The dinner consists of me talking exclusively to Leah. Her friends try to coerce her into their antics further away, and Scarlett attempts to pull her outside for some top-secret conversation with their England friend group, but, to each and every offer to leave, she shakes her head and focuses her attention back on me.

It's very flattering.

My tiramisu arrives before most people's desserts, and I convince Leah to have a bite. She leans over the table as I hold out my spoon, and I find myself having to focus on the potted plant in the corner, whispering the words "French Open" under my breath. Her lips look enticing. She is a captivating woman.

"It's not bad," she hums after washing it down with a sip of sparkling water. "You can have some of my vanilla ice cream." I laugh at the contrast. She frowns; she had said earlier on that she doesn't like being made fun of.

"Sorry, but you have the taste buds of a child," I say, watching her eyes soften from the playful glare she was giving me. "Now carry on telling me about the third Star Wars movie. We have, like, six more to get through before we leave."

I may have lied and said I'd never watched them. Her reaction was worth it.

Leah grins as she recounts Revenge of the Sith with a terrifying amount of detail. It feels like I'm being told what she did last weekend, especially since she begins to use her cutlery to recreate the scene where Anakin and Obi-wan fight before Anakin 'dies'. I watch her intently, not realising that Scarlett has been filming us until it's too late, and she's posted it to her story.

"Let's go," I suggest when she ends her version of the film rather dramatically. I'm finished, and Leah's ice cream disappeared the moment she was served it. "I don't want to be late for my driver."

She raises her eyebrows; "you have a driver?" I nod. It's a security thing. And also a way to keep a tab on my whereabouts. I can't have too much fun when I play nineteen tournaments a year. There is only so much time in the world. "Do they drive a nice car?"

"I would say so," I shrug, mind wandering to the thought of holding that trophy next month. I'm on my way to Italy beforehand, but I can't excite myself for a usually pleasant tournament. Not when the image of cold metal in my hands is replaced by soft, pale skin, accompanied with blonde hair and a charming smile and a woman I have only just met. I shake my head as subtly as I can, hoping that fantasy somehow slips out of my mind.

"Okay, yeah, let's go." Leah stands up, as do I. "Scar, we're off." My sister and her girlfriend are drunk because they are both being rested for Chelsea's next game, and they are clearly enjoying each other's company. They pay little to no notice of how Leah slides her arm around my waist as we walk out, or how Aniek's face has fallen at the prospect of being abandoned by the woman she could speak Dutch to without being reprimanded for breaking the English-only rule. I feel a little guilty for ditching Aniek, but it's not as if anyone else has had my attention tonight anyway.

Richmond is splendidly green this time of year, but, in the darkness, the trees appear more looming and monstrous. I shiver. The night has a British chill that was hidden by the earlier sun, and my dress is short. Leah offers me her blazer as a joke. I tell her that she's coming off a little too eager, to which she nudges my hip. I stumble in my heels, more used to the feeling of trainers on courts.

"Hey, watch out," I admonish her, gripping onto her arm to keep me upright. "I'm injured. You can't ruin my chances of winning the French Open." Being a distraction for tonight has done more than enough, I would say.

Leah steadies me in front of my car – she has done well to assume that the black Range Rover is meant for me. "You're injured?" She sounds inquisitive, caring. I decide to put some physical distance between us, taking a step back. Something pricks at my bare back, but it's for the best.

"My hamstring was being temperamental at the Charleston, so I pulled out of Madrid. Otherwise I'd be in Spain, not here." I didn't do as well as I'd usually do in the Charleston Open for a reason, but I still was criticised for lacking in form by numerous articles and a particular man back home in Amsterdam. Papa can't help it. He wants the best for me, and I'm easier to tear apart than Fleur, because Fleur can blame her own performance on her team. It isn't right to do so, but she would if she was regularly subjected to the pressure she knows I have always been under.

"Well, Miss de Voss," she says, lowering her voice as she opens the door to the car for me, "I am very glad your hamstring led you to me."

I use the period between her shutting the door on my side and opening the one on hers to take in some very deep breaths. Marcus, who drives me around London every time I'm here, catches my eye in the rear-view mirror. "Don't," I warn him, watching his slight smirk grow wider.

