I don't like it one bit.

First of all, she shouldn't be so nice to me. Secondly, it's hard not to be nice back.

We start talking about simple things, like tactics and technique. It's hard to avoid the conversations because of how much time we are spending together. Our sessions with Jonatan have increased in frequency as of yesterday. It is necessary because we aren't actually playing in the matches anymore. He confesses to us that he thinks some of the players need the extra minutes to solidify their places in the World Cup squads.

Sharing the bench during the last home match of the season, I find that Alexia's internal commentary spills into audible words that land right in my ear. By the second half, we are deep in conversation about the half-time talk managers must give their teams when they are nil-nil with Barcelona. They must break out the champagne, is what I tell her. She complains that the league isn't competitive enough.

And I don't let myself think about it too much until Jaimie points it out the day after the match. She had gone to the stadium with Juan, but was disappointed when I wasn't playing until the sixty-third minute. Her disinterest in the game meant she was focused on our technical area. On Alexia and I. "You enjoy talking to her," she shouts as I cycle faster to get away from the conversation.

Unfortunately for me, she's also an athlete. She catches up to me quickly, nearly taking out an elderly couple as she whizzes down the narrow street. "Perdón," I call out to the affronted old woman, turning around to give her an apologetic smile. Her husband laughs. Maybe it is the most exciting thing that has happened to them today. (Or maybe it was my accent.)

She stops us at a café that is around a kilometre from the end point, Plaça Espanya. The route is a short loop of the city, only taking us an hour and a half to cycle the twenty-six kilometres. "Let's sit down and discuss this properly, okay?" is her reasoning, fed up of having to chase after me every time I try to defend having professional, tactical, work-related conversations with a woman I still feel very strongly towards. Against.

We get coffee and sit outside, both cooling down after sprinting the last few minutes. Her mouth is occupied by her cappuccino for a peaceful segment of our break, until there is only a third left and she seems to want to continue following up on what she saw yesterday.

"I'm just indebted to her, Jai," I explain, munching on the pastry she bought me. "It was nice of her to do that for me in Sevilla, and she is my captain. Plus, Talia is now playing so I have no one to talk to when I am relaxing on the bench." The twenty-year-old is close to getting a call-up for the next Spanish camp, and she is certain that she wants to try it out before Mapi can fully convince her that she will be traumatised.

"And we're just skipping past the fact that 'that' was holding you until you fell asleep?" Her words cut through the air like daggers that will blind me if I look at her, so I keep my eyes trained on the metal table. She kicks my shin. "This is getting a bit ridiculous now. It's not illegal to change your opinion on her."

"I don't want to be friends with her though." And if I don't want that, then the option of relationship is clear to me. Enemies can talk to each other. There aren't rules.

"I saw her outside the apartment this morning, you know," Jaimie begins, as if it is some revelation that Alexia takes the stairs and has to walk in front of my door to get to the next flight. "No, Flootz. She was lingering. I asked her if she wanted me to get you, and, to be honest, I think she considered it."

"Yet she said no," I state, point proven. She still feels the same. It's a mutual hatred. A mutual passion for not liking one another.

"Her phone rang, and she walked off. Told me to enjoy our bike ride, though." Jaimie raises her eyebrows, wiping the smugness off my face in an instant. "How did she know we were going cycling today, hm?"

"We were talking about active recovery. She prefers to go on long dog walks with her younger sister near where she grew up."

"Sounds like you were bonding over what you do in your free time with your sisters."

I laugh, trying not to sound nervous. "Bonding, sure. More like her lecturing me about having a healthy lifestyle as if I'm not as focused as she is." Alexia makes a point to ensure everyone carries the club's values with them when they leave the training centre. I know this because Talia complains about her cousin not shutting up about her disdain for going clubbing during the season.

"Next thing you know, she's giving you a lecture at the altar and you're still adamant that you hate her," Jaimie mutters, hand propping her head up as she deflates in disappointment, completely unimpressed with me. Which is unfair, because she is reading into lots of things she knows nothing about, and I am the one who is actually present at these conversations and therefore know what I'm talking about. "Lecturing you while she's down on one knee, lecturing you as you have your first child together... Lecturing you in an old people's home. Fucking hell, Fleur, you are delusional."

Taken aback by her not calling me 'Flootz', I panic. "And... you are just so infatuated with the England captain that you think everyone else is in love!"

Jaimie bites her lip in shameless glee. "I never said anything about love."

"You implied it," I mumble, wanting the ground to swallow me whole. "How is Leah, anyway?"

"You don't give a fuck about Leah. Don't change the subject." I have really stuck my foot in it now. She sees me gulp, taking in every signal my body sends her that shows how uncomfortable this topic is making me. And she is merciful, for once. "If you do care, though, she is doing okay. She's a few days post-op, but the painkillers are strong and Alex is entertaining her. She did call me when she was high on morphine, and insisted I take her to Amsterdam so we could smoke."

"Leah Williamson wants to smoke weed with you?"

