Page 14

I set my alarm for five fifteen. I jumped out of bed and pulled my hair into a high ponytail, before putting on my Nike Pro shorts, football socks, Man United shirt and Shane’s track top.

Mascara, lip oil, highlighter. And perfume.

Always perfume. The same one I’d been wearing last night: sweet, musky, me.

I tiptoed out my door, and when I got downstairs I carried my boots outside so I wouldn’t wake anyone up. Then I drove way too fast down the icy road to the club.

And when I arrived, there he was. My breath caught in my throat as I took him in. He was leaning against the locked clubhouse in a black hoodie, black track bottoms, the black boots, foot resting on a ball.

I jogged over to him, looking at the ground in case I accidentally gave him a huge smile and scared him off. I stopped a couple of metres from him. ‘You’re early,’ I said.

‘I’m always early,’ he replied with a smile that made my stomach jump. ‘Is that car yours?’

I followed his gaze to the car park. ‘Yeah, got it for my birthday last year,’ I said easily, then was immediately embarrassed as his mouth fell open.

‘For your birthday ? I got a football for my birthday last year.’ He laughed. ‘Posh school, posh girl, of course.’

I pushed him playfully. ‘Shut up.’

‘You ready?’ he asked.

‘Born ready.’

‘We’ll see,’ he said, and walked in the direction of the grass pitches.

I looked longingly at the synthetic grass pitch behind us. ‘Grass? Why?’

‘Softer to land on. That one’s frozen.’

‘Are you expecting me to spend a lot of time on the ground?’ I asked, laughing.

‘We’ll see,’ he said again.

I followed him down the banks and into the middle of the pitch. I watched him flick the ball into the air then volley it into the net. Top-left corner.

Jesus, he was hot.

‘Teach me how to do that ,’ I said.

‘I will. But not yet.’

He passed me the ball. And then walked towards me. He fingered the logo on my – his – top.

‘Nice top.’

I shrugged. ‘Thought it might give me baller vibes.’

He laughed. ‘Hope you’re not tainting it with whatever’s underneath.’

I pulled the top over my head to reveal my new Man United away shirt.

He covered his eyes. ‘No. God, no, put it back on.’ He laughed. Then he looked at me seriously. ‘Or maybe you should just take that off too.’ One corner of his mouth turned up.

‘Nice try. I’m actually here to train. Some of us are serious about football.’

‘Remember what I said last night?’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘Fun, blah, blah, blah,’ I teased.

I put my top back on and as I brushed hair from my face, he kissed me out of the blue, his lips cold, his tongue warm. Then he pulled away.

‘OK, maybe I’ll rethink …’ I bit my lip to stop myself grinning at him. ‘I could get used to this kind of fun.’

‘Sorry, I got distracted. You shouldn’t show up looking like that …’ His hands were in his pockets now and he was scanning me up and down in the darkness. It was like he was tracing me with his fingertips.

‘Like what?’

‘So hot.’

And this time it was me who kissed him, closing the space between us, my hands on his face, tasting him, breathing him in. I was out of breath when I pulled away.

He smiled and arched an eyebrow. ‘Maybe we should have a rule. No kissing during training?’

I mock pouted and sighed. ‘That’s a terrible rule. But makes sense, I suppose. ’

He made me do drill after drill after drill until I really did have to take the top off again because I was sweating so much.

But I was laughing too. Which was new for me when it came to football.

He took the piss out of every crap pass or soft tackle, and it made me want to try harder.

The opposite of Westing training sessions in every way.

Then we practised marking. He showed me how I should stand when the other team have a corner.

One of my arms round his back, the other across his front.

And it was hard to keep my focus then, to listen to him as he explained where and why and what that would mean for the rest of the game.

It felt like I’d already learned more from Shane in thirty minutes than I had from Sadie in four years.

‘Want to take some shots?’ he asked eventually.

