Page 237 of Off the Pitch

It should have terrified me, and in fact, it did. Part of me wanted to run for the hills because how the fuck was I meant to deal with the fact that Ilovedhim? I’d never loved anyone before, not really. Not like this. I’d never thought I was designed for love. But then I’d met Jordan, and the emotion had snuck up on me and surprised me when I’d least been expecting it. All I wanted was to fuck the cute boy at the bar. I hadn’t expected to develop feelings for him.

But I knew I couldn’t escape from this, even if I wanted to. Love had gripped me tight, taking me to places I’d never dreamed existed. I’d thought I had everything I could ever want. Apparently, I was missing the one thing I thought I never wanted. If I was a religious man, I’d say that someone, somewhere was laughing at me.

Besides, I knew if I ever tried to run away, Jordan would probably follow me, bugging me with endless messages and annoying me until I came back.

Now I just had to work out how to tell him how I felt because that was a whole different conversation I wasn’t prepared for.

“Oh my God! We forgot the snacks!” Jordan yelled, startling me. “We can’t watch this without snacks.”

“So go get them,” Dani said.

“Mate, I’m injured. You get them.”

“I don’t know where they are.”

“They’re on the side in the kitchen where they always are!”

“Well, what snacks are they?”

“I’ll go get them,” I said, holding up my hands before the two supposed adults on the sofa started bickering like toddlers. “What do you want?”

Jordan gave me a list, and I dutifully went and fetched the snacks, helped by Sarah who told me several times to make sure I didn’t let Jordan walk all over me. I promised her I wouldn’t, but I couldn’t help but think I’d probably fail.

I put the snacks on the coffee table, handing Jordan a bag of his favourite Chilli Heatwave Doritos, before squishing onto the end of the sofa next to him. It was a bit tight with seven adults and one child crammed onto two sofas and an armchair, but it worked.

We watched as the teams lined up, the national anthems playing, and I saw Jordan watching carefully as the camera panned along the England line-up. Liam’s face was set, his lips barely moving along with the words, while Christian seemed to be singing without any sound.

“Christian never sings. He just mimes,” Jordan said, answering a question I hadn’t asked but had been thinking. “He says he’d break the camera if he tried. I don’t think he’s that bad though. I mean, he’s not as bad as Hugo. Nobody wants Hugo to sing.”

“Can any of you sing?” I teased.

“Mate, I’m not that bad. Right? Dad, back me up here.”

Isaac shook his head and grinned. “I mean, you’re no Beyoncé.”

“Harsh, but I’ll take it.”

England won the coin toss, so they started with the ball, and soon the game was in full flow. Spain were an excellent team, currently one of the best in Europe, and this wasn’t going to be an easy match.

Within fifteen minutes, the Spanish forwards were pushing at the England defence and cracks were already starting to show. Jordan hissed, gasped, and then groaned with relief as the ball sailed just wide of the England goal. He sat back in his seat grumbling under his breath about defenders doing their jobs as the goalkeeper retrieved the ball.

It didn’t get much better. Spain were clearly the better team here. Their experience showed as they began dismantling the England defence. They were fast and smart, and England seemed to be on the back foot, playing catch up with every move they made.

Suddenly, one of the Spanish striker’s made a move, darting forward, ball at his feet, and the atmosphere was suddenly so tense it seemed it would shatter at any moment. Liam moved to intercept him, but it wasn’t enough, and with a flick of his boot the striker buried the ball in the net. Spain one, England nil.

Everyone groaned.

“Come on,” Jordan hissed, his bag of Doritos forgotten. “Come on, come on, come on.” He was leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, hands clenched into fists. It was almost as if he wanted to climb through the TV and onto the pitch. Not that I blamed him. I put my hand out, resting it on his lower back and running it in little, soothing circles.

Going one down seemed to light a fire under England, like they’d suddenly sprung into life and realised what was at stake. They were the first England team to reach the quarter-finals in several attempts, and they weren’t going to give up without a fight. But the Spanish back four was comprised of some of the world’s best defenders. Even Christian seemed to be struggling to find a gap, and he was one of the best strikers at the tournament.

“Man, I wish Hugo was English,” Jordan grumbled. “He’d be a much better partner for Christian than Jason.”

“Jason’s not bad though,” Dani interjected. “He won the league with Man City last year.”

“Yeah,” Jordan said. His face was wrinkled in concentration. “They play differently though, like their styles don’t really complement each other. Grant’s tried to mesh their styles, but they’re used to playing against each other, not together. That’s the problem. Every club plays the game differently, but then when you’re playing internationally you suddenly have to try and develop a whole new style just for a few matches or a couple of months. It’s really hard.” He sighed, his expression set and grim. “I don’t blame them though. They’re doing their best, but Spain are making us look like amateurs.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they won it,” Isaac said. “Going out to the winners though, that wouldn’t be so bad.”

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