Page 133 of My Italian Love Affair

I frown as I move my hand around again, certain I must have got it wrong. But when I still can’t find what I’m looking for, I pull my bag onto my lap and search through it with my eyes, just to be one hundred percent sure.

Yep - I was right.

I’ve gone and left my laptop charger in the press box.

I groan, slamming my palm against the steering wheel.

"Unbelievable."

I could always just set off home and make do without it, but stubbornness kicks in. I need that charger, and I know I'll regret not going back for it now when I’m right outside the stadium if I have to set off for it first thing in the morning instead.

I mutter some choice words under my breath as I unbuckle my seatbelt and make my way back toward the stadium entrance.

The whole place is eerily quiet now. Most of the fans have cleared out, and the hallways feel like empty corridors, the echo of my footsteps the only sound.

Although it’s admittedly a little creepy, I find myself overall oddly calm in the solitude.

I’ve almost reached the door of the press box when I hear footsteps behind me.

I can’t explain how, but I instinctively know who it is before I turn around.

"Forgotten something,giornalista?"

Matteo is alone.

He’s clean, now; no longer wearing his dirty kit with mud streaked across his face and arms, but is instead dressed in a dark tracksuit that compliments his olive skin, his hair slightly damp from his post-match shower.

"Shouldn't you be celebrating, Rossi?” I ask. “Or are you planning on spending the night here?"

“I’m in no rush to leave,” he shrugs. “Butyoudefinitelyshouldn’t be here.”

I suddenly feel very caught out.

“I… may have forgotten my laptop charger,” I admit.

"Wow. I was just joking,” he says, his lips twitching as he steps closer. “You? Forget something? I’m shocked."

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, trying to brush off the way his proximity affects me. “I’m just as shocked as you are. What can I say - it happens to the best of us.”

Matteo’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than necessary.

“Sure,” he says, voice low. “But you always seem so…in control. I thought this would be impossible.”

"Well, Iamhuman," I reply. “Even if it doesn’t look that way.”

"I guess we all have our moments," he smirks. “But you’ve got it all together, right?”

"Oh please. You’re making me out to be the poster child for perfect organisation or something."

“I don’t know," he teases. "You seem pretty put together when you’re covering our matches. It’s… kind of impressive, actually."

I deliberately ignore the slight flutter in my stomach at the compliment as I arch a brow at him.

"It’s myjobto be impressive, Rossi. Trust me, there’s nothing special about it."

“I don’t know,giornalista.You seem special to me.”

He leans back slightly, eyes scanning me from head to toe; and I could swear that this man enjoys pushing my buttons just to see how far he can go before I crack.

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