Mix & Matches (Neymar Jr) ✔

#38, A cheap shot

They didn't really speak much during the drive – they both knew where Tamira would've gone. There were only two places she felt completely at home here in Barcelona, and she wouldn't have gone home now. She would've gone to where she could vent.

Neymar didn't even bother to park the car properly before he got out and ran toward the entrance.

"Neymar!" Emma called after him as she got out from the passenger side. He turned around, but didn't stop. She sighed, not sure what words to use she took the few steps around the car toward the driver's seat. "Just– whatever she says now? It's just– it's self defence, okay? They pulled the rug out from under her feet with that idea."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. Then he said, "I know that. My feet were standing on that rug too."

Emma nodded. "I think she thinks more about what you two have then she initially wanted to." Neymar couldn't help the chuckle, which left her confused. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just... it feels good that you know now."

She pursed her lips, then she pointed over his shoulder. "You better go and talk some sense into her."

"I'll try to," Neymar said. Then he was gone through the entrance, leaving Emma alone in the parking lot of the Joan Gamper training ground.

Emma tilted her head. "Yeah. I can't believe I just said that. Those two are hopeless." With that she took out her phone and dialled her boyfriend's number. "Rafa? Yeah, hey. You busy? Nothing, just wanted to ask if you're up for taking the duck back before they do. No, I just have a funny feeling, I'll tell you later!"

—-

The ball curved beautifully toward the goal. Too bad it didn't hit it. Instead, it went marvelously right over the post.

"Dammit!" Tamira cursed, pulling a hand through her locks. She took another ball from net she'd snatched before going onto the practise field and put it on the penalty spot. Then she glanced toward the goal, where a bunch of footballs were already lying around – none of them inside the goal, mind you.

She was way off her game.

The next ball she kicked with so much force that the sound it made when it planked right off the post could be heard across the whole field.

"Fuck it all!" she exclaimed, frustrated by her under-performance.

"And you once chided me for my awful curves in training," a voice said from behind her.

Turning around, Tamira spotted Neymar standing a few feet away from her. He had his hands tilted on his hips and was casually leaning on one foot, giving the footballs scattered around the goal a scrutinizing look.

"What are you doing here?" Tamira asked, turning away from the sight of him to pick up yet another ball.

"Watching you do awful penalty kicks, apparently," was his reply.

Tamira scoffed. She was not in the mood for this. "Came to gloat? Is that it?" He didn't say anything. "Came to say 'I told you so'? Want me to say that you were right all along? That we should've just told everyone?"

Neymar sighed and walked up to her. "If you honestly think I'm here to gloat we better not continue this conversation and just go home."

She didn't say anything in retort, knowing fully well that he was right. So instead she turned back to the footballs, placing another one on the penalty point.

The sun was setting by now, basking the training ground in the soft light of dusk. If not for the faint sound of traffic the atmosphere could have been almost described as tranquil. They were alone on the field which, Neymar realised, had to be a first for him; usually the ground was full with people – his teammates, the training staff, curious onlookers, staff from the compound, even the media guys from Barca.TV usually were around whenever there was a training session.

For the first time in what seemed like forever he was alone with her.

A feeling stirred in him, strong and wild and close to overtaking him. It was a feeling he couldn't really pinpoint, wasn't sure he was ready for. So he just pushed it back for now; to be examined at a later time, when the force and surprise of feeling it had subsided.

"So you're just gonna ignore me and shoot some balls right next to the goal?" Neymar asked tentatively when Tamira took a few steps away from the ball to ready herself for the shot.

She groaned, agitated, and put her face in the palm of her hands. "You realise that this is exactly what I came here for."

Neymar crossed his arms over his chest, an eyebrow raised in contemplation. "And here I thought you just wanted to run away from the mess at my house. My bad."

Tamira closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had run, there was no denying it. But she didn't want to have this conversation with him right now. She didn't want to face what they had to face as soon as they left the football field. She didn't want to make any decision based on what had happened an hour or so ago.

She just... she didn't want it to end. It was that simple. Or not, in their case.

"Neymar?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we just– can we please not talk about it right now?"

He eyed her for a moment, then he nodded. She took the chance to return to the task before her. Of course, despite her thinking otherwise, she missed another shot and cursed like a sailor when she did so.

Neymar sighed and shook his head. "Right." He took another ball from the dwindling collection coming from the net and put it on the penalty point. "Let's just hit some balls then. Train a bit. Seriously, your shots are awful!"

Tamira couldn't help but chuckle at that, glad to find him not pressuring her into having the much needed and too often delayed conversation. They both knew it would happen as soon as they went back inside the compound, as soon as they left the simpleness of the training field behind them. "Said the guy that literally has the worst penalty scores of the team, ever."

He didn't reply to the jibe, opting to pinch Tamira in the side instead, which made her laugh in response. He didn't mind her words in the least. He was just happy and relieved to find her smiling at him when she watched him prepare the ball for his shot, fully expecting him to miss an empty goal, much like she had.

He didn't, so he gloated and she punched him in the shoulder for it ("That was a cheap shot, you ass!" – "Yeah? Then how come you couldn't make it?"). He wrapped his arms around her to stop her assault, both of them laughing, the tension leaving them with every passing second.

Then they looked into each other's eyes and kissed, right in the middle of the training field.

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I couldn't go on with the torture, so I hurried up and wrote another part as soon as inhumanly possible! Hope you liked it, what do you think? :) I just couldn't bear their horrible situation anymore, so there's the breather I was hoping for! I'm thinking of continuing the scene somewhat in the next part, would you be up for a little something?

All the best!

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Published on: 08 March 2016