𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 ― 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒 𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃

𝐗𝐈𝐕

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩ °

MARCUS GRINS as I watch him watch me, sauntering over to where I'm perched on the sidelines, spinning around a ball in my hands.

He noticed me about halfway through his training session just watching the boys, well, train, after he scored with a cool finish that planted David de Gea to the spot. He got to celebrating because he'd put his team of seven in the lead, and somewhere in between we locked eyes. I stuck two thumbs up at him from afar, and after the split-second confusion came that large, contagious smile of his in return.

It was only after his team gained a comfortable lead that he looked my way every time he scored. There was a silent question in his eyes, as if to ask, 'How was that?'

I gave nods and thumbs up and smiles in response, because wow, the boy had a weapon of a right foot on him. But I wouldn't be Kalani Sinclair if I didn't decide to mess with him a little bit.

It wasn't anything extreme— he was in the middle of training and I wasn't about to be the reason he was dropped from the starting eleven. All I did was react badly to his goals; pulling faces to say, 'Could've been better,' or, 'It was okay.'

He furrowed his brows and pouted slightly, clearly not expecting the grimace I wore on my face, especially after his beautiful finish that rattled the crossbar before spinning inside the net. And it pulled at my heartstrings a little when he made sure to make his next goal even better than the last; receiving the ball from Bruno out wide and connecting with a half-volley, then looked at me expectantly.

I fought my natural instinct to praise the finish and kept my poker face, deciding I liked the fire I'd unintentionally lit in his boots. But by then he realised I was just teasing, and shook his head as he chuckled.

That didn't stop him from improving each shot, though— and it didn't stop me from making faces.

Now an hour later, the first thing he does when he's within three feet of me is snatch the ball out of my hands, wiping the smile clean off his face that was just there a moment ago, as if he forgot he was supposed to feign anger.

"Hi Rash," I say innocently, shooting him a toothy grin. "You good?"

"You're annoying," he says, unable to keep the amused lilt out of his tone.

"Actually, I'm Kalani," I say matter-of-factly, and watch as he presses his lip into a thin line, void of any amusement, before I burst out into laughter.

That's when he cracks, too.

"You're so dumb," he chuckles, mushing my head lightly.

"Ouch," I make a show out of placing my hand over my heart as if I'm physically hurt by the words coming out of his mouth. "First I'm annoying, now I'm dumb."