Page 228 of Off the Pitch

FélixFine, but you’re no fun!

JordanGo get some coffee. You’re fucking useless without it

JordanAnd send me a pic?

FélixAnd you say I’m the demanding one? =P

Félix[Sent new picture]

I chuckled, then stifled a groan as Félix’s picture came through. His tanned chest was spread out on white sheets, and a sheet was draped across one thigh but still exposed his cock lying against his hip. Just the sight of it was making me drool, and I wished I could stretch out next to him and swallow him down.

“Stop sending each other filth when I’m right here,” Liam said. He grabbed the pillow from behind him and threw it at me, although his aim was so piss-poor it sailed straight past me to land on the floor by my feet.

“I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are! I can see you drooling from here, and you fucking moaned.”

“Well, you would too if you saw Félix’s body!”

“Fuck my life,” Liam groaned, rolling over and trying to smother himself with the other pillow. “You’re gonna be like this the whole fucking trip, aren’t you?”

“Like what?”

“Insufferable!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

#train #pain #worldcup2020

Jordan

The next few days passed in a blur.

Our schedule was packed with training, physio, team activities to help us bond, and the occasional media appearance or photoshoot. Our downtime was limited, and I fell into bed every night exhausted but over the moon.

I was starting to get used to playing in the dry Italian heat, which was a good thing considering our first match was only a week away. We were lucky to have an evening kick-off for the first one, which meant the heat wouldn’t be quite so intense, but it was still hotter than I’d ever played in before. I wasn’t going to complain though. This was the World Cup, and I was living my dream. As long as we didn’t totally crash and burn, I was going to enjoy it no matter the result.

We’d been told that our aim was the quarter-finals, since at the last World Cup England hadn’t managed to get out of the group stages. That meant we had to get through the group and the round of sixteen, which I didn’t think was going to be too much of a challenge. We’d gotten lucky in our group. Our most difficult match-up was against Argentina, and we were playing them first. If we could beat them, we’d be off and running.

I was trying not to think about it too much because I knew if I started overthinking it, I wouldn’t be able to do what I did best. Liam and I already had a pact to keep an eye on Christian, and we’d both solemnly promised David to let him know if things went south. Christian was known for his love of statistics and analysis, but he also had a habit of being hard on himself and getting so lost in numbers that his own brain turned against him. And that was not happening here.

Today, we had a morning of training on the pitch outside, followed by stretching and some light strength training this afternoon, and tonight there was some sort of team cook-off happening. I’d already decided, if it was being done in teams, I was going to nab Christian and just make him do all the prep work since his cooking skills ranked at non-existent. Plus, he’d do exactly as I told him and wouldn’t try to argue.

The sky was already a cloudless blue, the heat rising around me as I stepped out of the air-conditioned training centre and walked out to the pitch. I took a deep breath, revelling in this moment. Everything was so fucking perfect right now I almost couldn’t believe this was my life. I don’t think thirteen-year-old Jordan would’ve believed me if I’d told him we’d get to go to the World Cup at twenty-three. He’d have just laughed at me.

The first exercises were designed around speed, and I couldn’t help grinning as the coach explained what he wanted us to do. I was practically bouncing on the spot, waiting for my turn to race across the pitch.

We went in groups of five, and I lined up alongside my group, waiting for the signal.

The whistle blew, and I was off, racing down the pitch as the soft Italian breeze caressed my skin. I knew I was faster than the others. The sheer joy and exhilaration of running flooded me with delight, and I couldn’t help grinning as I turned around the cone at the end, seconds ahead of the others, and began racing back towards the group.

This was easy.

Except two strides later I put my foot down and something tugged in the back of my leg. I tried to ignore it, hobbling for another step. Pain lanced up my thigh, and it gave way underneath me. I collapsed to the ground, clutching the back of my thigh. My whole leg felt like it was on fire. And all I could hear was my brain screaming in my ears.

The medical room at the training centre was cool and bright with a padded treatment bench in the middle that I was currently spread out on.

I stared at the floor while the doctor examined the back of my leg, praying and pleading this wasn’t anything more than a bad cramp. I couldn’t get injured now. I was so close. To have it ripped away from me now was something I couldn’t bear to think about.

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