*So, this is a bit of a steamy chapter. Please feel free to skip it if you feel like you don't want to be faced with that:)*

Every time he scores a goal, I imagine it's for me. He's looked up at me at least twice now, which I'm content with - I didn't expect him to acknowledge me once, so I felt a little giddy and, surprisingly, embarrassed when he looked up at me the first time.

This is what love looks like.

The food in the VIP booths tastes better than the food in the general seats. I wish I had someone here with me to share in the excitement with, but Edward is busy finalising the last few details of his trip, and I'm still not sure where Raven and I stand - besides, Alejandro and I aren't public yet. I don't think he'd have been happy with me bringing an entourage with me.

I like to think that he's playing for me - the knowledge that I'm up here, watching him, makes him play twice as hard so he doesn't disappoint me. I like to think I have that effect on him. Every time he looks up at me with a huge grin on his face, I think I may be right.

I hope he knows I'm proud of him whatever the outcome - I just came to support him, and I would hate to find that my presence here makes him feel the need to push himself more than he should. I want him to just be happy, and he looks happy to be on that field right now.

It's sad that very few people get to be as happy with their work as he is. It's insane to me that most people go to their workplace and spend eight hours trying not to kill themselves, and then go back home to eat stale noodles they got from Chinatown last Thursday just because they are so drained that they couldn't possibly manage to fry eggs on their own. We never clean our house because we always think we'll get to it tomorrow or during the weekend, but when the weekend comes, we've got a side hustle that needs to be tended to, or we just don't feel like it. And slowly, we simply get tired of living, and we start to ask ourselves: 'What's the point if I could die tomorrow.'

I think side hustles should be called out for what they really are: second jobs.

I sometimes wonder if I will ever, truly be happy. Edward says I've come a long way. Sometimes, he reminds me of the time that I went almost three weeks without a shower or a bath and tells me that he's proud of the progress I've made from that point in my life. When he says that, I feel good - like I've accomplished something. For those brief seconds, I find myself believing that happiness is real. I wish I could feel like that every day.

'Goooooaaal!'

I look up to see that Chelsea have scored another goal. 4-1. I always thought football was easy. 'If I was playing, I would kick the ball so hard that their keeper couldn't catch it,' I once told my father. He laughed and said he believed I could. I realise that it isn't so simple. I realise that you're playing up against people that want to win just as much as you, and they're all praying to catch you on your worst day. Everyone has their own, unique skill - how do you make up for your own lack, when hard work never seems to get you anywhere? The rules don't change, and the fields are all built the same; so, why do all teams want to play in their stadium? Why do visiting teams have to play harder than the home teams? Why is it so unfathomable that a team could lose in its home stadium?

'Well, Manchester are getting completely humiliated by Chelsea F.C. tonight - what's happening? They have the home advantage - why are they losing?'

'Whatever the answer is, we'll get it in two minutes as this match is almost over. I must say, Manchester's performance has been underwhelming tonight and this is surprising because they've been on a hot streak for the better part of this tournament; they've beat teams stronger than Chelsea; I hope we get the answers backstage.'

I sometimes find it disconcerting how easy it we find it to criticise the people around us; how we feel entitled to their work and how we think they owe us good performance - from the time I was a little girl, working hard to make myself happy was amost always never the priority; being scared of disappointing myself was always an after-thought. All I ever heard, from my teachers, was: 'A' body is rootin' fur ye - yi''ll need tae wirk solid 'n' git rich sae ye dinnae disappoint thaim'. Very rarely was what I wanted for myself ever even thought of. I wonder what they all think of me now - I've shunned everything that reminds me of my history and haven't been to Glasgow in such a long time; that's bound to get a lot of tongues wagging, at least where I'm from.

The dream for girls my age was always to study, become a doctor, get a lawyer or accountant for a husband - but never a mechanic - and then have two children - maybe three if you're particularly domestic. I know they think I'm living some variation of that vision here. Boy, wouldn't they be disappointed if they were to find out the truth.

I wish I could go back to a simpler time with simpler dreams and the even simpler assumption that everyone wanted what's best for me - back when I knew that I was being judged by everyone around me, but it always seemed like I would win eventually. I wonder if the players ever feel the same. Knowing that there can only be one winner - does it make them work harder? Is it worth it? I mean, sure, they get to hold up a trophy and buy a nice sportscar, but then what? They wait to do it all over again next year? When does it start to feel useless? Is it after three championships? Five? When they retire? Maybe it's different for them.

