The predicament we are in is entirely one-sided because Leah does not yet know about its existence. I intend to tell her in the car, but quickly get distracted by a useless conversation, and then my next attempt is shut down by Leah's insistence to watch TV. Which naturally evolves into making out, Bojack Horseman be damned.

Settled on top of me and despite the turtleneck being tucked into my jeans, Leah's hand slides expertly underneath the fabric, continuing to distract me further from the conversation Viv has psyched me up to have. My hesitance is noticeable, and Leah pauses. Not allowing it to go further at such an awkward time of day, I gently push her off my lap. She frowns. "Something's up with you." It is the worst thing she could have said to me. "Was it the girls? I can talk to them."

It isn't a big deal, I remind myself. People sleep with people. I inhale. "No, actually." She inches closer, reclaiming the space I have wedged between us, lips parting with an unpredictable amount of patience. "Your teammates are lovely."

Her eyebrows knit together with a deepening worry. "You're scaring me."

It's not a big deal.

"I lied," I state as matter-of-factly as possible, my mouth drying out because of my over-dramatic nervousness. She blinks, surprised; maybe confused. "Remember when we played golf? I told you that I stayed away from footballers, and it... it isn't true."

We stew in silence for all of twenty seconds before Leah lets out a noise. My heart drops, afraid she is having some hysterical reaction and that I had misjudged her completely. Palm previously pressed tightly against her mouth, she removes her hand, shoulders shaking as she makes the same noise again. I realise that she is laughing. Leah is laughing. As though this hasn't been worrying me all day. "I know. Women talk." She smirks, and I wonder if I am going crazy. She is calm – happy to have the upper hand, and even more glad, in her eyes, to alleviate my obvious anxiety. "Hayley Raso, the City player. And Jackie Groennen, Man U."

"The Netherlands," I correct, falling into her little trap that is an attempt to lighten my mood. "Her club was irrelevant to me."

"Hm." She quirks an eyebrow, possibly taken aback by my bluntness, but hoping to have appeased my want for serious conversation. It is apparent that I still seem off. "I didn't ask because I don't care. You're with me now, which is what actually matters." Leah shifts her weight from one side of her body to the other, curling and flexing her fingers as her hands rest in her lap. There is more. "And... Scarlett already told me everything."

"Did you ask her?" Or was she being warned?

Leah shrugs. "I had my suspicions that you weren't telling the truth." So I did reply too quickly, then. I had wondered at that moment in time, but assumed she had not picked up on it. A curt 'no' is never a convincing answer. "Is this what's been eating you up all day? Jackie's not even in the league anymore, and I don't think I will ever have a proper conversation with Hayley Raso." She is dismissive. I sigh; she doesn't know anything.

"No, there is something I need to tell you." She stiffens with a cold, statue-like expression. "Okay, maybe that wasn't the best way to start." It is not a big deal, I tell myself once again, deciding to keep that phrase on a loop in my brain until this unbearable conversation is over. "Three people on your team have slept with me. I never meant for you to collect yourselves in one club."

She draws in three slow, steady breaths, staring at the living room wall as though she is in the room alone. I feel like I do not exist to her for the briefest of moments. And then, with a tone that would have been monotonous if there was more to her sentence, she simply goes: "who?"

"You are one of them," I begin, obligated to diffuse some of the tension before she throttles every person at London Colney the next time she is there. "So, really, it is only two."

"Who?" Leah repeats. Firmly.

"Victoria and Caitlin," I concede. "Caitlin was a long, long, long time ago. Vic was in 2018. And Fleur doesn't know about it." I am not sure whether that information is helpful to Leah or not, but hopefully she can see that I am trying to be honest and open.

Leah's cheeks burn red. "How many players currently in the league have you...?" Like Beth, she is too English to finish her sentence.

With these one-night-stands being exactly that, I rarely check up on how they are doing – unless something is going to happen again and I need to know where they will be and when. I take a moment to calculate my answer, surprising myself. "Only four." There is a lack of Dutch players in the WSL at the moment. It makes me sound less like a whore.

