TESSA ▸ PAUL POGBA

TWO • COMPROMISE

Tessa Grey was doing everything in her power to avoid Paul Pogba. The Frenchman had spent the better part of the last two weeks trying to reach out to her, and she was not prepared for what that inevitable conversation would include.

They'd had a terrible fight exactly a week and a half ago; they yelled things they didn't mean at each other; and in the heat of the moment, Paul, unfortunately, said something he instantly regretted. Tessa's green eyes filled with tears as she stared at him, a frown decorating her face.

Paul shut his eyes for a moment, cursing himself for what he'd said and tried to reach out for Tessa. "Ma moitié," he tried. She ignored the term of endearment, pushing past him to exit the front door to his flat.

So, when she answered the door to her Manchester apartment on a fateful stormy summer day, she was not surprised to find Paul in all his infamous brown-eyed glory staring at her.

"Tess," he cautiously stated. Her frown was back.

He hadn't seen Tessa in ten days—that was the longest they'd ever gone without speaking to or seeing one another—so he wasn't sure what to expect from her. Had she really changed how she felt about him? What she thought about him? Was she the same girl he knew before it all went down?

It may have seemed a little dramatic for Paul to think these things after one fight but it was important to note that the two never, ever fought. They'd known each other for two years, since Paul had begun his professional career with Manchester United (Tessa hated saying that, being a City fan) and they'd been sleeping together since last September; and in all that time, they'd had a serious fight maybe once.

Tessa thought of that as she tilted her head to the side, her green orbs clashing with his own brown ones. "Paul..." she tested the name out on her tongue; she hadn't uttered his name in over a week.

"Can I come in?" he asked, looking over Tessa's shoulder to see Wyatt exit her room and stumble into Elle's, catching Paul's eye in the mere second she was in the hall. Tessa stared at him, unsure of what her answer would be, until he lifted the bag in his hand up to her, the logo of her favorite bakery in bold, pastel letters in the front.

Tessa stared between the bag and Paul's hopeful eyes before taking a step closer to the door, out of his way, to let him into the flat the three girls shared. This wasn't the first time he was inside her apartment but it certainly felt foreign after the last time he visited her a little over a week ago.

He took a seat on a barstool at the island in her kitchen as she opened the box of cupcakes on the countertop, standing adjacent to him. A thick silence filled the air between the two, neither knowing how to start the conversation. Tessa quietly took a bite of her cupcake, eyes shifting to the footballer in front of her as he chuckled. His long, dark fingers reached up to her face, thumb wiping away the little bit of frosting that had been smudged there.

"Je suis desole, ma moitié," he apologized, his voice low as he stared into her eyes.

"The answer is still no," she said to him, crossing her arms over her chest as her voice expressed blatant honesty.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Come on, chérie," he begged, uncrossing her arms and taking her hands in his.

"Nope."

"Tess..."

She shook her head, pulling her hands from his. "I said no, mon pioche." As soon as she'd made the mistake of letting the term of endearment slip out of her mouth, she cursed herself.

Paul had taken to the nickname la Pioche, which was a term in French that Tessa learned early on in their friendship meant someone who goes out of their way to help others. When they became closer, Tessa had altered the term slightly to mon pioche, giving her a sort of possession on it, and Paul had loved hearing it every time she said it.

So, when she spoke the words––words she would never speak were she still as mad as she was when they'd first fought––he knew everything would be okay. He knew she wasn't hurt so much by the comments anymore; she'd gotten over it. But, she was still making him jump through hurdles and pay for what he did. And that was understandable.

"Okay..." he began as she walked around the corner to stand in front of him as he turned in his barstool to face her. He pulled her closer until she stood in between his legs, his arms wrapping around her waist. "Okay, what's it going to take?" Tessa always had a price for things whenever Paul did something wrong; and Paul always paid it.

Compromise was important in any relationship, even one that was majorly based on sex.

Tessa tossed some ideas his way. "No more obligatory Man U games."

Ever since they'd started sleeping together, Paul had made it a rule in their relationship for Tessa to attend every home game for his club. He liked the support and timing was never a problem. But, sometimes, Tessa did wish she could take a nap or do something else.

"Not up for negociation."

"I want to sleep on the left side of the bed."

Ever since they'd started sleeping together, they had discovered that both liked sleeping on the left side of the bed. That was a problem, seeing as neither felt comfortable on the right side but Tessa took one for the team. Nevertheless, she would end up sleeping right up against or on top of Paul sometimes, subconsciously gravitating towards the familiarity of the left side of the bed.

"No."

"Meet my parents."

Paul's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "And tell them we're not in a serious relationship, just having a lot of great sex? Absolutely not."

A sudden and mischievous smirk decorated Tessa's face then. "I want to use the whipped cream."

Paul had always been a little hesitant to bring food into their bedroom activities; they got along just fine without it; but, once upon a time, Elle told Tessa about a boy she'd been dating and they used chocolate in the bedroom and though things got messy, they also got hot and heavy.

Paul hesitated towards an answer, something that gave Tessa confidence to go on. "Come on," she urged, resting her hands on his shoulders and squeezing. "It's not like I'm asking for chocolate like Elle." She pressed her chest to his as she closed the gap between them. "Besides, I get my chocolate fix every time we have sex," she whispered into his ear, taking the side between her teeth and sexily tugging on it.

Paul's eyes rolled onto the back of his head as he found himself uttering in agreement, nodding his head. "Okay, fine."

"Yes," Tessa cheered softly to herself as she pulled away from him.

He stood up then, his height towering nearly a foot over hers, ad reached into his back pocket, pulling out three shiny golden tickets to the World Cup. He'd grabbed ones for Elle and Wyatt, too. He waved them in front of Tessa but pulled them back when she reached out to grasp them between her fingers. She looked up at Paul, eyes full of question.

"We're okay?" he asked, just to be sure.

Tessa slightly rolled her eyes, hands reaching up to pull him down to her by the neck. She placed her lips on his, all the emotional she always felt around him pouring into the kiss. "We're okay," she promised him, grinning as he allowed her to grab the tickets from him.

An undeniable grin appeared on his face then, right before he raised her up in his arms, spinning them around playfully in her kitchen. Tessa squealed loudly, her laughter filling each corner of the apartment. When he let her down, he held her face in his hands and crashed his lips down to hers. She melted into the kiss, pulling away only when she heard the pitter-patter of curious feet entering the kitchen.

Elle and Wyatt walked into the room, both just as confused about how Tessa had gone from being mad at Pogs to giggling in his arms in a matter of days.

"What's going on, guys?" Elle asked.

Paul slowly let go of Tessa, allowing her to turn to her friends and tell them the good news.

She presented the three tickets to her best friends. "I guess we're going to the World Cup."