In the changing room..: Reader's Pov.
It's safe to say the rest of the game was rather uneventful. Every player tries to make safe passes and clean tackles on edge due to the yellow. Me, however, was attempting to get Katie to crack and sent off with a red card. Apparently, I was unsuccessful. In my head, I run over every time I touched the ball that entire game, contemplating anything I did wrong and how I can fix that in training in the next couple of days. Around me, the girls are excitedly chatting about the game, some about who was the best player and others who pissed them off throughout the game. But I sat in ultimate silence as I began to take off my kit and change into some more comfortable clothing. I slip on some grey trackie bottoms and my training hoodie. I was probably one of the first out, but I'm always conscious of myself after a game, my head spinning with why the rest of my team would be disappointed with my play, despite them very rarely displaying their thoughts. I slide the tie out of my hair, placing it between my teeth and scraping back the strands that escaped in the harsh, British wind. I'm concentrating on grasping all my hair, that I seem to miss the person right in front of me, someone whom I'm normally the big, tough Barcelona superstar. Their baby faced assassin. It's rare that I let people know that I'm uncomfortable, or stressed, or nervous or insecure. Not even Lucy and Keira know my after match ritual of watching back the entire game and commenting on everything I did incorrectly or sloppy, so being completely out in my own world, I slip down for the second time that day, hitting my back against the wall behind me. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying any attention." I stutter out, my head spinning from the sudden impact. "No, it's okay. I wanted to talk to you anyway." The words are a swirl of sarcasm, warmth, laughter, and security. I'm quick to look up, finding exactly what I thought I would and resume our long-term hatrid. "Huh? McCabe, what the hell are you doing right outside the away team changing rooms?"
"Did you not hear me?" Her eyebrows raise in a questioning manner. "I said I was waiting to talk to you." Confusion and the pain in my head bundle up my thoughts, and in an attempt to get away, I'm up on my feet in a matter of seconds and taking long strides towards the door. "Hey! I said I wanted to talk to you!"
"I heard you. And I'm ignoring you." My mind wanders to a million different reasons to why she would want to talk.. maybe she doesn't, and she wants to fight. I'm almost at the door when it happens. A tight grip wraps around my wrist and yanks me back. This isn't fair. She does all this on the pitch, and then suddenly, it's okay to stalk the outside of my changing rooms and grab my wrist?
(Guess who forgot to post!! ...
Me!!. Anyways, I know a baby-faced assassin is Guro Reitens' name, but I thought I would slide it in there because n couldn't think of anything else. Please, I beg, leave a flipping comment. Love ya <3)