Alana's POV
"You're late," were the first words to fall from Putellas' lips as I walked into the reception of the Barcelona training ground after Gabby had dropped me off.
I pressed my lips into a smile to muffle the scoff; I'd been in the captain's presence for all of five seconds and she was already looking for an argument. "Jonatan said five, didn't he?" I pulled out my phone, "And it's four fifty-eight, isn't it?" I looked back at her, eyebrows raised.
Putellas clenched her jaw and shook her head, looking down to the floor.
As I walked further into the building, I noticed the clock was running five minutes fast and just hummed, spinning to sit in the arm chair besides the brunette, "That clock must just be running late," I commented, trying to hide the smile from my lips.
Putellas rubbed her forehead and let out a long and tiresome sigh, "Esta va a ser una noche larga," she muttered under her breath.
The one thing which we could both agree on was that washing the team's kits in one another's company was probably one of the worst way to spend my evening. All I wanted to do was eat dinner with Gabby and then spend the night on the sofa watching all the brainless reality shows we adored. But instead I was stuck here with Putellas who already seemed ready to pounce and I couldn't help but play with that.
"Alexia, Alana," Jonatan strode in, looking less disappointed with us than he had earlier today, "I will show you the way to the laundry room and I'm sure you can manage from there."
"Sí," Putellas was quick to stand up and nod.
I pushed myself out of the leather arm chair and agreed with my manager, running a hand through my hair as I followed behind Jonatan, and Putellas who was hot on the manager's heels and eager to get back in his good books.
Jonatan led us into the club's laundry room and pointed to the baskets we needed to wash and then put in the tumble-drier. Putellas nodded along to Jonatan's every word, whereas I just stepped back and listened to the instructions, staying far away from the entitled brunette for as long as possible. I didn't like being close to her, something about Putellas' presence was so disturbing that it set every bone in my body on edge and made every alarm in my mind ring like never before.
"When you have finished come to my office and we will make arrangements from there," Jonatan pressed his lips together, weaving inbetween us to leave but then turning around again, "I expect that you can put your differences aside for the sake of the team," he nodded, heading for the door again, "I will see you later this evening."
And then there were two. Just Putellas and I; a pair who should've never been left alone in a room together, that was well proven from the bathroom today and the fight on the pitch. When we were together our rage and pride always seemed to get the better of us, I couldn't hold myself back around her like I could everyone else; I never found it within myself to bite my tongue and be the bigger person. I never wanted to find that within myself for some reason, I don't remember even searching for it.
"We should begin," Putellas cleared her throat.
I turned around to face her, "You're right," I nodded, "The faster we get this done, the faster we can get home."
"And away from each other," she figured.
"And away from each other," I confirmed.
Putellas pointed to the larger hamper of laundry, speaking with such an audacity, "You begin on that basket and I'll-"
"Just because you're captain doesn't mean you get to boss me around," I muttered, though my words were purposefully loud enough for the stern brunette to hear.
Putellas gulped, I'd shot another arrow at her pride and it seemed her ego was more fragile than she'd realized. "Well then what do you suggest Alana?" I hated the way she said my name, it felt so wrong coming from her mouth.
I narrowed my eyes at her, crossing my arms, "I was just suggesting that you shouldn't act like you're so much better than me. Because you're not."
Putellas scoffed, "Oh I know," sarcasm laced her tongue, "I will continue with my suggestion then; the one that will actually help us get out of here. You begin with that basket and I will begin with this one."
I huffed but decided it was best not to argue, so I walked over to the noticeably larger bag of laundry and began piling it into the washing machine; top after top, shorts after shorts. It was all of the men's team kit whereas I guessed Putellas had our own.
The silence felt drowning, the air was thick and uncomfortably warm. If Jonatan thought this would help bond Putellas and I, he'd been mistaken because, firstly, that would be an impossible challenge, but also, this task wasn't exactly a team building activity.
I got back up to my feet after having filled the machine and stared at the buttons for a few moments, feeling the confusion muddle in my mind. Which button would start the wash load? Which would be the right temperature for the kits? I couldn't ruin the Barcelona men's team kits, that would've been awful; Putellas probably would kill me and Gabby even more so. I glanced around in the hope of seeing a manual or instructions printed onto the wall but wasn't so lucky to find either.
I looked over to Putellas, seeing her pressing on the buttons and seeming to be perfectly confident with the appliance. Why did she have to know everything? Why couldn't there just be one single thing which she failed at?
Suddenly her head turned to the side. She'd caught me staring. Putellas then straightened up and looked to my machine. "You don't know how to wash clothes?" She asked, almost as a joke. In her mind I'm sure she was thinking, who could be so stupid that they don't know how to work a washing machine?
That person would be admittedly me.
I chewed on the inside of my lip, fighting against my pride until I realized that this is what it would take for me to be allowed back on the pitch. "I thought I did," I looked down to the machine just to avoid the look on Putellas' face, "But then it turns out that I forgot."
I was expecting laughter, a snide comment about my upbringing, a definite huff but none of those things came. There was a moment of silence until I heard her feet make their way towards me.
"You just put it onto this temperature," Putellas turned the dial, "And then press that button there."
I looked up at her, my eyes widened in the sudden appearance of her humanity. "Thankyou," I whispered, the closeness of her face to mine seeming so foreign.
"Well are you going to press it?" She raised an eyebrow, lazily leaning into the washing machine.
I gulped, glancing down and then looking back up at Putellas. "Which one was it again?"
She shook her head, "The one that says empezar, that means start."
"Right," I muttered, finally pressing the button and feeling the relief which washed over me as the clothes began to spin.
Turning around, I saw Putellas leant against one of the washing machines, her arms crossed and features suddenly less harsh. Her hair was tied into a softer ponytail than usual, I noticed the lighter highlights running through it, and her tracksuit which fitted loosely over her body. For the first time I dared to admit the fact she looked nice. It was probably the first time I'd looked at her rather than glared.
It was the first time she'd looked back at me. The first time that I saw a glimmer of the girl everyone went on about. It was just a glimmer, maybe even a spark but here she was; the heart and soul of Barcelona.
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predictions and thoughts on the chapter?