"Only?" Leah's anger has bubbled down into jealousy, though she is too proud to admit it. Her eyes are practically glowing green, lips pinched into a sneer. "Who is the fourth?"

"Melanie Leupolz. Again, a while ago." I don't even remember how that happened.

"Jaimie," Leah says gravely, "you like guys too, right?" I nod. "So..." She gestures for me to presumably disclose the Premier League players. Of which, there are few.

"Two. Liverpool and Chelsea."

"You only fuck Dutch people, don't you?"

"Not exclusively."

"So the women's national team?" she tries, jaw clenching harder when she notices the slight widening of my eyes. I have been caught out there.

"Fleur doesn't know about some of them, and can never know." Leah huffs with exasperation, but returns to her jealousy soon enough once they have been named. Hardening with possessiveness instead of softening with love, she presses her lips tighter together as I list them; she might as well know about everyone. She knows everyone.

"Are you done?" she snaps when I have completed the list of footballers who she has tackled, passed to, played with, and beaten. "What's next? Formula 1?" At my guilty expression, she decides to leave it at that.

And we just sit there.

She is probably concocting ways to never have to pass to her teammates again, scheduling extra technical sessions so that she can never be dispossessed. I watch the clock tick in the corner, justifying my growing hunger with the hour of day. She rubs at her temple, deep in thought. I close my eyes, willing this to end.

Finally, Leah sighs. I perk up. "You're not angry?" Her initial jealousy has subsided slightly, and has not escalated to anger. Which is good. This is good.

"No," she answers, frustrated by my question. She blows out a breath that carries the weight of her previous thoughts. "I'm not angry. I just– I want to gather them all in a room and declare that you are now mine and that they missed their chance. We weren't together when any of this happened, so it's not like you cheated." She is trying to reason with herself. "I'm a little... well, fuck, Jaimie. It kills me to know that other people got to see you the way I do."

"They didn't," I reply, voice sweet, light. Certain. Leah has lowered her head, gaze too piercing to be directed at me when has decided I do not deserve it, but she now looks up, intrigued. And maybe flattered. "They saw me naked, but you, you see me completely bare. You can shed me of every layer of my existence with just one glance, and I am helpless to it. You make me feel so vulnerable, but it is good. It is... You are different. You are special."

"You are forgiven for fucking my teammates," she jokes, laughing to hide the blush that has turned every inch of her exposed skin pink.

━━━━━━━

Leah can't help herself.

She knows about it now, and she can't forget. I get texts from Viv where she is barely able to type from laughing so hard – finding the glares Leah occasionally shoots at her friends too funny to be true.

But I am glad there is no other issue than that. Relieved to not be thought of as a slut, nor be shouted at for making things complicated. I have a tendency to complicate things.

I find myself exhausted by the next weekend, spending every spare second with Leah. Leah whose jealousy makes her clingy. Touchy. Possessive. I barely have a minute to focus on Fleur, and what is happening with her in Barcelona. She has gotten her period – never a good thing. And Alexia Putellas is confusing her, though she is stubborn about the tension not being sexual and the passionate hate she is harbouring not being something else. Of course, it is something else. She has both hands over her eyes and her ears covered by her shoulders, back to the truth. Even if I had time to make her see, she would not believe me. So I resign to hoping, from England, that she will be okay. She has adopted a cat; at least she is not alone.

We are trying out a new restaurant in Brent Cross; a pizzeria that is more upmarket than Leah's tastebuds can handle. She has been frowning at the pizza toppings for the last five minutes, but makes an attempt at appearing to listen to my dull recount of a cocktail evening I attended two days ago. I change the topic, having bored myself. "You know, you can't keep glaring at Vic." She doesn't look up. "Your jealousy is cute."

"Cute wasn't the word you used last night," she retorts, eyeing the concealer strategically applied on my exposed collarbone. I need to go shopping because the only nice clothes I have do not account for Leah's vampirical rampage. She sighs, closing the menu, gazing at me with bright eyes that shine in the low lighting of the restaurant. "I want you to come to my game tomorrow. I mean, you're here for once. You might as well."

