My longing has only been fuelled by earlier, and is worsened by the intimate confines of Alexia's car.

Oli yowls in the back, unhappy with being in the carrier, anxious for what is to come. He gets locked in the evil, white cage when I take him to the vet, or drop him off somewhere with someone new. Maybe María is his friend now. He seems to recognise her driveway, growing louder and more insistent.

Stopping the car is the worst idea Alexia has had, because the hand that has previously been nonchalantly resting on my thigh is now at liberty to do more. The reality of me leaving is uncomfortable – suffocating, even – and she leans over, guiding my lips to hers. She kisses me softly, more so than last night and this morning, but she is just as commanding.

It is easy to shift from this world to one of our own, and I climb over the console, onto her lap. She pulls a lever, moving the seat backwards. The steering wheel presses cumbersomely into my back anyway, and her legs must be incredibly cramped, but it doesn't stop her from slipping her tongue into my mouth, the wet heat not unwelcome despite the small gasp I let out. Her fingers grip my hips, digging into the coarse fabric of my jeans, until the wandering hand from earlier reappears, this time on its pursuit upwards, slithering against my stomach.

Alexia is a very good kisser, and I find myself completely at her mercy, allowing her to continue exploring every corner of my mouth with her tongue despite the niggling thought at the back of mind that points out how we are a) pressed for time and b) parked outside María's house.

I talk myself out of cancelling my plans for Ibiza altogether. I would happily drag Alexia to my bedroom this very moment, declaring to the world that they cannot have their darling footballer back until I have kissed, licked, and bitten every inch of her skin.

Hands resting on my bum, she urges me to grind against her, defying the car's lack of space. Her lips trail to my neck, sucking down on the resilient sweet spot behind my ear that remains hickey-less for now. We toe the line between completely making out and sharing a very heated kiss.

A knock on the window breaks us out of our trance. The glass is yet to fog, thankfully, though I decide it would have been preferable considering María's triumphant expression and our matching blushes. Alexia, for some reason, (probably the cockiness that I once declared I hated) simply presses down on a button, smirking as the window disappears.

"I'm happy for you," is what María says, her eyes holding a look that I know will have me explaining everything to her later. And probably enduring a lecture aimed at teenagers. "Oli is in the back?" I nod. She says no more, opening the door once Alexia has unlocked it.

"Thanks, Mamá," I mumble, hoping to soften her possible wrath.

She grins, teeth showing. "De nada, mija. Have fun in Ibiza, and, of course, the best of luck for the World Cup." And then she grows sterner, but it is not an emotion directed at me. Alexia shifts, intimidated. It's an odd sight to see, but a petty part of me is delighted. "Conduce con cuidado."

The warning holds more than the spoken words. Spanish is full of implications, making it ten times harder to understand.

María then opens the driver's door, beckoning for me to get out of the car. I oblige, clambering off Alexia's lap with the most dignity I can muster, pretending to ignore the fact that what had been going on lower down has been revealed to a woman I consider to be, well, mother-like. "When?" she whispers in my ear as I hug her goodbye, feeling the tug of my heart that tells me I am going to miss the home she has welcomed me into.

"Last night," I reply. "We argued. Jaimie's girlfriend talked some sense into me."

"Is it love?" Is this love? María seems to answer her own question. "No, no, of course it is. Please let yourself be happy, Fleur."

She lets me get back to the car after kissing my forehead and reciting a short speech in Dutch.

Alexia taps the steering wheel a few times as I fasten my seat belt, retying my ponytail in order to erase the embarrassment of the last five minutes from my memory. "You called her mum."

"We're close."

"Her husband knew my father." It is the first she has ever spoken of him to me, and there is a reserved affection to her tone that I can tell simply exists for him. Last night, as I languidly traced my fingers over her tattoos, she ignored the lingering touches on things that held too much meaning, distracting me from my questions with passionate kisses that ignited yet another round of admittedly great sex.

"I know," I reply gently, and she lets that end the conversation. Maybe later, when we have sorted ourselves out, we can resume the topic. Over dinner, perhaps.

"So. We need to talk, no?"

"Oh, yeah." The airport is a comfortable distance away; a Goldilocks amount of time remaining until we arrive at my destination. "You..."

"I think that we could be together."

"Same." She waits. I think of something more to say. "We could try after the World Cup. I mean, you're going to be busy, and so am I. We need to focus on our main goals, right? I obviously like you, and you like me too. I don't know. I want to win the World Cup, Alexia, and this is complicated."

Her shrug sheds the pressure from my shoulders momentarily.

"All I really want is you."

The statement hangs in the air before I snatch it in, savouring it. It feels good to hear; it sparks a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. And I blush.

"Okay. That is possible."

She laughs – a private little laugh – and her body relaxes in her seat, the perpetrating hand from before returning to my thigh, its grip firm and grounding. "Good." I turn up the music, glad that this radio station doesn't share her love for Rosalía. "Are you excited?"

"For what?" I ask, knowing that I have reason to feel that way about a multitude of things. For instance, the prospect of a relationship with Alexia.

"To go home," she clarifies dutifully. "I am lucky that I play for Barça. This is my home."

