“Hey,bro. You need to invite people to watch you play more often,” Ian says during half time, poking me playfully.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, you’re just more enthusiastic, more…more motivated, that’s it.”
“Don’t bullshit, I’m always motivated.”
“No Ryan, you’re never motivated. You play to win, like we all do, but you never have the right motivation. At least, not until today.”
“Don’t start sticking your nose into my life, Ian. It’s nothing, okay?”
“Fine, it’s nothing. But I like this nothing, and clearly so do you,” he wiggles his eyebrows at me before heading towards the guys to talk about tactics. I take another two minutes to breathe, to try and control the thoughts pulsing aimlessly around my mind. Because I’ve lost my way, and I have no idea how to get back on the right track.
We head back out onto the field, ready to fight to the end and bring home the victory. I instinctively glance towards the stands again, where Christine and Evan are chatting animatedly – I can see it even from here.
Christine gesticulates, brushes the hair out of her face, and blushes, just as she always does. Then she throws her head back and laughs.
And I realise just how little I know about this woman – yet I feel like I know everything I need to.
I know that I like it when she gets angry, when she looks at me, furiously, and when she gets into my head and crushes me fearlessly.
I know that I like it when she’s knackered, but doesn’t want to show it, hiding just how tough her day’s been, masking all her problems and doubts with that charming smile.
I know that I like the way she nurses a cup of coffee in her hands, as if it were precious, and she was ready to rip off anyone’s fingers who tried to take it away from her.
I know that I like hearing the sound of her voice, which transforms in a second depending on her mood. The way it caresses my ears and my thoughts, infiltrating my body and giving it life again.
I know that I like her lips, the way she nibbles on them, when they laugh, the way they rest against her cup of coffee. The frenzied way that they move as soon as she opens her mouth.
I know that I like everything, even though I shouldn’t.
I know that I like Christine. I like how she makes me feel, and the way she gives me hope. But I also know that I could never like the person I’d become with a woman like her.
