Like We Used To || Manuel Neuer

7

            "I can't believe I'm actually doing this," I say, my voice a faint mutter, as Bastian smoothly slides next to me in the vehicle that he'd surprisingly hailed. I hadn't taken Schweinsteiger—or any of the German footballers, for that matter—to be one to ride through public transportation while having other options, and so as Bastian's thighs press against mine in the process of him trying to make himself comfortable in the cab, I find myself wondering what's common ground for these football stars.

"Can't believe what?" Bastian counters, unrolling the windows of the taxi. "Can't believe that you're about to reunite with your former lover, or the fact that you're doing it with Bastian Schweinsteiger?"

"Don't call him my former lover!" I reprimand, playfully hitting Bastian on the thigh, "and don't get so cocky, alright?"

Bastian laughs, and as he playfully releases the gesture through a paroxysm of guffaws, the cab driver swivels his head backwards towards Bastian and I, revealing himself to be—"Asher!" I exclaim, my voice thick with excessive excitement as my eyes fall upon Asher's.

"Hey, Azelie," Asher greets, grinning lopsidedly. Then, motioning towards a very confused Bastian, he adds, "I thought you weren't a fan of football."

"I told you. It's complicated," I answer wearily. "But anyway, Bastian, this is Asher. Asher, well, this is Bastian."

Asher and Bastian awkwardly shake hands despite the difference in their seating areas, and, after they've introduced themselves to one another, Asher asks, "Where to today, then?"

"Uh," I drawl sheepishly.

Bastian comes to my rescue, providing Asher with the information he needs to resume driving and then explains to me that our destination today is one of Germany's appointed stadiums. Bastian does not leave out the fact that I am extremely lucky to be going there, especially before the thousands of vicarious fans.

"I'm being taken to meet Manuel Neuer against my own will," I explain to Asher a little later, not wanting him to feel left out.

"Is that even possible?" Asher replies, chuckling deeply. "I mean, is there anyone in the world who wouldn't want to meet Manuel Neuer?"

"Azelie doesn't want to meet Manuel because they're former lovers," Bastian blurts out, receiving another hit on the thigh from me.

Asher, though, simply raises an eyebrow, oblivious to my use of violence. "Oh?"

"We weren't former lovers," I deadpan.

"Sure they weren't," Bastian retorts.

"Bastian, shut up or I'll fry your balls!"

"You see, Herr Franke?" Bastian says to Asher, addressing him formally by his last name. "Azelie becomes that whenever Manuel is mentioned."

"Seems like true love," is Asher's jokeful response.

"Not you too, Ash!" I groan. "Bastian nags enough about that as is."

Asher chuckles again. "Well, I'm absolutely for the smalltown girl falling in love with a football star, so I'm counting on you two to happen."

I roll my eyes as I say, "As if."

Asher merely grins in response, revealing his dazzling white teeth through the mirror on the front of his car. Bastian, besides me, mimics Asher's gesture, and I don't know how to feel right then, not with these two extremely attractive boys smiling so broadly that it looks like their lips will extend past their cheeks if they do not stop.

"So," I drawl, changing the topic. "How much longer until we reach?"

"Ten minutes," Bastian answers. "Oh, turn right here, Herr Franke!"