Everyone loves you and thinks you're a god, but if you kick the ball in the wrong direction, they throw garbage at you. Is it rewarding - that fickle kind of love? Is that why Jay Z cheated?

'And that is time. Chelsea F.C. moving forward in the championships; Manchester left out after that humiliating defeat. We'll see you after this.'

Edward:

When does your plane leave?

I raise the slosh in my hand and sip as I wait for Alejandro to come and get me.

'Welcome to the backstage area. Here with us is captain of Chelsea F.C. and man of the match: Alejandro García. Great game today, by the way, with that surprising victory. Was this the result you and the team had expected?'

'Well, we've been working hard; we've always known that the League wouldn't be easy; we knew that Manchester is a formidable team and we worked to make sure we were prepared for it.'

'Obviously, everyone was shocked by your glorious win. Has this victory changed the way you see Manchester and the other teams in the league?'

'I love Manchester, and I know a lot of my teammates feel the same way, and I don't think today's results change anything. I think it won't do us a lot of good to start underestimating everyone else, especially because the reason we're here was because we did the exact opposite if that. We're definitely going to celebrate this win, but we won't be getting complacent anytime soon.'

'Last question before we run out of time: you're obviously a phenomenal player, but I'm sure everyone else is wondering how you're planning to top your performance today and potentially lead your team to even greater victories?'

'I try not to put myself under great pressure to 'top myself' or whatever - I'm always working to improve; I listen to my coach; I listen to my fitness instructor, and I always motivate my teammates to do the same thing. If we end up winning because of it - great; if we lose - well, then we'll know where each of us needs to put more work in.'

'Well, there you have it. Man of the match, Alejandro.'

Edward:

7

but pls cum early

like 4 am

But isn't all love fickle? Doesn't love take weeks and months and years to build, yet take one action to destroy? Doesn't it require constant reassurance - or else, you're bound to forget the ones you love?

If Edward is gone for long enough, will I forget him? Am I scared that I might forget him? Does me forgetting him erase the love I have for him?

Is my image of my dad true to what he looked like when he was alive - or have I carved out a new one to make up for an unconscious process of forgetting his face? Does he recognise himself in my mind? Or am I in love with a completely different man from the tree that breathed life into me?

Does the thought scare me?

Is love driven by fear? Is that why I don't want to forget my dad? Is that why I secretly wish Edward would not leave? Is that why I'm with Alejandro right now? Am I scared of the possibility that I may end up alone that I am willing to give everything up for him?

When does it stop being love and become fear?

Can I be happy for someone while wanting them to stay as they are - so we can forever be together? Is that the main driver behind Raven's behaviour? Maybe it's not that she doesn't want those closest to her to grow - maybe she's scared they'll all grow and leave her behind. Maybe she wants them to achieve great things; however, she can't reconcile her wish for those around her to grow with her own desire to grow alongside them. I think I felt the same way when Edward bought his house, and again when he bought his pricey sportscar, and again when he was asked to handle the PR campaigns of multi-millionaires. It wasn't that I wasn't happy that he was getting all these great things, it was that I wished they would happen to me, too.

"How was it - knowing that a whole team won because of you?" Alejandro whispers softly, causing me to jump in surprise. He makes light, slow strokes up and down my shoulders.

"You scared me," I tell him softly.

He chuckles. "I'm sorry."

Then, he turns me to meet his hazel eyes, raking me with mischief. There's something about a man's skin after workout, something about his scent that throws my mind in a whirlwind. It reminds you that you're in the presence of a man, and you immediately want to give him babies. The confident smile on his face does very little to help.

"How was I?"

Feeling my face heat up, I try to look away in an effort to save what little dignity I still have in his eyes. He doesn't let me. He softly grabs my chin and turns me to face him. I feel my stomach tie itself up. He also doesn't wait for my response, slowly pulling me to him.

There's something about a man taking charge that drives me to the edge - I love being in charge, but I do love a man that's able to take the staff from my hand and assert himself. Alejandro takes my hands in his and moves closer into me.

"I want to make love to you," he whispers gently but I still feel my breath hitch - almost as though he's said the most violent thing he could ever say. "Right here." He plants a kiss just behind my ear, making me lose focus immediately.

