“What?” he asks, eyebrows high on his forehead, mouth open in shock. He carefully sets down his food on his plate and then wipes his mouth, folding the napkin over to do it all over again.

“Giovanni di Laurentis. He was the first footballer I loved.” I shrug, stifling the need to squirm in my seat. “Jesus, don’t give me a death glare, Jesse, you asked a question and I answered. I saw my first football game when I was six years old, and Giovanni—ha, like I know him or something—di Laurentis, he did this spin-o-rama thing, completely out pacing the English defender during one of the World Cusp, and before you knew it the ball was in the net and there was screaming everywhere. My mom’s Italian and my dad’s always been a fan of Italian soccer, so I worshipped di Laurentis before I even knew what the word meant.” I snort at myself, remembering the vivid green of the TV screen, the cross-hatching pattern and the way the ball looked tiny from certain camera angles. I know I’m smiling, but I’m far away.

“Then I fell in love with Pedro Rosca and his style of playing. He always looked like he was dancing with the ball, and it made me crazy to watch him because I couldn’t match his movements, no matter how hard I tried. Then—”

“Then?”

“You’re interrupting. Yeah, then. I’ve lived a long time.”

Jesse rolls his eyes at me while taking a slurp from his soft drink, shaking it to dislodge the ice from his straw. “You’re just a couple of years younger than me.”

I squint at him. “How do you know that?”

“I have my ways.”

“Right, you talked to my coach, I guess.”

Jesse nods, a slight tilt of his head, like I’ve surprised the king with my request and he’s giving me the royal nod. “I had to. I had to tell him what you were planning. He promised he wouldn’t say anything unless you were hurting. Coach Hansen used to coach me in U-18 for the national team. He might have been the best coach I ever had. I was sad to leave the team.”

“Jesse,” I start then stop, then open my mouth again but no sounds come out. Great, I’ve broken myself. I shake my head, trying to organize my thoughts with the shuffle, putting them into place instead of scattering about. “What are we doing here?”

“Sharing a meal. Sharing each other’s company.”

“Why?”

“Do you want me to leave? I’ll leave right now if I’m making you uncomfortable.” When I don’t say anything, he turns in place and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and starts putting it on.

“Wait, that’s not… You’re being weird, and it’s making me feel weird. I’m just going to say it, and whatever happens, happens. Ugh. Whatever. Do you like me or something?” The nausea boils up. I mean I did this once in high school and didn’t die from embarrassment, but then again, this is Jesse Windmeier.

Jesse freezes for a split second, then shrugs off his coat, slowly, working his shoulders, those muscles in his chest and arms that have me paying attention. Now my stupid heart’s starting to act up. Again. “Or something,” he murmurs, still looking like he’s been caught inside a haunted house.

I squint at him. “We don’t even really like each other. I drive you crazy. You don’t even really talk to me, unless it’s to make me do a billion suicides until I toss my cookies.” I tick off all the reasons on one hand. Count ’em, one, two, three. I hold up a fourth finger but can’t think of anything to add right now.

Why are you chasing him away?

I can’t date a footballer! It’s against the rules!

What rules?

The rules where I get everything I’ve ever wanted. There will be time for this—later. Much later. After I’m thirty.

“I like spending time with you, and I don’t spend time with anyone.”

I frown at him, and then my bottom lip juts out, all on its own. “That sounds sad.”

“When I leave training, I drive home—to be by myself. Sometimes, one of the guys come over, but a lot of them are older than me, and they have families to go home to. I can’t tag along every single time. I’d be intruding. We’re already gone for so long anyway, it would be selfish of me to impose, even if I wanted to.”

“Do you want to?” My question is barely above a whisper. He picks up his diet soda again and takes another slurp, finishing it off.

“I didn’t know how lonely I would get.”

I nod, wanting him to continue, afraid to move, to break the spell.

“I go home to an empty house, one I used to love because I bought it with my own money, with money I earned after years and years of hard work to get where I am today. I go home to it, and I’m starting to hate it. And then I got benched, and I was alone with all my thoughts, and even though I can call up one of my mates to talk, they all have their own lives, and I can’t always bother them if I need to. And then you showed up, asking me to train you, completely out of the blue.”

Jesse stares at me, those blue (with flecks of green) eyes of his making their mark on my heart.

Look away, look away!

Nope, can’t do it. I like looking at him too much.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“You work so hard, Maddie, even harder, it feels like, than I have ever worked. You’re a pro footballer, just like me, and people give you shit, like you don’t have any skills, like you don’t run after that ball just like I do.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. I’m hyper-aware of my rapidly beating heart and what it could mean. Something big is going to happen now, I can feel it in the air, I can feel it along with the goosebumps on my skin.

“I found myself looking forward to our training and wanting to see you, to hear you yell at me, to laugh at your incredibly horrible jokes.”

“My jokes are not horrible. Why do you even laugh then?” I hold on to that fact like a boa constrictor, wrapping myself up in it so I don’t focus too hard on what he’s saying, on what he’s going to say.

“I found myself needing to see you, to see you push through your pain and do the drills I set out and get better and stronger. I’m proud of you, Maddie. Truly.” Jesse puts a hand over his heart, like it might be bothering him as much as mine is right now. Maybe we should go and see a cardiologist together.

“I want to talk to you, I want to share meals with you. You’re the highlight of my day. Or something.” He smirks at me, inviting me to share in the joke, but I feel like my whole body is hidden behind a wall of ice, trapped, trying to peer through to the other side.

“You…you don’t make any sense. How can you like me? This doesn’t make any sense. At all. Zero percent sense.”

“I like you. It’s happened. I can’t change how I feel, and I don’t want to.”

I rub my forehead with both hands, trying to warm up my brain to start thinking properly and tell me what to do. Jesse freaking Windmeier likes me? This was supposed to happen at a time and place when I was ready for a relationship!

“This was not how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to learn your mad skills and kick ass in my league and become the best player ever. People were going to be calling you the male version of me. That’s how this was supposed to go. And now you’re talking a bunch of nonsense. I can’t think about this right now. I really can’t.”

Jesse’s face falls, because he is, after all, human, just like the rest of us. But while he’s hurt from my rejection, I can’t take back my words either. Like he said, it’s happened, and I can’t change how I feel.

“All right, I’ll get going then. Thank you for the company. Let me know if you need a ride home tomorrow.”

“Oh my God, who the hell are you? Why are you being so nice?”

“I already told you you’re the highlight of my day. Let me drive you home from training tomorrow, you have my number, all you have to do is call. I’ll just drive you home. You can tell me a terrible joke.”

I want to flail from the roller coaster of emotions I’m feeling right now. “How are you being so cool with this? Don’t you want to ask me why I don’t like you back?”

Jesse shakes his head, shrugs his coat back on and leaves the table, with me trailing after him, following him to his sneakers as he stuffs his feet in them. “You’re just going to leave like that? Without yelling at me?”

“Why would I yell at you?” He looks confused, but I’m the one who’s confused. Isn’t he supposed to be using the ‘do you know who I am’ card, and rubbing it in my face?

“Isn’t that what guys do when girls don’t like them back?”

“I don’t need an explanation. You’ve stated how you feel and that’s all I need. Make sure you eat some more and get a good night’s rest. I’ll see you tomorrow if you want that ride. Good night.” Jesse glances back at me as he makes sure I close my door, and I think he waits until I lock it before leaving, the squeak of his sneakers against the floor trailing away only then.

What. Just. Happened?

And why do I feel so…disappointed? Sad?