"Which hotel will I be taking you to?" he asks teasingly. Leah gets in the car and wonders why I am sitting in here turning into a tomato.

"Plans haven't changed," I tell him rather cryptically, hoping Leah did not hear what he said. "Leah, this is Marcus. You like football, don't you, Marc?" Fleur and him have had very animated conversations about English clubs before. My sister won't ever admit to supporting them due to her devotion to Ajax, but Scarlett is halfway to shimmying an Aston Villa jersey over her head. "Leah plays for Arsenal."

Marcus is beginning to reverse, but stops the car, turning around to get a better look at the woman beside me. "My daughter loves you, Leah." He smiles at the mention of her. She's admittedly quite sweet. "She's playing in the academy; under-7s. She loves it."

"I hated my academy days," I say, grimacing at the memories of them. Fleur stole all of my friends, and I was getting bored of football. I hit Leah's stomach gently. "Don't look so shocked. I'm a woman of many talents."

"I just thought Fleur played football and you played tennis." If only our childhood was that simple. "But all that tells me is that the Ajax academy has nothing on Arsenal. Best club in the world."

"I disagree." The tinted windows of the car lead me to let my hand stay in Leah's lap. London rushes past as Marcus drives to the rooftop bar. Leah's fingers play with the rings I'm wearing, but abruptly stop so she can argue her point. I don't let her. "I don't recall Arsenal having four Champions League trophies. And you guys have only won the premier league, what? Once?"

"Three times!" Leah and Marcus shout in unison.

Leah then follows that up with, "but Arsenal have me playing for them, so..."

"That just makes it worse." She looks at me, jaw wide open, hand on her heart. Though it is clear she is amused, I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt for saying that. "I take it back. Alexia Putellas lies awake at night wondering when everybody will come to their senses and see who is the true best player in the world."

"Nah, it's your sister who Alexia's scared of. Putellas is Messi and Fleur is Ronaldo." It isn't the first time I've heard that comparison. Fleur and Alexia Putellas are big contenders for awards and bragging rights, but, to be honest, my sister worrying about losing the Ballon d'Or this year is a waste of time. She's sure to win it, and then Papa will have a trophy cabinet that's finally complete – provided I get my act together and win Wimbledon in summer. It's the only Grand Slam I haven't won. It'll be for nothing if I don't end my career as the best tennis player in history.

"Who do you think is going to win the Euros?"

She doesn't hesitate: "England, obviously." I click my tongue, filling the tense silence as she awaits my response. "But I like the Netherlands... Some of my best friends are Dutch!"

"Nice save," Marcus says over his shoulder. He breaks my focus from Leah, and I realise we have arrived. Marcus remains my go-to driver, because he has seemingly taken us on a longer route, giving us time in the car as well as allowing the party to actually start. Otherwise I would be going to a hotel with Leah, consequently throwing away all chances I had at success into the Thames.

He was right, as I said before. He was right to say I should stick to tennis. Breaking up with me was a gift. When I'm alone, I can focus on what I need to do. Love doesn't win a tournament; sheer dedication does.

Leah Williamson needs to stay far, far away. I need to stay away. But golf tomorrow won't hurt.

I repeat those two words in my head for the remainder of the evening.

Except, I do so with Leah by my side. Or sat next to her.

In my defence, the view is beautiful, and everyone else is too drunk to appreciate it with me. I like how dark the water looks; how mysterious it feels. I like how the lights shine onto the water, and it's like a canvas that the city paints onto. I like how those same lights glint in Leah's eyes as I stare at her while she talks my ears off.

She has a lot to say, and I like to listen.

I find myself liking a lot of things about tonight.

We are comfortable on the sofas set out overlooking the Thames. Her arm is around my shoulders, placed there without a second thought the moment I first shivered. The glass table in front of us holds our two glasses of water, but neither of us has moved out of the position since we slotted ourselves into it.

"Jaimie?" I hum in response. I feel the most relaxed I have felt in months; I could easily fall asleep. "Can you tell me about tennis? I'm honestly quite curious, and I think I'm going to wear my voice out if I speak anymore." To both our dismays, I sit up, hoping to rouse myself slightly.