"Well, I am her girlfriend. We're in a serious relationship, Flootz." The distraction has been successful, and we're back to the annoying childhood nickname. "She was planning the smoke circle. High as a kite. Do you know what 64 Zoo Lane is? Half of the names were animals from it."

"Isn't it a cartoon?" Jaimie shrugs. We didn't grow up on those. I think our favourite channel was ESPN. "You can't get her high, Jai. You'll be Sarina Wiegman's enemy forever."

"She mentioned Sarina! Said she was Dutch so she'd probably be down." That has me laughing so hard that I am gasping for breath, tears forming in my eyes. To most, I probably look like I'm having some kind of fit, but it is too funny for me to care.

"You should've told her about what happened when we won the Euros," I splutter. "Sarina, Jill, Dom, Daan, and me. She was rolling for us." It was a good day, and an even better night. We were all very thankful to have won a home Euros, and that may or may not have been one of the reasons. She did promise Jill and me that she would do it with us if we won.

"Well, it's not like Leah has a tournament to prepare for anymore."

The mood dulls slightly, tainted by the gravity of the situation. "It's shit."

"It's football."

"Which one of us is the footballer?" I tease, knowing Jaimie is still convinced she could have made it if she hadn't chosen tennis. "I can't wait to move your trophies out of the way for my Ballon d'Or. The silver boot is so humbling."

"Papa's actually giving priority to my Wimbledon trophy. It's more important than a golden ball."

"Only because it completes your obnoxious collection," I reply bitterly, though it is not how I truly feel. I hate to admit it, but I'm proud of her. "Do you think we'll win?"

"I think I've got a good chance this year, provided I work harder on grass. I fucking hate the grass." It's her worst surface by far, seeing as she hasn't won that Grand Slam yet. Hard court is her best. "Flootz, you moved to Barcelona to progress, and I think you have. Maybe it has something to do with your private sessions with a certain–"

"Let's finish the route." I stand up, cutting her off before she can return the topic back to its original destination, not at all wanting to carry on talking about Alexia. It hurts my brain to think about. She sighs, finishing her coffee. Mine was gone as soon as it was in front of me, and there are only flakes left of my pastry.

She grins as we reach the plaza barely two minutes later, proud to have gotten under my skin. We only pause for a moment, and then cycle back to my building in silence, though the decision isn't mutual.

Jaimie tries to get more out of me when we stop outside the main door, both of us needing a moment to cool down. Going fast at home does not result in being nearly as sweaty as going fast here does.

It is like someone is fucking with me when Alexia comes back from her walk at the same time. With her sister.

Alba and Jaimie wear the same expression as the four of us acknowledge each other, and I am ready to drag her inside before we have to talk. "I love tennis," Alba says loudly before we move, and Jaimie wriggles free of my grip to start a conversation with her.

I look at Alexia, and she looks at me.

"You are hot," she says, taking in my sweaty appearance with a smirk that seems to only ever be replaced by a frown. "How far did you go?"

"Nothing big, don't worry. Today's still an active rest day." She raises her eyebrows. "The route was twenty-seven kilometres, and then we cycled back from Plaça Espanya. We went slowly. It took us two hours."

She laughs. "Madre mía, the stereotype is true." Nala, her stupid dog, tugs on its (her?) leash, going for my ankles. More of a cat person, I take a cautious step backwards, unfamiliar with small dogs. Scarlett likes Alsatians. Liked. My mum has a dog, but she's a Labrador mix who is slightly overweight.

I wonder what Nala looks like when wet.

"How was your walk?" I ask out of politeness, still eyeing up her dog.

"Good. My sister was complaining the whole time. You are lucky that your sister is an athlete, because mine prefers to get her eyebrows threaded." Casual conversation about things like this is foreign ground to us both. It's sort of... awkward. Alexia must feel it too, because she switches the topic to football; "Jonatan wants me to watch Wolfsburg's match from today. He wants me to analyse it."

"I'm surprised you haven't got the team watching all of their matches." Film is important to learn how teams play, and it is a good skill to be able to analyse it yourself. Having someone tell you is one thing. "Well, maybe Jana doesn't need to be told."

"She does not," Alexia confirms with the same exasperation I feel when Jill doesn't shut up about her girlfriend. "You know Jill Roord, right?" She must be aware of this already, so I wonder where this is leading us. "It's that... you are a very clever person, Fleur. And you understand their style of play more."

"Oh." She nods. "Can I shower first? I feel disgusting."

Jaimie does not accept it being what I tell her it is (a film session that just so happens to be at Alexia's apartment and not the training centre), but is awfully evasive when I quiz her on what she talked to Alba about. She lets me go after pointing out that I would not wear mascara to a film session at the Joan Gamper.

I decide that it is possible to hate Alexia and maybe enjoy talking to her. Not that I will let Jaimie have the satisfaction of knowing that anytime soon.

notes: 

LOL

i promised a double update so here it is :)

thanks for reading cheekies xxxx 

(p.s. lets all take a deep breath and remind ourselves of how patient we all are!)