Helping out her best friend by playing the lead in that music video project for university had seemed like an easy enough feat for art student Lorelai García. Only, it wasn't. Especially since not only Lorelai, but the whole first team of the FC Bar...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was so easy to tell: she was trying to get away from here as quick as possible. Team training was close to over and everyone was slowly making their way back into the compound to shower and continue with individual work-outs. Or go home, whichever was on the players' personal schedule.
Neymar sighed heavily, brushing a hand over his hair which was wet from sweating during training as he followed his teammates back inside. Lorelai steered clear of him, looking away and pretending that he wasn't even there. Instead, she was deep in conversation with Leo and Marc, listening to both of their holiday stories with more interest than he just knew she felt — Lorelai loved December, but she wasn't that fond of Christmas.
Everything to keep away from him. He shouldn't be surprised though. Get the girl, fuck her senseless and then just leave. Yep, he wouldn't like himself right now either. Didn't, actually.
»Embarrassed« wasn't enough to describe what he felt. He'd really outdone himself over the holidays, hadn't he? Made a complete fool out of himself. Leaving drunk messages, calling her and whining onto her voice box? What a wuss he was! Letting his emotions get the better of him, in such a pathetic way, nonetheless.
Dammit, Gil!, he cursed silently. What a best friend you are! He couldn't recall much of that party, but he did remember asking his best friend to keep an eye on him and his hands away from his phones (yes, he had two, because he hated the charging time). What a good job he'd done! Not. To say that this weirdness he felt, and knew Lorelai must feel as well (why else steer clear of him?), wasn't what he wanted it to come down to had to be the understatement of the year. Which wasn't even a week old as of yet.
He'd gone over the events of that night, of course. Remembered their fight before their performance with the band. He still hadn't come up with a reason for leaving her after that amazing night together — he hadn't been that drunk. He remembered it vividly. Way too much, actually. Which was why he'd cracked the first day back in Brazil, at that party, and called and texted her.
After that, well, what else could he have done beside pretend it had never happened, marvellous manly man that he was? Of course he tried to have a good time following his moment of weakness, to help distract him from that fact. He'd made himself enjoy his trip back home, try his best at the charity matches, pull up a bright mask of happiness during the opening of his football institute. Having his son and family around blissfully had helped with that a lot.
And yet, Lorelai had been on his mind more often than not.
It didn't seem like she wanted to talk to him ever again, though. She'd probably read and heard his messages and had a good laugh about the pathetic football player who'd fallen for her and made it so easy for her to play her games with.
His sister Rafaella had bombarded him with one advice after the other, of course, but most prominently she'd told him time and again to just talk to the girl and apologise for his fucked up behaviour. She made it sound so easy!
