work, and we’re just friendly coworkers again. Then we have the match this weekend, and the cameras following my every move.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I gently lift Addison off me and slide a pillow in my place, pressing a kiss to her forehead before I grab my phone. The team group chat is blowing up.
Brennan: Big match this weekend, lads. How are we feeling?
Carlos: Think I’m gonna score a hat trick.
Sebastian: I’ll give you my car if you manage to score 3 goals.
Brennan: 50 quid says Cap gets booked.
Carlos: Nah, he’s been suspiciously calm lately. Either meditating or shagging someone, I think.
Me: You know I’m here, right?
Hold on, what would Addison do here? Carlos, though he’s joking, is getting dangerously close to the truth, and I’m a terrible liar. Time to pivot.
Me: 50 quid Stan has a meltdown before half-time.
Sebastian: You’re on.
Crisis averted.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket and let the lads continue chirping about who might score and who will get a yellow card first.
I glance back over at Addison. She’s still curled up, legs tangled, arms holding on to the pillow as if it were me.
And then she blinks sleepily, like she knows I’m there.
“Hey,” she murmurs.
“Come on,” I say, dropping to my knees in front of her, brushing her hair back. “I’ll take you to bed.”
“But we’re watching the show,” she says groggily.
I chuckle. “Hammond will crash. James wins. Jeremy will moan about it. You’re all caught up. Let’s go to bed.”
She yawns. “Okay.”
I lift her easily. Her arms wrap around my neck, and I carry her into the bedroom. She’s asleep again by the time I lay her down and slide under the covers beside her.
I brush a strand of hair from her forehead, letting my fingers linger there for a moment before running down the side of her face.
“Addie,” I whisper. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
I pull her close to me, draping my arm around her. I know my mind should be preparing for the match this weekend, but I’m starting to dread each match day. All they are is a reminder—a countdown—letting me know this will all come to an end.
But for now, this is ours.