Amsterdam is a home that fades from me. The memories I have of it are adorned with black vignettes, as if the corners, the unimportant parts, no longer mean so much. I consider it home, yes, but it does not feel quite right to think of it that way. My family is my home, I suppose. Not necessarily the city. "Yeah. It's nice to see everyone. I think Ajax want me to visit their academy."

"You are their star." Her tone has a hint of sarcasm in it, because she is currently better than me. It won't be for long, I'm sure, and that is partly her own fault. "Unfortunately."

"I hate you," I grumble, peeling one of her fingers from my thigh. It falls back into place the minute I let it go, and her smirk is so attractively arrogant that I have to rethink all my earlier decisions.

"I hate you too."

We get to the airport half an hour before my flight departs, and spend another ten minutes saying goodbye in a way that involves more tongue movement than actually talking would. The car park is practically empty, giving us even more of an excuse to make out.

Somehow, I manage to check all my luggage in and make it through security quickly enough to only have to jog to the gate.

Joining a small queue of late-comers, I send off a text to Alexia, letting her know that I'm getting on the plane despite her not-so-secret mission to make me miss it. The flight attendant scans my boarding pass with disinterest, and I follow the stream of passengers through the boarding tunnel.

Following a dreary hour of reading through the information provided by the production company of our documentary that has been sent to me to make sure I'm aware of how filming will work when it commences on the 30th, I land in Ibiza with a readiness to get absolutely shit-faced.

Erin and Sam are already at the villa we're renting out in Sant Antoni de Portmany, and it's only another half an hour before my taxi pulls up outside.

"She's here!" Erin shouts as I haul my suitcases out of the boot, groaning at the sight of the stairs leading up to the door. Those will be fun later.

"If it isn't the traitor." Sam punches my arm, making no effort to help me drag everything inside. "Jesus, Toots, we're only here for three days."

"I'm flying straight to Amsterdam," I tell her, rolling my eyes.

The stairs aren't too bad. I thank myself for actually training my upper body in the gym.

"Did you leave a path of destruction behind you in Barcelona?" Erin questions, a glint in her eye that is sparkling with outdated information. She unlocks the front door, and we all take in a deep breath at the feeling of air-conditioning blowing onto our faces.

"No." We dump my suitcases in the corner of the living room, simultaneously flopping down on the large sofa.

"No?"

I sit up. "We had sex."

"You and your new team?!"

Sam slaps Erin's arm as her pale skin flushes practically crimson. "No! Her and Alexia Putellas, you airhead." Then, she turns her attention towards me. "What the fuck? I thought you hated her?"

"Yeah, me too." It has been a long journey.

"Are you sure she's not a golddigger? Didn't you get a million–"

"She told me she loved me."

"Oh."

Erin clicks her tongue, sprawling out far enough so that she can reach me with her foot, poking my stomach with her toes. "Did you... say it back?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I didn't get a chance. Her tongue was down my throat."

"And her teeth on your neck." They both stare at the skin, Sam's index pointing to the right spot as I trace my fingers to their destination. I hiss as I graze a sensitive spot, realising exactly what it is. Before I can run to the nearest mirror, Sam speaks again. "Don't worry. It's not that noticeable."

I let out a self-pitying whine nonetheless, launching myself into Sam's lap, burying my face in her oversized t-shirt. "Was it a bad idea? It's the worst timing ever."

"Fleur, don't talk to Sam about timing. She decided to fall in love in lockdown."

Sam's hum of agreement makes me chuckle at the memories of her panicked FaceTimes, usually calling both me and Scarlett in case one of us didn't pick up. That was how urgent she claimed the situation was.

"Falling in love?" Sam then questions, shifting into something more serious. The bright sun pouring through the patio doors seems to dim for a moment. We all think of Scarlett. Of her smile, her laugh. Of how Magda used to snatch my phone to read through our texts, convincing me that there was something there when I was too scared to see it.

Erin and I think, at the same time, of the night Scarlett and I first kissed. How it was New Year's Eve. How she liked throwing parties, and how confident she was to have done it just months after joining a new team. Her apartment, smaller than the one we later shared, was full to the brim, and I realised just how many friends Scarlett had that night. In attendance were Arsenal girls, Man City girls – players from up and down the country.

We were in her kitchen, minutes before the fireworks went off. The English like to watch it on the TV, especially when facing the disappointment that construction opposite Scarlett's building ruined what would be a perfect live view. She was getting a drink for someone, needing to rummage through her cupboards to find it, and I had been urged – no, forced – by one of her friends to follow her there. She was blonde, so perhaps it was Leah. I don't remember; I was too drunk.

Scarlett stood up, muttering in frustration at her failure to locate the bottle of Grey Goose she had been searching for. I spotted it tucked behind her toaster. She told me she could kiss me for finding it. I told her that she should.

Erin, specifically, has watched me fall in love once. Her eyes shine when I look at her, but she nods at me, ready for my answer.

"Yeah, I think so." 

notes: 

this has been bugging me for ages but i need to explain lol

in my head, alexia speaks to fleur mostly in spanish, just slowed down and pronounced well. fleur's good at languages (she speaks three fluently) and she picked up french quickly at lyon, so it makes sense. fleur definitely talks back in english, but i think she can understand it well enough if she tries (though she'll obviously get stumped at times)

also, i'm going to be realistic w the world cup. bring on the dutchies!

maría tells alexia to drive with care 👀

thanks for reading xx