"Yeah, sure. Do you know the rules?"

I think Leah does, but she pretends not to. So I talk, explaining the basics. Sitting up wasn't the best idea, because it enables her to face me, and means that I can't stop catching her eyes and holding her gaze and feeling a fire ignite in my cheeks and my stomach and my whole life.

French Open.

She leans in closer as the music rises in volume. I spare a glance to the actual party, looking away quickly when the first thing I see is Fleur with her tongue down Scarlett's throat. "They're all over each other," Leah interrupts, drawing my attention back to the sight I most definitely don't want to see. "I thought they were all about keeping things professional."

"This isn't a business meeting," I answer, finding her discomfort relatable yet quite amusing. "They're always like this. You don't spend much time with the both of them, do you?" Poor Leah does not know how tortuous living with a happy couple is, especially when they are affectionate and loud and don't care if their guests have to wake up at half past six every morning in order to train. I could pay for a hotel, but I feel bad for never seeing Fleur as it is.

Leah shakes her head. "Fleur doesn't like me. I tackled her once, and I think she's holding a grudge. She came on holiday with us last year, but we were never left alone together. Scar's one of my best friends, though."

"Yeah, it's you and her and two other English girls. Fleur was telling me, imagining who was going to be their bridesmaids." Leah's eyes widen comically, as if I've just spilled the biggest secret ever. "Nothing has happened yet. This was two years ago – Fleur was just feeling particularly smitten."

"My bridesmaids would be Scar, Keira, and G, too." She says it with a confidence one can only long for when it comes to friendships. My closest friends are my mum, my mum's dog, Fleur, and maybe my tennis coach. Juan is good to talk to. "G's been my roommate forever, and Scar and Kei are each others', so it's just one massive sleepover at every camp."

"But now you're the captain," I say. "Isn't that more pressure? So more focus?"

"Yes, but I love football, and I love my friends. It's more than a job to me, so the pressure's the good kind. It's a compliment to be held to such high expectations. You know what I mean?" I don't. At all. But I nod because I realised a long time ago that most people think differently to the way I do. And they find it weird and intense and – like he said, one step away from being consumed by my own life. I imagine that some believe I will sink like a ship with too many little holes punctured into its helm. I have a tattoo just below my collarbone reading 'till I die', so I don't mind it too much.

The atmosphere shifts after that.

The interaction in itself isn't romantic, but the gentle breeze and the sparkling city lights are. How close we are sitting now, how she's pressed into my side as we settle into a subdued silence. Despite the party five metres away, it is rather tranquil here.

It occurs to me that I have only spoken to her tonight. Fleur hasn't bothered me, and Scarlett hasn't dragged me off to carry out an inane meet-and-greet with all of her friends. Leah seems to have become a force-field, as if nobody wants to disturb us. I'm sure her friends miss her.

But she is here, with me.

She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, its wave rippling as it falls and joins the rest of the loose curls. She clears her throat; I have been over-analysing her movements. "I want to kiss you," she whispers after a moment. It is almost inaudible, but I hear it. I will never forget it. "Can I–"

"Jaimie, Fleur's going to do a back-flip and she won't listen to me!" I jerk backwards, banging my knee on the glass table. Scarlett is barely standing upright, but, as she clings onto a footballer I sort-of recognise, I can sense the urgency in her voice. She huffs out a sigh. "The girl has no gymnastic talents, but she claims that Sam's taught her and–" The awkward tension between Leah and I is obviously noticeable. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Yeah, kinda," Leah grumbles.

It's adorable.

"I'll come sort her out," I tell Scarlett, surging upwards. For once, a distraction is very welcome. I did not come to London to get myself mixed up with footballers, because it never ends well, and I have a career to attend to. There are far more important things in life than having someone to wake up next to.

notes:

yeah soz (you thought i'd let everything be smooth and uncomplicated?)

i hope nothing's confused - i honestly found myself typing out fleur when i meant to say jaimie, but that might just be a lack of sleep on my part

the support on this has been crazy so far

thanks for reading!