I laugh at her nervousness. "Of course I'll come. I thought we agreed we didn't care if people found out." She thinks I am hiding us. I am not trying to. Her head tilts to the side, already prepared to defend her point. "Look, my sponsors wouldn't say anything. In fact, they would probably be grateful that I'm dating you. A real power couple. I'm just not the type of person to announce this kind of thing."

"If you come to the game, people will put two and two together."

"I don't care if they do," I emphasise. "I love you. I wouldn't be in such a crowded restaurant with you if I wanted to keep this a secret."

"You did keep me a secret!" she reminds me, the topic having been accepted as one that she will continue to bring up even if she is completely over my reluctance to tell Fleur. "And I was just checking." Leah beckons the waitress over, ordering for the both of us quickly.

"Okay," I reply, relaxing.

"So I'll send you the tickets, and maybe you can go with Mum?" Smiling at the thought of spending time with Amanda where we have a predetermined conversation topic, I nod. It is nice to see Leah's mother in an environment that is more comforting than using her house as a hotel or dropping by to collect my things. Leah seems to forget that while she may know me very well, her mother does not. And Amanda is lovely, but she is still as intimidating as any parent of a significant other is supposed to be. I mean, Leah has never met Papa but she is already terrified of him.

Speaking of; "sorry, babe, my father is calling me." Leah's eyes roll, her body still standing on the hill of 'his expectations are excessive' and 'you should schedule another therapy session'.

I leave the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, weaving my way through the tables full of laughing people, dodging the waiting staff. The evening is crisp and dark and the air smells of fresh rain, streets glistening with confirmation. There are people outside, but outside is a big place and no one is really paying attention to anyone else.

"Hi, Papa," I answer, leaning against the glass window of the restaurant. "Is everything alright?"

"Jaimie." Oh. "Yes, I'm fine. How are you?"

I wish it sounded as if he wanted to know, but his true question is clear. "The physiotherapist is saying May for certain. Earliest is late April. I could probably resume the tour in Strasbourg, and definitely play Roland-Garros."

"You have dropped in the rankings."

It knocks the air out of me for a moment. I pull myself together. "I know, but I am injured. I'm not playing; it was to be expected." A couple walks past me and the man practically guffaws. A small smile stretches the corners of my lips, and I think of Leah sitting inside.

"Are you out?" he accuses me, which is strange. My smile is replaced by a frown. "Jaimie, you are no longer in the top five and you decide to go out?"

"Well, I can't do anything about it, Papa." It sounds pathetic. I feel pathetic for the tears stinging my eyes and thickening my throat.

"You can't do anything," he mocks, mimicking my tone. "What? You're injured and so you pause your career to play house with some woman who you've known for less than a year? Are you out with her? You could be watching your opponents or planning the next tournaments, but instead you are with, who? Leah, was it?"

"Papa."

"Jaimie, she is distracting you from your true goal." He says it as though this is an intervention. He says it as though he truly believes his words. I never want him to speak again.

Some cruel joke this turns out to be, because I am only just able to hold back from crying before Leah joins me, murmuring an explanation that I don't hear. "I am not 'playing house' with Leah," is what I reply to, not having the energy to stand up for myself to this extent. "And I will do better. I will be first, Papa. I promise."

He hums, unimpressed, and then hangs up.

"What was that about?" Leah asks, tentatively bringing a hand up to rest on my bicep, unsure of my mood. I draw in a deep breath.

"Nothing," I answer. "Has the food come? I'm so hungry." She grins, happy that she had misinterpreted the tone I had ended the call with (she hadn't), and takes my hand. I feel slightly nauseous for the rest of the evening. 

notes: 

this is honestly what i'd imagine leah's reaction to be and i was so surprised to see u all panicking. it made me giggle lol. 

also totally irrelevant but i had a thought (a rare occurrence) and someone would have def found a clip of an old chelsea vs arsenal game where fleur has gone into the stands to hug jaimie and leah has been in the background and made an edit of it to that 'invisible string' on tiktok 

anyway, thanks for reading as usual and bring on the next part of the story that you will not necessarily thank me for!