‘I thought you’d never ask.’ I took the ball and lined it up on the penalty spot as he stood in the nets.

He couldn’t be a good keeper too. He was a striker, and goalkeeper was a very specific skill. Low and hard, that’s where I needed to put them. And it was still dark too, he’d never save my shots.

My first shot was low and hard into the left corner, just like I’d planned. But I didn’t score. His reflexes were insane. He threw himself on to the ground, left and right, jumping for the top corner ones.

He didn’t let me score once.

‘Oh my God, are you serious?’ I laughed and he grinned back at me.

‘You’ll never get better if I go easy on you.’ He stood up and wiped his hand across his forehead, pushed his dark floppy hair back and locked eyes with me. Then he looked at his phone. ‘I need to go.’ He sounded disappointed, which eased the sting.

‘When?’

‘In fifteen minutes.’

‘So that leaves … five minutes?’ I asked, walking closer to him.

‘For what?’ He put his phone down on the grass on top of his hoodie.

‘For this.’ I pulled him towards me and kissed him hard, my hands under his shirt, tracing the warm muscle. When I pulled away, I noticed his phone light up. I looked down and saw a message banner with the name ‘Grace’.

My stomach lurched as he picked up his phone and his hoodie. Who was Grace?

We jogged back to the car park, and he kissed me goodbye. I walked to my car, and he walked to the bus.

I reminded myself to go round the back of the house when I got home, pretend I’d been out at our pitch all the time. If Mum knew I was going to the club before sunrise on a Saturday, she’d probably freak out completely.

I ran round the side of the house and slipped in through the back door to see Dad staring at me, a cup of coffee in his hand.

‘Dad!’ I said, closing the door behind me.

‘Where were you?’ he asked, his tone serious.

‘At the club. Training,’ I said. No eye contact. I walked towards the door.

‘Lexie, now I’m starting to worry. This time on a Saturday morning?’ He looked at the clock and then back to me.

‘Do you not think Aitana Bonmatí or Simone Magill train this early on a Saturday?’ I said defiantly.

‘Just be careful, Alexandra, that’s all I’m saying.’ Then he sighed. ‘What happened last night?’

I froze. ‘What do you mean? Nothing happened last night.’ I tried to work out what he meant.

‘Niall. You can smell the drink as soon as you walk up those stairs. Were you drinking last night?’

‘No,’ I said so quickly that it sounded like a lie. ‘I was driving.’

‘And Niall?’

And there was that pull. To protect each other. But then I remembered what he’d said in the car before the party. He had his life and I had mine; it wasn’t up to me to make excuses for him. Not any more. And then I remembered what he’d said to Shane. But still, I couldn’t.

‘I didn’t see him that much. I don’t know what he was doing.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Alexandra.’

I think Dad hated lies almost as much as he hated teen drinking.

‘Yeah, he might have had a bit, but everyone was doing it.’ I couldn’t help trying to take the edge off the trouble Niall was in.

‘That’s no excuse.’ Dad raised his voice, then remembered who he was talking to. The one who drove. ‘Sorry, love, this isn’t to do with you.’

‘I’m just going to …’ I pointed upstairs and he nodded.

I went to my room and lay down on my bed, giving myself permission to lie there and think about Shane and nothing else, forcing myself to push intrusive Grace thoughts out of my head. And as if he was thinking about me too, my phone buzzed.

SHANE : You looked really hot this morning

ME : Thanks Coach x

Then I heard Dad coming up the stairs and flinched when he started shouting at Niall. I felt sick with guilt. I covered my ears and pulled open my laptop. Roseng?rd vs Barcelona. Aitana, goddess. I put on my headphones and turned the volume right up.

I got lost in the football almost as deeply as I got lost in Shane’s blue eyes. I let it seep into my bones and through my veins. So much so that I didn’t notice that Niall had opened my door. I glanced up just as he was turning away, his face tear-stained, the door slamming behind him.