‘Things are too complicated.’ She sighs, like she’s been thinking about that for a long time. ‘I mean, for that to happen again.’
A lump forms in my throat when I realise what Dina means. She already regrets kissing me, while I was thinking about how everything finally felt like it was slipping into place.
‘Right. Yeah,’ I agree, my voice throaty and rough.
‘I just mean – I don’t regret kissing you. But there’s so much history and so much we haven’t sorted out. I don’t even know how I feel about … anything,’ Dina says. ‘It would be a bad idea, for us to start something.’
I want to tell her that she’s wrong. That if we wanted to, we could figure it out. But maybe she’s right. I don’t even know who I am now that I’m back home, or what I want out of life. I’ve just been caught up in my messy, unresolved feelings for Dina. Feelings that would only get me into trouble.
‘Yeah, we shouldn’t let that happen again,’ I say.
‘We should sleep,’ Dina whispers. ‘Goodnight, Maya.’
‘Goodnight, Dina.’
Chapter 27
Dina
Seven days to the match
I’m woken up by the light peeking in through the gap in the curtains. Trying to avoid the glare, I turn around, but I see the figure lying on the floor, and nearly jump out of my skin.
It takes me a moment to remember last night. The club, the girl I met there, the walk home, calling Maya. Kissing Maya.
Shit.
Embarrassment surges through me as I run through the events of the night. I have no idea what was going through my head, what I was doing. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking.
I rub sleep out of my eyes, wondering how I look before remembering that I shouldn’t be wondering that at all.
I glance down at Maya’s sleeping form on the floor, trying not to think back to the kiss from last night. She had kissed me back. The memories of it all flood back fast; the feel of her lips on mine, the way she looked at me, like she wanted this as much as I did. But then the moment had passed and we’d barely spoken about it. I can’t even imagine what she thought of me. Probably she thought I was a total mess, and she wouldn’t be wrong.
I slip out of bed, looking for my clothes. I find them in acrumpled pile on the bottom of the bed and quickly change. I’m afraid that Maya’s going to wake up and we’re going to have to go through the events of the night. That I’ll have to explain everything even though I have no explanations to offer her.
I consider leaving Maya a note. Instead, I decide I’ll send her a text when I’m out of the house and well on the way home. That’s the only way I can think to deal with this situation. So I quietly slip out of her bedroom and hurry down the stairs. It takes me a minute of trying before I finally manage to get the finnicky front door open, but just as I’m about to step outside, a camera flashes in front of me, blinding me.
I blink, not sure what is going on. A moment later, when my vision clears, I finally see the spattering of reporters on the street, their cameras propped up in front of them.
‘Dina Chowdhury!’ one of the reporters – a woman that I’m sure I’ve seen before – hurries towards me, a bright smile on her face. ‘What an unexpected sight. So, am I right to assume that you’re dating Maya Alam?’
I can only blink at her, my jaw open. Why the hell are reporters here? And why are they asking me about my love life?
Another reporter hurries forward. ‘What does it feel like to be dating your rival coach, Dina?’ he asks enthusiastically.
I can barely even make sense of the question before a hand grips my shoulders, pulling me back into the house.
Maya is frowning, her eyebrows scrunched together. As soon as she’s pulled me back in, she leans forward, glaring at the reporters. ‘You really need to get out of here, this is private property,’ she says, her arms outstretched over me as if she’s protecting me from their prying eyes.
‘Maya, maybe you can tell us how it feels to be dating a rival coach?’ the male reporter says, his eyes alight with excitement.
‘Ten minutes, and if you’re not out of here, I will call the police,’ Maya says firmly, barely even looking the guy in the eye before slamming the door shut.
She presses her fingers to her forehead, like the whole thing has given her a headache.
‘Are they … always at your doorstep?’ I ask. I don’t remember seeing any reporters last night, but maybe since Maya has come back this is her morning routine. Maybe this is what it’s like being a professional footballer – I wouldn’t know.
‘No, of course not!’ Maya exclaims. ‘I have no idea what they’re doing out there. And what were they even talking about?’