I can hear my own breathing. "Right here?" I stammer.

He chuckles lightly. His breath feels hot on my neck. I feel stupid. "Who's repeating my words now?"

His trail doesn't stop. He descends on me, slowly coming back to meet my eyes. He rests his forehead on mine.

Am I hearing his heart beat or is it mine?

"Do you want to make love to me?" His voice is so soft, so coaxing, that all I want to do is open up and let him inside.

Dragging myself to the side of sanity, I quip: "What if someone comes?"

He takes my chin in his hand and forces my gaze back up to meet his. "No one will come." He smiles.

Are we moving too quickly?

What does it mean to take things slowly?

Why do I want this so much? And, if I want it so much, why do I feel so scared? Is this how it feels to truly want something - the mere thought of finally getting it scares you paralysed? I mean, I know I'm not horrible, but I don't think I've ever felt so scared to get into bed with anyone. Why is that?

He places his hand under my chin and forces me to look up at his perfect face. The smile on his lips is starting to waver, but he tries to hide that from me.

"You're overthinking."

I laugh at myself. "I am."

His smile grows confident again. "So, what do you say?"

I look up at him. Deciding to keep the element of surprise, I rise so I can show him I can be as confident as him if I want to. My height disappoints me, but I stand erect, piercing his eyes with mine. He seems to like the challenge - he pulls me in an embrace and lifts me to his waist while his lips intentionally crash into mine. Not wanting to cede control to him just yet, I grab a fistful of his hair and drive him exactly in the direction I want the kiss to go. That his hands are fully occupied with the business of hoisting me up gives me more control, and I love that.

I go all the way beneath his jaw. The fact that he opens up for me pleases me. It may have been an involuntary response of his body welcoming me to explore all his hills and valleys, or he may have invited me in consciously because that's what you do when you love someone. Maybe it's a mix of both - I doubt his body would welcome me had he not invited me in in the first place.

A groan crawls up his neck - I feel it through my lips, still under his jaw, as I make my way to his earlobe. His heart rate has been increasing steadily for the past few seconds; now, it's racing against itself. I realise that our chests are, right now, only separated by my shirt. He came in here only in his shorts - maybe that's what put me under his spell and made me think I was in control of everything when he was the one at the steering wheel.

Well, that, and the smell of his sweat: the smell of a strong, capable man.

I don't care anymore. I don't care if he's in charge or I am. I only care that I get to show him another side of me, and he gets to show me another side of him. Who cares then, who's in control when we're both excited to share ourselves with each other?

The table that served me snacks just a few minutes ago morphs into my pedestal from which I will descend after Alejandro has unravelled me. It feels cold against my bare jacksie. I don't care.

My shirt is on the floor. I don't know when I took it off. I don't care.

I shiver. I don't know why I'm so scared. I've done this. Many times before. I hope that's not a bad thing.

His lips stiffen and he stops kissing me. My eyes fly open to meet his hard gaze. "Do you have a condom?"

I bite my lip. "No."

"Well, that's not very good."

I look up at him. "You don't have one?"

He shakes his head.

"Well, what now?"

"I'll just run to the locker room and grab one," he tells me while forcing himself back into his shorts. The bulge on him would be comical if it wasn't stirring up other emotions I can't wrap my head around. "Don't go anywhere, alright?"

I grab his wrist. He smiles.

"I'm only going to grab a condom. I promise I'll be back in a second."

I loosen my grip and he's out of the door.

Did that look needy - that I grabbed his wrist so he may not leave?

Fuck.

I hope the promise of sex appealed to his primitive senses, and he didn't read too much into it. The fact that he was able to remember that we should use a condom isn't very promising. I hope he won't tease me for it.

I wonder if I look good right now. Do I look enticing? Is that necessary for good sex? I mean, it probably helps. Maybe that's why most people have sex in the dark - or otherwise deprive themselves of sight. Maybe people look so unappealing when they are deep in coital bliss that nature chose to reserve the activity to when we are most blind?

Why am I so scared?

The door slowly draws open and Alejandro sneaks in.

"Still good?"

I nod.

He smiles and places his find on the table right next to me. He moves his focus to my lips. I instinctively wet them.

"You're so pretty," he announces softly.

I bite my lip.

He smiles. "Won't you praise me?"

