Page 11 of Kick Out of It

I start and stop typing no less than five different replies. Leo has been so excited to experience his first Cork match, but I didn’t think about things like volume. I haven’t shared with Ronan that Leo has SPD, and I’m wondering if there is a chance that he picked up on his sensory differences based on the few interactions he’s had with Leo. Why else is he getting Leo tickets to a quiet suite and headphones?

I’m too old to play games. Friends who flirt occasionally, a player and a reporter, or dating… It doesn’t matter which one, I need to know what he wants. It isn’t only my heart on the line, it’s Leo’s.

What are we doing? What is this?

I like you, Nora.

Don’t want to date a footballer? I’ll respect that and we can remain friends. Just know that the moment you change your mind, I’ll be first in line. Until then, I want to get to know you better when we’re not hiding behind screens? If that’s all right?

I glance over to the other bed where Leo is sleeping soundly. Giving Ronan one chance, one date, wouldn’t hurt anything, right?

What if I start to like him and he realises we are too different?

What if Leo gets attached and his football hero breaks our hearts?

What if I break both of theirs?

There are too many variables.

I’m flattered, truly. I’m sorry I can’t be anything more than your friend right now.

It’s been a long day, I should get to bed.

I know you’re not. You’ll be reading your smutty book.

Probably. What about you?

I need my beauty sleep if I’m going to score the game winning goal. Go easy on me after! I get shy around gorgeous reporters after a big win.

Gorgeous? Damn flirt.

That remains to be seen. No alarm set for an ungodly hour?

You’re here now. Why would I?

My heart stops and stomach twists. All this time, he was setting his alarm for me?

No, it has to be a coincidence.

Ronan sends me his phone number under the guise that I might need it for Leo’s ticket tomorrow. He’s a cheeky bastard, I’ll give him that. I send him mine out of habit, and my breath catches as I read his incoming text.

Sleep well, my little night owl. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

And just like that, I’m no longer sure all I want is to be Ronan O’Leary’s friend.

CHAPTER 5

RONAN

I’m playing the best game of my life, and it’s not solely because Nora and Leo are watching. We’ve been playing as a unit—a well choreographed dance. Keith has been on fire, not letting a stitch of the football pass his palms. I’m so fucking proud of him, of all of us.

With one minute left, we’re up three-nil. I’ve scored two of the three, and I’m feeling bold. Moving up the pitch, I pass to Harris, who kicks it back to me right before sixty-two knocks the wind out of him. Cheers erupt around me, chanting, “Hat trick!” with others singing an obnoxious song—that I refuse to lean into—about how I’m ‘Ronan the Great.’ It’s a chorus of chaos.

I have the shot. Their goalie is shite, and Berg and Francis are keeping the defenders busy. Time slows down, the thumping of my heart in my ears is drowning out the noise.

Then, I fuck up.

Briefly glancing behind the goal, Nora’s eyes meet mine, distracting me from the task at hand. Milliseconds. That’s allit takes for me to kick one of the easiest shots of my life, and fucking miss.

---