hey lover - c.g.

48.

11/3/2024 - monday
london, uk

CHANDLER hadn't intended to get this drunk, but Levi and Ben had been egging the group on to do shots, and before she knew it, she was well past tipsy. The drinks flowed freely, and Chandler felt herself getting wasted by the minute.

The team wanted to celebrate their hard-fought win against Newcastle, and the group huddled in their section of the club, somewhat secluded from the rest.

Chandler grabbed a shot glass and downed a shot of tequila, the alcohol tasting like water at this point. She slammed the glass on the table and threw her hands in the air, cheering loudly, with the rest of the table joining in and exchanging high fives.

Conor looked at her anxiously, placing a hand on her waist and urging her to sit down. She complied, her body instinctively leaning toward his, their shoulders touching.

"Chan, maybe you should slow down," Conor said, trying to speak over the blaring music.

"I'm fine," She waved him off. "I'm going to go to the bathroom." She slurred her words, pointing to the back of the club.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Conor asked, his blue eyes staring into hers. The midfielder was stone-cold sober, considering that he was the designated driver.

Chandler shook her head, placing her hand on his arm. "I'll be fine."

"Chan-"

"I'll be right back," she repeated, giving him a soft smile to ease his nerves.

He sighed and stood up, letting the girl maneuver out of the booth. The edge of her dress snagged the edge of the table, making her trip slightly. Conor's hand quickly reached out to grab her, steadying her. She mumbled an apology and made her way towards the back of the club. Conor's eyes were trained on hers just until she disappeared into the restroom.

It didn't take her long to use the bathroom. When she finished, she made her way to the sink, instantly washing her hands. When she was done, she threw away the used paper towel.

Exiting the bathroom, Y/N immediately slammed into a hard chest. She reels back, discreetly checking the stranger's shirt for any makeup stains. When she finds one, she looks up.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that. I didn't see where I was going." She gives, with the man staring down at her in a way that puts her off.

He doesn't say anything; he just looks at her, but when she tries to move past him, his arm comes to hold her bicep, keeping her in place.

"I'm a huge fan." He says alarms are going off in her brain at his tightening grip. "Can I buy you a drink?" He isn't much taller than her—maybe 5'6, if that.

Despite her short stature, she still felt intimidated by the way he slightly towered over her. But unfortunately, she was too drunk to process the danger.

"No, I'm good. Thanks," She nodded, her head still feeling fuzzy. "Can you let go, please?"

She pulls out of his grip and pushes past him, walking back to her table. When she spots Conor, she immediately forgets about the weird encounter, the pain in her arm slightly numbing. When the footballer looked in her direction, she smiled back at him.

"I think we should leave now," he said, once she made it back to the table. "It's getting a bit late."

"One more shot," Chandler urged, a drunken smile returning to her face. Conor shook his head, giving her a knowing look. "You'll be hungover for three days," he exaggerated, thinking about the previous drinks she'd had.

"One more, and then we'll leave," she promised, already reaching for a shot glass full of alcohol. She threw it back with ease, and Conor stood up, his bag already in hand.