Page 14 of Off the Pitch

Christian rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Yeah, apparently she’s been invited to DJ a last-minute gig tonight. But her set doesn’t start until later, so I have no idea why she left so early.”

I could definitely think of a few reasons. Traitor.

“How suspicious,” I said. There was a slightly awkward pause, and I wondered whether he was actually going to invite me inside. “So, can I come in?”

“Oh… oh, yes! Sorry,” Christian said, pulling the door open. “Please do. Make yourself comfortable.”

The door swung open, and I stepped inside, wondering whether I needed to take my shoes off like I had done when we were kids. Christian must have sensed my hesitation, and he laughed. “It’s okay—you can leave them on. I’m not as picky as my mum.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard him laugh like that. It was so beautiful that I wished I could record it and keep it for later.

The inside of the house was just as gorgeous as the outside. Christian led me along wooden floors covered with stylish rugs, pointing out various rooms shyly and inviting me to peer inside. It was as if he was embarrassed by everything, like it was some ostentatious display of wealth. And sure, it was large, but it was tastefully decorated with pops of colour and beautiful pictures and squishy sofas. It looked like something out of a magazine, but it also looked like a home—well-loved and lived in.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, shooting him an encouraging smile.

“Thanks,” he answered, chewing his lip. “I know it’s big, but—”

“It’s the house you always wanted.”

“Yeah,” he stuttered, blushing again. “I’m still paying for it—the mortgage, that is. And I’m lucky because Lily and Mum did most of the decorating because they have great taste, and I’m not great with things like that, but…” Christian trailed off, fidgeting on the spot and twisting his hands together. Did he want my approval? Was he that worried that I wouldn’t like it? I couldn’t see how anybody wouldn’t because it was the most beautiful house I’d ever been in. It was what we’d talked about buying if we ever made it to the professional leagues.

It might sound like a strange thing for two teenagers to want, but given that we’d both lived in a variety of shitty high-rise flats growing up, a nice house was the most luxurious thing we could dream of. That and a sports car.

“Seriously,” I said, reaching out to put my hand on his arm. His skin was warm and soft beneath my fingers. “I love it. You did good.”

“Thanks… Do you want to see the kitchen?”

“You have a kitchen? You can’t even make toast.”

“I can! Sort of.” Christian shot me what I assumed was a supposed to be an upset look, but it quickly faded into the cheeky grin I’d always associated with him being happy.

I was so fucking doomed.

The kitchen was amazing, but once Christian had explained about Monika, it had all fallen into place. I knew he couldn’t cook! He’d pointed out the instructions she’d left, which I noticed were so simple a child could have followed them. I wasn't the world’s best chef, but even I could figure out how to finish cooking the dinner she’d left. So I did.

Christian’s shy awkwardness seemed to have melted away, and despite my initial reservations, the conversation flowed quite naturally. Football was an easy topic to stick to, so we chatted about his upcoming matches, his teammates, and his training routine. I tried to keep vaguely quiet about the fact that I’d continued to follow his career since he left for Germany and that I’d always been ridiculously proud of him.

He’d been scouted at sixteen by Greenwich Athletic, playing and training with them while squeezing school in around it. I’d been seventeen and considering my new life plan, and even though it hurt a little to watch him live the dream we’d both desperately wished for, I’d still been there cheering him on from the sidelines. It was everything I’d ever wanted for him.

Then my world came crashing down a year later when he went to Germany on a two-year loan deal, with the option of an extra year after that, leaving me behind and shattering my teenage heart into a million pieces. We knew it was for the best. We had different dreams, different things to focus on. I was just starting my second semester at university in London and diving into my studies. I didn’t want to be the one holding Christian back. Still, that shit hurt.

“I think you’ve got a good chance this season,” I said as we settled at the kitchen table to eat. We’d decided against eating in the dining room because that was way too formal, and I was terrified of spilling something in the living room, so the kitchen it was. “Especially as you’re obviously growing as a team. I mean you’re not the youngest, are you? That’s Jordan, isn’t it? And it’s obvious to everyone that Trossero is working to a plan that he started when he came in as manager…” I trailed off, a piece of chicken halfway to my mouth. “What?”

There was an odd look on Christian’s face, something between confusion and joy. “I didn’t know you were a Greenwich fan,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me.

Shit. I wasn’t. As a kid I’d been a die-hard Tottenham Hotspur fan, vaguely switching allegiances when Christian got signed by Greenwich, although I still watched all the Tottenham matches I could. The only reason I followed Greenwich was because of Christian.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My brain had gone into shutdown, an emergency light flashing while ‘warning, warning’ echoed over and over. For once in my life, I had nothing to say except ‘um’ and ‘er’.

“How long?” he asked, fixing me with a determined look that made my insides squirm unpleasantly.

“Um, since you got signed by them?” I said, trying desperately not to get suckered in to looking at him.

“Really? Is it just because of me, or was there another reason?”

“Just you,” I admitted, wondering just how much of a creepy stalker I looked like. Oh well, might as well tell him everything. “I… I might have supported every team you’ve played for since you got signed… and by that, I mean… supported you… sorry.”

I pushed another forkful of food into my mouth, just to make myself shut up. The chicken really was delicious. I’d have to ask for the recipe, if Christian didn’t kick me out of the house first for being the worst kind of weirdo ex-boyfriend who followed your every movement. Fuck, I was such an idiot. How could I not think this would come off as anything but creepy?

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