Becoming Ava | Dominik Szoboszlai

Chapter One

'Ruby, are you listening to me?'

'Ruby?'

'Rubes?'

My head snapped up as I distractedly realised my name was being called. 'Sorry, what? I was in a world of my own.'

'What are you even looking at?' my boyfriend asked me, peering at me from across our living room.

Messages from another man. 'Oh, nothing important. I was just reading a review about a makeup product that I want to try; I don't want to spend the money if it's crap.'

The lie came easily, but Craig was immediately pacified with my answer. I knew he wouldn't ask any follow up questions, mainly out of fear that I would bore him with talk of anything remotely girly. Instead, he turned back to the football match that was on TV.

'What did you want to ask me babe?' I followed up, curious now.

'Nothing important, just football stuff,' he responded, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Of course.

With his attention elsewhere, I turned mine back to my phone. There was a particularly attractive guy trying to shoot his shot in my Instagram DM's, and I was enjoying giving him some harmless flirtation back. What my boyfriend doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, I had no intention of acting on any of these conversations. I would never cheat; it was just nice to know that I was still desirable. Craig should take it as a compliment really that other men wanted his woman, a little ego boost for him if you will.

Would he ever see it that way? Probably not.

Grumbling from the sofa brought my wandering attention back into the room. Craig's favourite team were playing their first match of the new season, or so he'd told me. I couldn't have cared any less about football if I tried, but he loved it and that meant that it was often the soundtrack to our lives together. I could tune it out pretty well by now, distracting myself for the two hours that each game would drag on for.

'I can't believe they've managed to sign Alexis Mac Allister,' I heard him mutter to himself, his gaze fixed on the screen.

'Who have signed who?' I asked, not caring in the slightest about the answer. I'd found during my time with Craig that as long as I pretended to take an interest in football here and there, he tended to be satisfied that I shared his passion. In reality, the juvenile notion of men kicking a ball around for money bored me half to death.

'Fucking Liverpool, he won the world cup with Argentina for god sake! They've also just signed the captain of the Hungarian national team!'

'Did your team want those players?'

'No, but-'

'Then what's the problem?' I laughed, looking up at the TV.

I couldn't have told you a single word of his response, my entire attention suddenly captivated by the man on the screen. The camera was trained on a single player, zoomed right in on his face as he did something in the game.

He was incredibly good looking, with perfectly styled brunette, almost black hair and deep brown eyes that you could get lost in. Immaculately maintained facial hair framed a strong jaw and prominent chin, also highlighting his deliciously full lips.

'Oh my god, are you actually watching a Chelsea match Rubes?' Craig asked, mock horror splashed across his face.

Definitely not. 'Of course, they're your team!'

I couldn't have even told him that Chelsea were even playing, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Little did he know, my eyes were seeking out the handsome man in red. I tracked his movements every time his beautiful face appeared on the screen, sending a silent plea for the cameras to zoom in on him again. I couldn't make out which player he was from the back though, getting lost in a sea of brunette men, so I had no idea what number I was looking out for.

When he ran towards the corner of the field near a flag, I got my answer.

The second I saw the small number eight on his shorts, I took to Google. I quickly came up emptyhanded though, apparently "Liverpool number 8" used to be some famous guy called Gerrard so he was the face in all of the search entries.

Undeterred, I switched my attention to Instagram. Assuming the team had an official Liverpool FC page, I started there and began scrolling. Post after post, scanning through mindless football stats, videos, pictures of players. Wave after wave of training video and other nonsense, which he popped up in but I never saw his name. Until finally, I spotted it.

There, proudly announced as one of their summer signings, was my man.

Dominik Szoboszlai.

The most handsome man I had ever seen.

I lost all interest in watching him run around on the field, instead opting to scroll through all 19 consecutive posts that Liverpool had shared to their Instagram about him since he joined the team.

Turning the volume right down on my phone, I watched the video on how to say his name correctly so many times that I would be hearing his voice in my sleep. And what a voice it was. Deep and rich, with his lovely, strong, Hungarian accent. His English was really good considering it was the third language he spoke; obviously an intelligent man. Captain of his national team at only 22 years old; even I knew that was an achievement.

'NO!' Craig roared, snapping my attention to him.

'I take it Liverpool have scored?'

'Luis Diaz, yeah.'

That meant nothing at all to me, I only knew one name. One perfect, delicious name.

Dominik Szoboszlai.