THE PLAYERS SERIES : S.M. {book 2}

V

From: Pat <3 {3:34 pm}: Sam, something feels off. Call me back when you can please - I am sure we can work through whatever is going on.

Sighing, I lock my phone's screen, putting it inside my bag. 

My relationship with Pat wasn't always perfect, even when I played abroad at Manchester City a few years ago and everything, but we still managed to work through those challenges. But now, for the first time in our 8-year relationship, I had a weird feeling growing inside my chest: it felt like it was coming to an end. We met when we were young, waited a few years to admit we had feelings for each other, and then started dating knowing our lives would be very different. Don't get me wrong: Pat's a good guy, but sometimes I feel like we have nothing to say to each other anymore, as his general knowledge wasn't that good. I won't pretend I am the smartest in the room, but sometimes I wonder if I couldn't aspire to more than what I have now.

Either way, as I am waiting for my physical examination - the last step before being eligible to play our friendly games next week - someone enters the waiting room: Alexia Putellas. Great, just what I needed to make this day even crappier: miss judgmental, I think to myself, bitter. 

She sits down on a chair in front of me, staring at me with her piercing hazel eyes.

"Hola" she respectfully greets me, her face being emotionless. 

"Hi" I just say in return.

There is a small silence, before the brunette asks, a smile on the corner of her lips:

"You abandoned the pajama style already?" 

Something in her was quite unbearable to me, hence I coldly and ironically answer:

"I wouldn't want having a similar style with La Reina. I just couldn't compete."

If Alexia doesn't react at first, she then quickly takes a look at her clothes from today - a nike ensemble with comfortable pants and an oversized t-shirt, before staring right at me, frowning quite a bit. 

In holy calmness, she only says:

"Did I say something you disliked?" 

"Nah, nah" I lie, before quickly adding: "but, to be honest, I don't quite like your 'everything must be given to me' kind of behavior. It's pretty mean-girl has-been."

"I have no idea what it means" Alexia concedes, confused by the last figure of speech, "but it's funny how you think you got me all figured out when we barely even met."

"Isn't that what you did with me?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

"No."

Our conversation is - thankfully - cut short by the physiotherapist walking out of her consultation room, calling me in. Not even throwing a glare at European's best footballer - per say - I close the door behind me.

Right before my session starts, I see a notification on my screen:

From: Lucy :) {3:45 pm}: hey, can you pick me up at the airport tonight around 7 please? too broke to order a freakin' cab. can't wait to see you, sis'-in-law ! :)

Cracking a smile, I then concentrate on the session ahead.

***

I scroll through my Instagram feed, raising my eyebrows. 

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