Page 53 of Playing the Field
I don’t mind, though, when he shakes his head. I’m getting used to our secret adventures and he hasn’t had a bad idea yet.
‘You know you don’t have to keep spoiling me like this, don’t you? I mean I love it, obviously, but I’d want to be with you even if we were just round at yours watching telly.’
‘I know and that’s why I want to do it. You never expect it and you always appreciate it. Plus I love seeing you smile. It makes you even more beautiful.’
My cheeks flush at the compliment and I nestle my head back on his shoulder, feeling happy and lucky and like I never want this to end. And it suddenly feels like the perfect time to confess something that I’ve been keeping from him, even though it’s been on my mind with increasing frequency.
I say it into the flames, scared to watch his reaction in case it’s not what I’m hoping for. ‘I think I’m falling in love with you, Ben.’
I hold my breath, heart pounding as I worry that it’s too much too soon. But he tucks a finger under my chin and turns my face towards his. ‘I’ve been falling for you since the first day I met you,’ he says, making a gazillion fireworks explode all around me.
We stare at each other for a moment then we both burst out laughing.
‘I’m so relieved we’ve got that out of the way,’ Ben says.
‘It was kind of nerve-racking,’ I agree. ‘I hadn’t planned to say it first.’
‘I almost said something last night but I didn’t want it to look like it was just because of the sex– not that it isn’t a bit because of the sex. But it’s so much more than that. You’re just so easy to be around. It feels, I don’t know, like we were meant for each other or something.’ Then he checks himself. ‘Sorry, that sounded so corny.’
‘It’s okay. I feel exactly the same way.’
His expression turns serious for a moment. ‘This isn’t going to be easy, you know. Conversations are starting to happen about my return date to Millford, but I didn’t want to say.’
‘Is it imminent?’
‘Nothing’s agreed yet, but it will be sometime in the next few weeks. They’ll want me to have a decent amount of training time with my teammates before they put me back out on the pitch.’
‘But we’ll still be able to see each other?’
‘On Sundays we’ll definitely be able to meet in person, but I’m usually stuck in a hotel wherever we’re playing on the Friday night before a match, even for home games, and the team always travel back together afterwards. But I’ll be able to get down to Hamcott late on Saturday or first thing Sunday– or you can come up to me. I’d have to head back Sunday evening. There’s always a post-match analysis on a Monday first thing.’
It’s hard not to feel like the odds are stacked against us. ‘It’s going to be tough going to that from all this.’
‘I know, and I wouldn’t blame you if you decided it was too much to deal with. FaceTime can make up for some of it, but I know it’s not the same. I’d never ask you to miss Crawford training, but if you ever felt you could skip it on a Tuesday, you could stay up at mine a bit longer. I could get my apartment set up so you could work from there at the start of the week. I know that’s asking a lot though, and I don’t want it to sound like I think my life is more important. All I know is, when I go back, I don’t want it to be the end of this.’
‘I don’t want that either.’
‘Then we’ll find a way to make it work,’ he promises. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’
28
I do my best not to let the thought of him leaving ruin the precious time we have left after that, but it’s never too far from my mind. As we’re already into July, the new football season starts in just five weeks. By now I’m used to seeing him every day, so it’s going to feel utterly heart-wrenching when he goes away. But at no point do I ever regret having met him. Not when I think he just might be my soulmate.
On the Saturday between our two mini breaks, I arrange a night out in central London to thank him for both the glamping and whatever he’s planned for the following weekend. It’s my chance to surprise him for a change.
Figuring his ideal evening would include a bit of romance, good food and some kind of challenge, I book a floating hot tub in the Canary Wharf waterways to kick things off– a throwback to our stay in Dorset. After that there’ll be a steak dinner and we’ll round off at a bar that has computerised clay pigeon shooting. I think that covers all the bases.
‘So where to?’ Ben asks when he meets me at the Tube station, showered and refreshed after Crawford’s Saturday training session.
‘East,’ I reply cryptically. It seems only fair that I take a leaf out of his book and don’t give away more than that till we get there.
He eyes the backpack I’m holding, but that won’t give him any clues. The bottle of wine inside is wrapped up in two towels– and he has no idea I sneaked a pair of his swimming shorts into my bag the last time I was at his house.
I notice a couple of people looking at him on the journey, but no one tries to talk to him so it might just be because he’s so insanely handsome rather than because they recognise him. Ben either doesn’t notice the stares or is used to ignoring them.
When we change on to the Jubilee Line, he starts trying to guess what I’ve planned for the evening. ‘Is it a band at the O2?’
I shake my head. ‘They don’t allow backpacks in there.’
