lover boy

Chapter 42

Jude Bellingham

Love. I called her that from the start, and I'm not sure she ever understood why. Maybe I wasn't sure either at first. It was just a word, simple and familiar, but it felt right. It felt like the only word that could capture what she meant to me.

When I looked at her, when she laughed or just sat there lost in thought, love was the only thing that came to mind. It wasn't just a nickname. It was a reflection of everything she was to me. She embodied that word in ways I couldn't explain. Every time I said it, I hoped she felt a fraction of what I felt—how much she meant to me, how deeply she was a part of my life, of me.

I never told her why I called her that. Maybe I was afraid it would sound trivial if I tried to explain it. Or maybe I feared she'd think it was just a habit, something I said without really thinking. But it wasn't. It was the most honest word I could offer her.

Love was how I saw her, how I felt about her, and what I wanted her to feel every time she heard me say it. It was everything I couldn't put into a longer sentence, everything I didn't know how to express otherwise.

Now, looking back, I wonder if I should have told her what it really meant. But maybe she knew. I hope she knew. Maybe she felt it in the way I looked at her, the way I held her close. Maybe she understood that, for me, love wasn't just a word. It was her. She was my love.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The morning of the date started like any other, except this time I woke up with a certain restlessness. My mind was racing with thoughts about meeting Cecilia, but before I could focus on that, I had to get through training. As a footballer, it's crucial to clear your head and focus on the game, but today, that felt especially difficult.

I put on my training gear and headed to the training center. The routine should've been comforting, but everything felt different today. The next match was approaching quickly, and the preparations were more intense than ever. It was a crucial moment in my career, a game that could decide the course of the entire tournament. Yet, despite the importance of the upcoming game, my thoughts kept drifting back to Cecilia.

During training, I gave it my all, but I could tell my focus wasn't where it usually was. My mind kept wandering—back to the way she looked at me when we last met, back to the moment our eyes kept meeting during the photoshoot. The connection between us was undeniable, and no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on the drills and the coach's instructions, it felt like an invisible force was pulling me in her direction.

My teammates didn't seem to notice, or at least they didn't let on if they did. Maybe it was because they were just as focused on preparing for the match, or maybe I was just good at hiding how I felt. Still, I knew I had to get this mental chaos under control before game day. But today, that seemed like an impossible task.

After training, I stayed on the pitch a bit longer to do some extra drills. It was my way of clearing my head, focusing, and letting go of the tension. But even while I practiced those extra shots and passes, my mind kept wandering back to the evening ahead. To Cecilia. To what might happen when we saw each other again.

When training was finally over, I headed back to my apartment, took a long, hot shower to ease the tension out of my muscles, and tried to relax. But it didn't really work. The nervousness lingered, and I couldn't stop thinking about the upcoming date. I kept telling myself it was just a meeting, that there shouldn't be any big expectations, but who was I kidding?

The upcoming match was important, training was intense, and yet all of that seemed to fade into the background whenever I thought about Cecilia. I wasn't sure what the evening would bring, but I knew I had to find out. Maybe it would help us clear up what happened between us—or maybe it would be a step in a whole new direction.