The streets of Barcelona on a Thursday are not the most crowded, but there are enough people out and about for it to not feel strange being solely in Clàudia's company. I trust her, even so. She's too small to be capable of any harm.

Her hand holds mine firmly, but with a genuine care to not crush my bones, and her explanation of the dynamics of the team is very useful when I pay attention to it. It's hard when her smile grows so wide as she talks about people she clearly loves, and I can't lie to myself and say that I haven't found her attractive when playing against her. Just in passing, though.

This is not 'in passing'.

I mean, I haven't even been to the training ground yet and I am already considering whether I can have anything past a friendship with my new teammate.

(She looks so pretty.)

I realise we have done one big loop when Clàudia shoots me a mischievous smile and tugs my hand past the bar. Marta's blonde hair is somewhat recognisable, and I think she is still talking to the bartender as we breeze into a quaint restaurant in an adjacent alley. The waiter at the front seems to know who the woman is beside me, because he is quick to take us to a table in the back that is so intimately snug that I have no choice but to sit beside Clàudia, cramped into the corner with a promise that the food here is wonderful.

Again, the Catalan above Spanish on the menu is confusing, and I am not really surprised when Clàudia orders for the both of us without even opening the leather-bound booklet set in front of her. The waiter almost looks sorry to have insulted her by giving the menu, but leaves me mine for a moment as I check the wine list.

"You don't want a glass of sparkling water?" Clàudia asks, her leg pushed up against mine under the table.

None of the wines take my fancy. "I do," I tell the waiter, who nods and heads towards the kitchen with our order. "You clearly come here often."

"Yeah," she agrees, huffing out a laugh as though she was trying to hide that fact. "My ex showed me this place, but it's just too good to avoid. Do you live near here?"

The walk was around ten minutes. "I, um, live in Alexia Putellas' building? Obviously, my apartment is not as nice as hers probably is, and I have a roommate and only one bathroom..." She is looking at me as though I have something on my face. "What?"

A blush tints her cheeks as her dimples appear with her sheepish smile. I like making her smile. "Nothing." And then, "you got put in that place? I heard that it was a war zone between Fleur and Alexia."

Conveniently, she had left this out of her earlier analysis. I think she commented more on how Patri loves cucumbers than the two biggest names in women's football playing for the same team. By the way she says their names together, and the seriousness of her tone, it seems as though they do not get along at all. Here I was thinking they had some major chemistry like they have on the pitch.

"A war zone?" I question, interest piqued.

"Well, yeah. They hate each other." Alexia is her role model, and Fleur is mine. It will be interesting to hear her side of the story. Maybe I can ask Fleur about it tomorrow if María wasn't joking about arranging for me to meet her. "When Fleur was still training, they used to have these private sessions with our manager to work on how we can best use both of their talents to our benefit. I was invited to one and I don't think I have ever experienced anything more tense. Ale sends Fleur these bullets, and Fleur kicks her balls that are too high not to head when they are going at, like, five-hundred kilometres per hour. And they never talk to each other if they can help it – except, once they did."

I wait for her to continue when we are briefly interrupted by our drinks. Clàudia leans in closer as if she is sharing top-secret information, which I suppose she is. If people found out about the tension in the Barcelona camp, it could be exploited. "So we were at training, and Ale was being harsh. Really harsh." I gulp. "No, don't worry! She pushes us, but it's usually good. This time it wasn't, though, because even Fleur, who is honestly built like a robot when it comes to stamina, looked like she was going to vomit. Next thing you know, they're shouting at each other in front of everyone. Jona benched them both, you know. As punishment. Ale was absolutely furious."

"Why do they not like each other? Surely they have a mutual respect." She shakes her head with disappointment. I bet that some of them like the drama, though. "Have you picked sides if it's that bad?"

"I like Fleur, I really do," she begins slowly, and I already know what she is going to say next. "I am just closer to Ale, and I'd support her through whatever. She'd do that for me, too."

"So if this went to shit, I would have Alexia Putellas after me?"

Her raised eyebrows help me to realise my slip up. Nice going. "What do you mean by 'this'?"

Before I can answer, our food arrives and my confidence that has been building up inside of me has rushed to hide behind anything in sight. Now, no longer being able to say what I would like to, I change the topic to asking her what exactly she is trying to feed me. Half of the food is the usual tapas, but some of it I have never seen before.

While Clàudia is helpfully running me through what each thing I am putting in my mouth is (after a panicked question of if I am allergic to anything – I'm not), all I really focus on is how much I'd like to kiss her. And whether or not this is a date.

Which is weird, because this hasn't happened to me before.

The spontaneity I had displayed earlier, and the willingness to immediately leave with a woman who is more of a stranger than I had initially acknowledged, is a new-found persona that I have adopted because this place is so far away from everything I have ever known. If I want to date a girl, I doubt it will get back to Mamá without someone actually having to care. Her presence in Sevilla was suffocating enough for me to not do relationships, and of course there are girls in Córdoba who are fine with sneaking around. Making out with a friend's sister when I'm drunk is easier to explain than a sober dinner with a girl whose hand rests on my thigh as she tells me, with shining eyes, about her culture.

