“This is weird,” I say, trying to fan away all the awkwardness with some cold, harsh truth. Jesse doesn’t seem to be feeling any of it, though, as he digs into his burger, making sort of happy snarly sounds as he munches down, practically moaning at the taste.

Whatever awkwardness I had about eating in front of him is now gone, and I unwrap my burger and bring it to my mouth, chomping down big enough that has the towering fillings falling out and getting all over my hands. I’m practically sucking at my fingers to get the food in my mouth when I notice him watching me.

I know I probably look disgusting, and my table manners are shit because eating in front of the team isn’t about propriety or any of that, it’s about eating as much as possible so you can get seconds before we’re called back out on the field and might end up throwing it all up at the end of training. Which has happened to me. More than once. I have yet to learn my lesson.

So I end up smiling at him, feeling the ketchup and mayo that’s somehow gotten smeared on my cheeks and chew away.

Until he grabs a napkin and wipes my face for me, taking his time, making sure all of it’s gone and I look like a normal person again.

“There. All better.” Jesse gives me a genuine smile again.

I gulp down my mouthful, feeling sick all of a sudden, and lean back against my chair, retreating to my side of the table. “You’re not allowed to do that.”

Jesse’s face drops, his hands splayed out on the table, looking chastised. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

I narrow my eyes at him, sure that this is some sort of prank. Then I glance around in case someone is taking pictures and he was doing it for the cameras pretending like he cares for me. And then I get angry, because he’s not allowed to make these feelings slosh around inside of me, not when I’ve shoved so much of that aside, hoping there would be time for that one day, much, much later, after I made the Prime League my bitch for when I could decide to have a family, to get married.

No, push it down. If I ignore it, it doesn’t exist. So, whatever you’re feeling right now, it doesn’t exist.

Jesse Windmeier is not attracted to you, he’s just having some sort of weird lapse in judgment.

Jesse Windmeier can’t be attracted to you; this can’t happen.

“You don’t look sorry,” I say, my voice soft as a whisper. I clear my throat, forgetting that I’m a girl and he’s a guy and we’re only just footballers, just buddies training together and sharing a meal. Yeah, I can work with that. I can totally work with that.

“Are you going to share some of that ketchup or what?” I don’t wait for him to answer, instead taking three of my fries, and dipping them in the little cup overflowing with ketchup, making a mess.

Jesse doesn’t say anything, but he keeps watching me eat with a different kind of interest that’s going to make me squirm any minute now.

I keep eating; Jesse keeps eating.

It’s awkward from the middle to the end. When we’re finally done, after having tossed our food in the rubbish bin and placed our trays where they’re supposed to go, we head out to the car, and I suddenly want to run, to shake out this excess energy, stomach a little queasy from all the grease, nothing that a light jog won’t be able to fix.

“I’m gonna go,” I say, taking a few steps back as Jesse has already opened the driver’s side door. He looks back at me, shocked, eyebrows leaping up the expanse of his forehead.

“Maddie, you’re going to freeze. Please, just get in the car, let me drive you home.”

I shake my head, knowing that this is the right move. I’m not very far from home, probably a twenty-minute run, and I can definitely do a twenty-minute jog according to my GPS.

What about your leg?

Light exercise is allowed, remember?

“Nope, I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow, all right? Have a good night.”

“Wait!” he calls, and I find myself stopping in my tracks, still facing him, completely paralyzed at the look on his face. “If you’re set on this, give me your mobile, so I can give you my number.”

I’m not getting it. “Why would you do that?”

Jesse’s standing in front of me now, keeping the driver’s side door wide open so anybody can just waltz right in. He’s not that smart, is he? His breath keeps puffing out between us and wisping out over his head. “So you can call me when you get home and I know you’re all right. That you weren’t murdered in the streets.”

Well, now I’m scared. Shit.

“Okayyyyyy.” I give him my phone after fishing it out of my bag and unlocking it to pull up my contacts. I don’t need him rummaging through it, thanks very much.

“Right. I’m in there, under Windy.” I roll my eyes at that. “Please call me when you get home? Please?”

“Wow, I didn’t know you knew that word.” Jesse keeps staring at me, expecting the right kind of answer, waiting for me to give it to him. “Fine, fine. I’ll call you, all right? Can I go now, your Windship?”

“Not if I can convince you to get in the car so I can drive you home.”

I shake my head again. “No, I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow. We have a lot of work to do.”

And with that I turn around, and wince when I realize I’m still in my boots, knowing that Thomas is going to kill me when he sees the state of my spikes, the very ones he just changed the other day, and how I’ll need a new pair sooner rather than later.

Oh, well. There’s no way I’m going back in that car. I need space and time to digest.

I start jogging and get back home in over twenty minutes, taking it easy, practically running in the middle of the streets so I can see if anyone’s going to jump me from the sides of the road, like jump-scares in a horror movie.

When I get back to my flat, I pull out my phone and text Jesse, making sure he knows I’m home safe.

I toss the phone on my bed and start stripping, moving towards the shower and letting the hot water do its thing. When I get back to bed, my phone is vibrating with a message, and only after I’ve crawled into bed and started pulling the covers over my head do I look at it, as if I need privacy when I live alone.

Windy: Thanks for letting me know. Sweet dreams, Maddie.

Now how in hell am I supposed to answer that?

If you ignore it, it doesn’t exist.

So I shove my phone underneath my pillow and try to fall asleep. And try.

And try.

And try.