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@runicrascal

Eh, could be worse. Preaching to the choir here

@mythicwitch

Haha, don’t I know it

@mythicwitch

I’m glad we’re talking again I missed these chats x

@runicrascal

Me too, Cerys x

CHAPTER 19

The world feels like it’s been tipped back into balance; I have plans with the girls to keep me busy, I’m on top of all my schoolwork, there’s no weirdness with Anissa in the college hallways and we chat often online, and Jake isfinallytexting me back properly a bit more.

And, most importantly, the Discord chat between us hardly stops.

So, on Sunday, I do the unthinkable, and I show up to watch my crush’s football match.

Daphne thought it might be a bit needy (her own recent attempt with the rugby match was totally fruitless and now they’re sort-ofnottalking anymore), but Chloe and Nikita agreed that it was a worthwhile move; Evie said that knowing Jake, he’d need the extra push anyway.

It didn’t used to be weird, when I’d go to watch Jake play football. One of the other boys in our group wason the same local team, and we’d all go along to cheer them on for an important match, or just to hang out on the sidelines when the weather was good. We’d do it for the girls’ hockey matches, too.

Except now, when I show up, I’m very aware that I’m herealoneand that most of the other girls shivering on the sidelines in the wet, late October drizzle are clearly girlfriends of some of the players. There are parents and friends around, too, but not so many that I can just melt into the crowd.

The teams are both doing warm-ups, and Max spots me first.

He’s stretching his hamstring, but stands up straight when he notices me, staring and staring andGod, is he for real? It’s like he’s seen a ghost. Do I have something on my face? Do I really look so out of place? I’m in a navy rain mac and I’ve brought my brolly, and I’m even wearing some sensible boots because it’s so wet and muddy. It’s not as if I’ve come dressed for maximum ‘ask me on a date already Jake!’ seduction – for a change.

You’d think I’d shown up in my own set of elf ears, for all he’s staring.

Determined to one-up him at his own standoffish game, I give him a cheery smile and a wave so overenthusiastic it must be blatantly obvious that I’m being facetious.

Then Jake says something to Max and straightens out of his own stretch, turning to follow his gaze – and spotting me, doing my stupid wave and goofy smile.

I drop it, but Jake’s already jogging over, laughing, and pulls me into a hug so tight he practically lifts me off my feet. I laugh too, my umbrella falling out of the way, Jake’s damp football shirt turning my cheek wet. Over his shoulder, I see Max coming towards us, too, his dark eyebrows drawn low.

I’ve seen Jake in his football kit a hundred times. Not these colours, but it’s all the same thing. His narrow shoulders and lean frame, all sharp angles beneath his blue jersey, matching socks pulled up high over his shin-guards.

But my gaze snags on Max before I can help it, and I find myself doing a double-take.

Does he … Does he look …good?

His legs are thicker than Jake’s, corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair, and even with his long hair pulled back from his face in a silly man-bun,it looks good. It makes his cheekbones look higher, his jawline more defined without his hair hiding it a bit. Stockier than Jake, Max somehow makes him lookboyishby comparison, softer and younger, while he looks more …

More …

Moresomething, anyway, and it triggers a flurry ofbutterflies in my stomach that I point-blank refuse to acknowledge.

They’re just because of Jake, because he’s giving me a cwtch, that’s all.

And definitelynotbecause of how good Max looks in his football kit.

Besides, no matter how flattering a football kit is, itcannotmake up for such a heinous personality.