Page 53 of How To Tackle A Crush
Not much. Just enough to see what she does.
She mirrors it. Just a fraction. Careful. Like she’s testing the same invisible line I am.
I can feel her breath now. Warm. Close. Close enough that if either of us moves another inch—
Her lips part slightly. Like she might say something. Like she might not trust herself to.
And then suddenly she steps back.
Fast enough that I almost fall over.
She straightens her glasses, cheeks bright red now, eyes dropping briefly to the ground before she looks back up again, trying to look composed and not quite managing it.
“Well,” she says, voice a little too bright, “let’s call it one–one then.”
I blink. “One–one?”
“Yes. I scored. You stopped me. That feels fair.”
She gestures vaguely. “Is there a fancy football term for that as well?”
“Draw.”
“That sounds disappointingly boring.”
“That’s because it is.”
She nods like she’s filing that away. Then she tucks her hands back into her coat pockets, putting a small, careful distance between us again.
“I should probably leave,” she says.
Of course she should. Interview done. Training done. Nothing left that requires her to be here. I feel disappointed nevertheless.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll see you Friday.”
She frowns slightly. “Friday?”
“Yeah.”
“Why Friday?”
I hesitate for half a second, surprised. “Because you’re coming with us.”
Her confusion deepens. “I’m… what? Where?”
“To London. For the away game.”
She just stares at me.
“I thought Marie-Louise told you,” I say. “My press officer cleared it with your editor. You’ll travel with the team, see match day properly. Dressing room before, tunnel, post-match media. Gives you the full picture for the article.”
Her mouth opens slightly.
Then closes again.
“She… did not mention that.”
I can see the calculation starting behind her eyes now. The part of her that likes preparation realising she’s just been handed something she didn’t plan for.
