Armageddon

XI

I sit on the terrace, watching as Alejandro dribbles the ball and sends it flying it to the net, scores, and then makes a quick jog to recover it, only to start the process again. He scores here and hits a few misses there, but mostly he scores - I mean, he is a global football star.

Repetition is important to mastery.

When he scores, he looks up to me and flashes me a smile like a Labrador before leaping to get the ball back. He looks at me and laughs at himself when he misses, and I can't help but do the same. Who knew that men could be cute?

He has changed into shorts and a soccer vest - exposing his perfect legs to me. He looks like a mannequin with long, perfectly toned limbs; and I wonder what he would think if he knew I was scrutinising his everything the way I am. Would he be flattered or would he feel insulted? I mean, the thought that some man has undressed me while I've been minding my own business has always disgusted me, but I don't think I'd mind if it was Alejandro.

"How am I doing?" he yells after a few trials. I'd sat in the very middle of the terrace so I wouldn't disturb his training, but also because I wasn't sure if he'd want to see me.

I hold both my thumbs up in affirmation and he smiles. He says something under his breath that I don't hear, but it can't be positive, given the shadow of a scowl that crosses his lips.

"Come down here!"

I make my way to the front row seats, and, when I get there, I lean against the board. He leans towards me but very quickly blushes and looks away from me - causing me to do the same. The sound of his laughter, at once embarrassed and care-free, messes with my mind, throwing my thought process to the dogs.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks suddenly.

What is happening?

Alejandro is asking to kiss me - after I exploded in front of him and unfairly turned the tables on him. Why is he still talking to me? Why does he still look happy to be in front of me? Why isn't he calling me out on my bullshit? Why is it so hard for me to tell him I'm sorry?

I need to do better.

I slowly send my hand to his chin and gently lead him to my lips. His eyes light up and his breathing picks up speed. He quickly wets his lips before they land on mine, moistening them with the wetness of his.

Soft and wet.

He sends his hand to cup my cheek, but it quickly slides to my waist. His tongue glides over my lips. I grab his lip in my teeth gently and he groans, lifting me off my feet, never breaking the kiss, and transports me to his side of the fence. He tries to land me on my feet, but I bend my knees so he can't. He chuckles lightly and I wrap my legs around his waist.

His body is hard - firm - against mine. I don't remember the last time I've been excited by the touch of a man - even when I consciously decide to have sex with one, I'm typically unexcited by them; it's really just a matter of testing that I can still fuck.

But this feels different. This feels like what I've been missing. This feels like I'm a virgin, and all those other men don't matter. This feels like home. This feels like being wanted. This feels like love.

He breaks away but his eyes stay fixed on my lips, a wide grin on his face. I try to lean back into him, but he leans away from me.

"I wanted to ask you if you would like me to teach you how to play," he tells me.

I smile. "Really? I would love that."

His smile grows. "Yeah?"

I nod.