The Beautiful Game

Chapter Eleven - Lou

"I think if it were up to you, you wouldn't welcome anyone at all."

I flinch. He says it so easily, like he hadn't even thought, before he said it.

God, I could count our conversations on one hand, but already he'd seen me for what I truly was.
Broken. Cold. Uninviting. I shut people down. I didn't welcome people into my life. Professor Simmons, Ella and Kate were the only people who'd ever snuck past my defences, and even then I'd censor myself.

The ease of conversation with Carter always took me by surprise, he surprised me. But it didn't matter, I'd been so incredibly careful to rebuild, and restructure. I couldn't do it again, I couldn't lose someone, I'd barely survived it, there were no gaps for hurt again.

There was definitely no room for a quarterback, and his ego.

"Well, you certainly have me figured out."

Carter lets out an awkward laugh and pushes one of his hands into his messy brown hair, the soft, loose curls a contradiction to his huge masculine frame.

"That's er- that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?" I put my wine glass down and cross my arms in front of my chest. I ignore Kate's curious gaze from across the room, even in her drunken haze she's noticed my defensive stance.

"You're just not exactly what I'm used to. You know, the ice queen act." I can practically hear my Orthodontist Mr Hillman chastising me already as I grind my teeth down, harder than I have in a long time.

"Ah, yes. I'm aware of what you're probably used to Carter."

I hadn't realised we'd been leaning towards each other until he straightened to his full height and the air between us seemed cooler. I could no longer smell his addictive unapologetically male aftershave, nor the faint smell of spearmint from his breath. I lean back onto the counter, his height blocks me from the kitchen light, and I'm stood in shadow.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He mirrors my stance, bracing his arms across his chest. His t-shirt pulls as the muscles of his arms bulge, it takes all of my will power and growing annoyance to not just let myself admire the sight of it. For God's sake, my tequila addled brain does not need to take me there right now.

I keep my eyes fixed on his, needing to forget about how they'd crinkled at the edges as he'd laughed earlier, making him look softer, younger. I want to forget how much they look like warm honey, melting into pools of glimmering rich hot chocolate. Those thoughts weren't going to make things easier. There wasn't room for him, or whatever this was.

"It means that I'm not about to drop my knickers, so you can quit whatever game you've decided to involve me in." I feel other eyes turn towards us inquisitively. "I'm. Not. Interested."

The lie fell smoothly off my tongue. Yet by the way my heart was racing, and the hardened peaks behind the cotton of my bra as Carter stared down at me, told me different. Nevertheless, I spoke it with conviction, needing to not only convince him, but myself.

I recognise the cool mask that slips into place on Carter's face, hardening his already chiselled features. It's the same mask he wore that Saturday morning in his kitchen, the face he'd worn as he'd dismissed me. He lets out a low, wicked laugh and I prepare myself for whatever he was about to say.

"Believe me, I'm not interested either. You've got daddy issues written all over you." With that said, he turns and walks away.

I grip the kitchen counter so hard that the skin over my knuckles feels as if it could tear, I hold on, the only thing that's stopping me from collapsing. No amount of preparation or bitchiness could have prepared me for that.