70
Ryan
“There’s a match tomorrow,” I say, lying next to her.
I stroke the length of her body as she keeps her eyes closed.
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you want to come?”
She rolls towards me and opens her eyes.
“Do you want me to come?”
“Yes.” I really do. When she’s there, in the stands, I feel energised, motivated, as if I’m playing for something more important. As if I’m playing for her. And it’s strange, intense. It’s surprising, but at the same time, it pulses an adrenaline through my whole body, pumping my blood faster.
“I’m sure I could find the time.”
“You could?”
“I’ll have to check my diary.”
I grab her hips and pull her on top of me.
Jesus. She fits so well there.
“Don’t joke around.”
“Has anyone ever told you how controlling you are? It’s a little psychopathic.”
“Runs in the family.”
“I don’t know if I like that about you.”
“Well, you like other things about me…right?” I ask her, trying to joke around – but a little insecurity in my voice betrays me.
“Maybe,” she says, tracing along my chest with her finger.
“Like what? Let’s hear it…”
“Well, your muscles, for a start.”
“You’re so predictable.”
“Not to mention your abs. The first time I saw you with your shirt off, in your parents’ garden, I thought I might come.”
I burst out laughing, making her wobble on top of me.
“That: that’s what I actually like.”
“Mmm?”
“Your laugh.”
“Really?” I ask, curious.
“You don’t laugh much – actually, until a few weeks ago, you never laughed. I remember the first time you did, I felt my legs tremble and…”
