Hold Me Close

un coti ben salsero

"Can you please sleep with Alexia?"

I look up from my position on the sofa, the jerk of my body disgruntling the sleeping cat on my chest. Oli leaps onto the floor with a shake of his tabby coat, allowing me space to stare at Esmee in more obvious shock.

Her hair is still braided from training and there are bags under her eyes that I hadn't noticed before. I know she's an adult, but I feel obliged to look after her anyway, especially when she giddily introduced me to her girlfriend last week and called me her surrogate mother.

That though makes what she has said even weirder.

"I'm sure she's at home right now. I don't mind not having dinner!" she continues, audibly desperate now.

My laptop is open on the coffee table with about a thousand different emails begging to be responded to, and Olivia is supposed to call me in half an hour to discuss personal interviews. "I'm busy," I tell Esmee, not much emotion in my tone. "Ale knows that."

"And it's putting her in such a bad mood," whines the twenty-year-old. She flings herself onto the sofa, her weight crushing my legs until I shriek and kick her away.

'She's being understanding, and you should give her the benefit of the doubt. They're trying to fly me to London when Jaimie comes back from Mexico for a photoshoot. Coca Cola want to release another advert by next month, but they want something Ajax-y so I need to get to Amsterdam. We went surfing on Saturday – she's getting enough attention."

"No she's fucking not."

"Last time I checked, I'm the one dating her," I reply through gritted teeth as I skim through the next email I've been sent. Something about contracts and press for the club – something that could've been more concise and conveyed via a text from my agent.

"Well then actually date her!" Esmee blows out a frustrated breath and gets up, ready to storm off. I'd be grateful for that, to be honest, because I'm exhausted from the intensity of today's training session and I need to conserve energy since my evening has no end in sight just yet. "I'll reply to the emails. Please go upstairs and give her a smooch – the woman is mean when you don't give her attention."

I hum noncommittally.

"Fleur. Fleur, please."

"Can you let me focus?" She flinches at the sharpness of my tone. I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. One of the many therapists I've seen – or maybe even all of them – encourages me, in my head, to take a deep breath in. "Esmee, I know you mean well, but I am stressed and I am tired. Alexia is a professional, and whatever you are insinuating is ridiculous. I really don't have time for your teasing, and if you'd like to make yourself useful instead, could you please ask Mapi and Ingrid if they have made dinner yet. I don't have the energy to cook, and we're not ordering food for the fourth night in a row."

I feel like a single mother.

Esmee is obedient enough.

The next day, I find out that she also isn't ridiculous, taking care to observe Alexia's behaviour during the training session on the pitch.

She snaps at Mapi when a pass goes a little too wide, and suddenly the defender is staring at me, echoing Esmee's pleas from last night.

We get into bigger groups which save Mapi before I can. Jona is experimenting with a new front line, trying to get a deadly attacking triangle out of Esmee, Alexia, and me. There's certainly chemistry, but no one has questioned that so far.

Today, however, Alexia doesn't seem open to passing the ball to me.

In fact, she doesn't even look at me. She doesn't see the space I'm in, nor the direct shot on goal I could have.