Clàudia, who is proud to be from Barcelona, offers a refreshingly positive perspective on the city. Of its traditions, its people, its slightly dodgier areas that should be avoided if you are a woman walking alone at night. She is pleased with how intently I listen, perhaps mistaking my attention for interest in what she is saying and not the lips she is saying it with. Lips that purse when she forgets to add a detail she thinks is worth knowing, or stretch broadly when she remembers another thing about her beloved home.

I sit there, held still by her hand and entranced by those lips, and decide that I am probably fucked for developing such an instant crush on a teammate. Clàudia must feel the muscles in my leg tense, because she interrupts herself with an awkward laugh. "Sorry, am I rambling?"

Snapping out of it, I shake my head, unable to hold back the grin spreading on my face. "It was cute," is all I offer her, wondering if that is sufficient confirmation that I have changed my mind about flirting. I may have shut her down earlier, but she is a very convincing person.

"Tell me... tell me about you? Now you know all these things about my home and my culture, so it's only fair."

In truth, there isn't much to tell. "What would you like to know?"

"Siblings?"

"None."

She licks her lips, finishing off the last of the plates of tapas. The food here was admittedly delicious, and it went down quickly. "Pets?"

"Nope. Although the neighbour's cat liked to slink in through the window when I was growing up." I think the cat was eventually run over by a car.

"You're from Andalucía, right?"

"Can't you tell?" She grins to affirm that she did, but whether she discovered it as we spoke or already knew that about me is unclear. "I was born and raised in Córdoba. We used to live in this tiny flat in the centre, above a sweet shop, right opposite the Roman temple. I once accidentally kicked a ball into it, and then Mamá banned me from playing near the windows."

"Is it just you and your mother?" she asks with a reserved tone that most who want to know but don't want to seem invasive possess.

"I never knew my father," I confess, feeling myself deflate. "I... I don't even know his name." Or if he is alive. Or why he thought I wasn't good enough for him to love. "But, it's fine!" I quickly say, not wanting to ruin the mood. "Mamá is all I have ever needed, and I am incredibly grateful for everything she has done for me."

"That's sweet," Clàudia admits, retracting her hand with a sudden nervousness. "Have you ever tried to find him?"

The waiter brings over the bill, giving me time to think about it.

I don't even get a chance to pay, too busy weighing out the pros and cons of finding a man who clearly wants no part in my life to argue with her about covering half of it. She shuts my anticipated protests down with a 'which one of us is the proper Barcelona player?' anyway.

"Not really," I decide, because that is what her question asked. Wanting to search and actually doing it are two different things, however. Until making the move to Barcelona, I had not even thought to seriously delve into why Mamá is haunted by ghosts that possibly come from this city. Here, as Clàudia unknowingly eggs me on, I make a promise to myself to stop accepting things for how they are, and to maybe start asking why.

"I suppose you don't need a father, right? Hey, do you think lesbians raise happier children because they don't have to deal with men?"

It lightens the mood as intended.

We leave the restaurant with the plan to head back to the plaza, where I am counting on Marta still being in the bar so we can walk back to the building. If she isn't there, Clàudia is certain she knows the way, presumably because of Alexia. She lives in the opposite direction though, and I don't want to inconvenience her. Or have to break the house rules on the first night.

(Not that I have the furniture for that. Do I even have a blanket to sleep with?)

Clàudia pausing to tie her shoelaces is what causes the first domino to fall.

It creates a lull in conversation, and we slip into a horribly comfortable silence. One in which I think about what her lips would feel like against my own, where I imagine the heat of her body even closer to my own than it was at our cramped table. The bruise on my collarbone is gone, though she wouldn't see it if it were still present. And it's not like she hasn't been dropping hints all evening.

She stands up again, and the second, third, and fourth dominoes come crashing down. I am taller, but her pale, blue eyes are too commanding with that look in them, and I find myself leaning into her. Hands firmly on my waist, street clear of any vehicles, we stay frozen like this in the middle of the road.

"You're my new teammate," she murmurs, talking herself out of this.

I know I should be coming up with my own reasons not to surge forward and right a wrong in the universe, but I am too drawn in. Too far gone.

"It's only for a month," I whisper instead, my fingers toying with the belt loop of her jeans. Her eyes drop to my lips, and I know that her restraint is waning. My index slips into the loop, grazing the cool, metal button on its way, and I tug her hips into mine until she is pressed against me. "Can I kiss you?" I examine her face for any signs that she isn't thinking what I'm thinking, awaiting her reply.

Clàudia's response is to meet me halfway. 

notes: 

2k reads already? wow 

i promised a non-delusional mc and so you have one!!

thanks for reading xx