Page 49 of How To Tackle A Crush
“Good.”
“That seems unfair.”
“Means you care if you miss.”
She looks at me for a second like she’s deciding whether that was meant as a joke or not.
I’m not entirely sure myself.
We reach the penalty spot and I roll a loose ball toward her with my foot.
“Right,” I say, stepping backwards toward the goal, “from here. You get one attempt. If you score, you can officially say football is easy.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you admit we’re highly skilled professionals.”
She considers that. “I don’t like the terms.”
“Non-negotiable.”
“And you’re actually going to try to stop me?”
“I’m not risking my reputation.”
She adjusts her glasses again. “That feels dramatic given your opponent.”
“I’ve already seen what you can do.”
“That was an accident.”
“That was enough.”
She gives me a big grin as I step back into goal.
I don’t actually care whether she scores.
I just wanted another five minutes.
She positions herself behind the ball like she’s seen the lads do during the training, feet slightly too wide, shoulders a little tense.
“This feels very official,” she says.
“It is.”
“There should be a whistle.”
“I’m not giving you a whistle.”
“That feels like poor refereeing.”
“Whenever you’re ready,” I say.
She takes a breath and starts forward.
Not running. Not really even jogging. More like a very determined fast walk.
I have to bite back a smile.
