Page 86 of Winning Match
@FutbolGuru @AleGarcia9 is fucking shit up for @LeagueValenciaOfficial. Good thing they didn’t name him captain.
@SweetPea3 Definitely not captain material.
@CallMeMrsGarcia I think he needs to break up with his girlfriend. She must be playing head games.
@SoccerSux33 Or not fucking him enough
@LeagueValenciaGirlie STOP blaming the WOMAN.
@SoccerSux33 Who else are we supposed to blame?
@CarrieSins12 @SoccerSux33 You disgust me.
25
Ale
The hurt on Marlowe’s face haunts me.
I run another set of speed drills, hoping the exhaustion will block out her sad expression and pain-filled eyes.
But I couldn’t use her like that—use her for my own desperate release—when I care about her the way I do. She’s not a nameless face. She’s not just a hookup or a fling. She’s not even a girlfriend.
She’s the woman I’ve fallen in love with.
What the hell was I thinking?
I move onto the cone drill, sizing up the ladder already laid out for my next circuit.
The way she dropped to her knees.
Her tentative touch.
The desperation in her eyes.
I shake the image from my mind.
I don’t deserve Marlowe Claire Prescott. I never fucking did.
I run the circuit again. And again. Over and over until I’m dripping with sweat, and my muscles scream in protest.
“Hit the shower before you overdo it,” Carlos advises, eyeing me from where he’s lifting free weights.
I don’t bother replying. Instead, I head to the locker rooms.
Just seeing that bench has bile rising in my throat. She offered herself to me and I refused her. Not because I didn’t want her—God, I always want her. But because taking her for my own selfish needs would have been wrong. It would have crossed a line I can’t come back from.
As if you haven’t done that already, my conscience retorts blisteringly.
Fuck off. I flip the shower head on, dunking my head under the freezing spray.
I rinse off quickly and change into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. This afternoon was a recovery day with my teammates logging in individual workouts.
On a normal day, I’d be grateful for the opportunity to return home early. To take Marlowe to dinner. To hang in and watch reality TV with her. Lead her into our bed and make love to her.
And now, I have spare time, and home is the last fucking place I want to go. I can’t face her. Can’t witness the pain in her eyes, knowing I put it there.
I have to let her go.
