Never Leave Again

plans to meddle

We are guaranteed Champions League finalists.

The crowd sings and shouts – as they always do, apart from the chilling moment of silence in memory of Scarlett Powell – yet it only serves as a soundtrack to my principal train of thought. Though the journalists will never get this out of me, what I am thinking about as I take the first step into a much more promising career is simply where I haven't searched for the elusive Marc Ivorra.

Clàudia is occupied by her family when the match ends, and Fleur has been in a sour mood ever since Jona subbed her off, so I do a lap of the stadium with Salma at my side before heading into the tunnel, energised by the win momentarily, celebrating like my teammates are. Though I don't have a publicist, I am sure mine would hate me, but I cannot give Culers my signature when, one day, it will decorate Madrid jerseys and flags worldwide. Salma is inclined to roll her eyes as I stalk off to the changing room, having realised whose victory I am celebrating.

The only interesting thing in there, aside from the celebrations that will boost us into the final, is the look on Alexia's face. She is worried, and I know exactly who she is worried about. I nudge Clàudia, who only laughs and returns to dancing on the benches with Mapi and Patri.

Then, when we are ready and I am waiting outside the changing room for Alexia to find her 'missing shoe', Clàudia presses a secret kiss to my lips, mumbling that she's going out with a few of the girls later. Her invite extends to me, but I think of the ache in my legs and our agreement to remain discreet, deciding against it. "See you tomorrow, then?" she asks with a smile, more complemented than offended. She knows it's because I don't want to have to control myself the entire night. I'm too tired (and too handsy while drunk) for that.

"Obviously," I reply, rolling my eyes. She pokes my stomach and I jerk back. "Do you feel like driving me to recovery?"

"You have four people to take you. And your own car."

"But you're my girlfriend," I whisper in her ear.

She blushes. And then she remembers herself, shrugging her shoulders back with a frown. "No, Talia. Don't manipulate me. I'm already taking you for sushi and keeping it a secret from Patri. You know that Patri loves sushi."

"She's not coming on our date."

"But she loves–"

"Do you want to be kissed again?" I raise my eyebrows at her. "You're the one who chose to do this, and you could tell her if you wanted to. Plus, Patri probably doesn't want to come. Why would she come on our date?"

"Because she loves sushi!"

"Go for sushi with her then!"

The door of the changing room swings open, and Fleur rushes out, head down as she furiously types away on her phone. She looks up briefly, squinting at the two of us before hurrying off.

Alexia follows behind her, though our captain tries to seem as though the closely timed exit is entirely coincidental. Clàudia chuckles before kissing my cheek and heading out too, leaving just Alexia and I, seeing as she is driving me back to our building.

"Missing shoe?" I tease as we get into her car. She doesn't reply, pulling out of the space and following the sleek Audi in front of us. Jaimie is driving, and you can tell because she speeds off. "You're bad at hiding it. I bet it's a dream of yours to have sex in Camp Nou."

Alexia takes in a deep breath, hands clenching hard around the leather of her steering wheel. At least she hasn't veered off the road like Fleur does if I say something she doesn't like. This is safer. "We did not have sex."