You fucking bellend.
I kissed her. Ifinallyfucking kissed her. And then I bailed like a coward.
What the hell is wrong with me?
So now I’m pacing the empty streets, replaying it in my head, like I’m going to find answers out here.
She kissed me back. She wanted it too.
And god, her face when I pulled away. The confusion, like she’d done something wrong.
I panicked. That’s the truth. I said goodnight and just walked away from her. Bolted like the world’s biggest prat.
I run a hand over my face and groan, stopping under a streetlight like I’ve reached a checkpoint in my personal humiliation marathon.
I glance at my watch. I’ve been walking aimlessly for an hour. I should just go home. I should go to bed and try to forget how much of an idiot I was tonight.
But I know that won’t happen. I’ll go home to my empty flat and stare at that photo until I can’t keep my eyes open.
The one of Addison, the girl who somehow crept through the walls I’ve spent years building around myself. The one who sees me for who I am—not as the footballer, or the captain—just Ollie.
I want her. Of course I do. I think I’ve wanted her from the moment she walked into our club, all soft eyes and iron will.
I want more. More of her laugh, her smile, and the easy banter that flows between us.
But I’m so scared.
I’m scared of what it would mean to fully let her in, to trust her with the parts of me I keep buried. We already know the endgame. She’s leaving at the end of the season, so what’s the point of giving in now? If you’re down 5-0 at halftime, you don’t come out swinging with offensive aggression. You take your loss on the chin and live to fight another day.
And what scares me more—what if she doesn’t want this at all?
What if she doesn’t think about me the way I think about her?
I push that thought away. I know from every smile, every brush of her fingers, that she feels something too. She kissed me back, so I know there’s something on her end.
She has her rules. She put them in place to protect herself. But I can see it in her eyes—the hesitation. I think she wants this too, but she’s afraid to let it in.
I turn around, heading back the way I came.
I know what I want.
The ball’s on my foot.
It’s time to strike.
Within minutes I find myself back at her building, chest thudding like I played a full ninety. I memorized her access code to the building earlier, so I let myself in and head toward her door. I don’t hesitate. I knock once, and within seconds the door opens.
She’s still dressed from the bar—those fitted pants, that tank, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her boots are kicked off on the floor behind her.
She blinks, lips parting. “Oliver?”
“Fuck the rules,” I say, voice rough.
And then I kiss her. Hard, leaving no room for second-guessing.
I grab her waist, pulling her into me like I need her to breathe. She makes this soft, stunned sound against my mouth as her fingers fist into my shirt. She pulls me closer like she’s been waiting for this too.
I push forward, kicking the door shut behind us without breaking the kiss, and then her back hits the door and I cage her in. I brace my hands on either side of her head, my mouth never leaving hers.