I pull him to me and invite him to my lips. He doesn't protest. He caresses my lips with his, exciting my body with shivers, happy with the contact but still wanting more. I pull him to me again and, this time, he lets me enjoy his lips on mine. It feels strange - like I've never been kissed before. He grips my bottom lip in his teeth, but very quickly massages it with his tongue, allowing himself inside. I let him in. I want him to explore and know every part of me as well as he knows himself.

He wastes no time, pulling me into his embrace, crushing me in his strong arms, crushing my ego with his lips. Every time I feel myself break, I see an opportunity - I see a new me that works well with him. I love that. For a second, I find myself believing in God: who else could be responsible for such a beautiful moment between a simple girl and a stunning boy? What are the odds that I could cross paths with him and find myself so eager to give me to him?

Do I make him feel the same way?

I pull away from the kiss and rest my forehead on his. "You're so beautiful."

His breathing hitches and his face reddens. He crashes onto me again - more passionately, more violently. I feel my stomach light on fire. Why do I love it so much? Why does it drive me to match his violence? I pull him into my flames. He pulls me into his. They meet and consume each other, growing in each other's glory and dragging us inside of them, setting our passions deeper and feeding the flames more fuel.

"I want to take you in my mouth," I announce breathlessly.

I don't think I've ever said that to anyone. I've never loved a man so much that my heart jumped with zeal to take them inside my mouth. I've usually done it as a duty - one I've recently started shunning even as men have begged me to do it. I don't know, I guess I've grown less enticed by the idea of kneeling in front of a man I don't even like.

Should I tell him I love him?

He tries - and fails - to hide the smile that creeps onto his face; when he realises that he's fighting a losing game, he turns his cheek. I think he's cute. It makes me want him more.

As I start making my way down, however, he recovers himself and regains the ability to look me in the eye. He doesn't hesitate to pierce my soul as I size him up. Damn! Even his penis smells good! I wonder if he thinks I look pretty right now. I want him to. I hope he does.

I've heard that, sometimes, men become more attracted to women after they've sucked them off. That hasn't been the case for me; maybe today is my lucky day.

I show him in.

Maybe its because I eat like a lady, but the shock of having my mouth full for the first time in a long time brings me closer to my more primitive, speechless ancestors. However, I slowly acquaint myself with the sensation of man in my mouth - and I accommodate him accordingly, moving around a few things, trying to keep things heated. I know I'm doing a good job when I hear him let out a guttural groan. I keep at it.

He grabs my head and pushes me into him, momentarily throwing my breathing to the dogs, but a cough from me inspires him to let go and hand the reins back to me. I appreciate that.

He gently lifts me off the ground and rests me on the table. I instinctively open for him and anticipate his entrance. He slides the Frenchie over himself before sliding into me, filling me instantly. He rocks me softly, like a mother to a baby. The deprivation drives me to instant desperation, and I hear myself beg:

"Harder."

He obliges, running my body like a marathon. I feel myself get lost in depravity as I enjoy the most primitive of pleasures - one a virtuous woman isn't supposed to enjoy. The thought drives the pleasure further, and lets the joy settle deeper inside of me, rendering me a hard, shivering mess of pent-up pressure finally being released.

A pretty loud, hard, shivering mess.

My hardness sends Alejandro into a fury as he grips my hips and holds them firmly in place, his strokes growing sloppy. He lets out a wail and collapses onto me.

"I love you."

.

I feel my entire being crumble as all my wishes get answered at once. I don't know how to respond. The words catch in my throat. I don't know if I want to say them or if I feel like I have to say them. I mean, I like Alejandro.

What is going on?

I feel instant relief when my throat opens up and I hear myself, in the most delicate voice, affirm: "I love you, too."

*A/N: So, this is... a bit steamy. I think it's interesting: I had a few sexy time scenes in the first draft, but I thought I wouldn't have any in this draft because they got quite porny and embarrassing and I still cringe when I read them. So, I thought I wouldn't have any in this book; but after a while I decided to write one because I recognised that they can be a really good outlet for the characters to express their emotions. I'm not sure how well I did it, so I'm relying on anyone reading this to tell me where they see areas that need improvement. I tried to keep it as honest as I could, but I am (obviously) not a woman, so I don't know what's true for women - and that's overlooking the fact that different things are true for different women. If you recognise a line that particularly makes you cringe, please bring my attention to it and I'll try as best I can to fix it :)*