Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Yep - I was right.
I’ve gone and left my laptop charger in the press box.
I groan, slamming my palm against the steering wheel.
"Unbelievable."
I could always just set off home and make do without it, but stubbornness kicks in. I need that charger, and I know I'll regret not going back for it now when I’m right outside the stadium if I have to set off for it first thing in the morning instead.
I mutter some choice words under my breath as I unbuckle my seatbelt and make my way back toward the stadium entrance.
The whole place is eerily quiet now. Most of the fans have cleared out, and the hallways feel like empty corridors, the echo of my footsteps the only sound.
Although it’s admittedly a little creepy, I find myself overall oddly calm in the solitude.
I’ve almost reached the door of the press box when I hear footsteps behind me.
I can’t explain how, but I instinctively know who it is before I turn around.
"Forgotten something, giornalista?"
Matteo is alone.
He’s clean, now; no longer wearing his dirty kit with mud streaked across his face and arms, but is instead dressed in a dark tracksuit that compliments his olive skin, his hair slightly damp from his post-match shower.
"Shouldn't you be celebrating, Rossi?” I ask. “Or are you planning on spending the night here?"
“I’m in no rush to leave,” he shrugs. “But you definitely shouldn’t be here.”
I suddenly feel very caught out.
“I… may have forgotten my laptop charger,” I admit.
"Wow. I was just joking,” he says, his lips twitching as he steps closer. “You? Forget something? I’m shocked."
"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, trying to brush off the way his proximity affects me. “I’m just as shocked as you are. What can I say - it happens to the best of us.”
Matteo’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than necessary.
“Sure,” he says, voice low. “But you always seem so… in control. I thought this would be impossible.”
"Well, I am human," I reply. “Even if it doesn’t look that way.”
"I guess we all have our moments," he smirks. “But you’ve got it all together, right?”
"Oh please. You’re making me out to be the poster child for perfect organisation or something."
“I don’t know," he teases. "You seem pretty put together when you’re covering our matches. It’s… kind of impressive, actually."
I deliberately ignore the slight flutter in my stomach at the compliment as I arch a brow at him.
"It’s my job to be impressive, Rossi. Trust me, there’s nothing special about it."
“I don’t know, giornalista. You seem special to me.”
He leans back slightly, eyes scanning me from head to toe; and I could swear that this man enjoys pushing my buttons just to see how far he can go before I crack.
"You looked pretty comfortable up here tonight, too. Like you belong in there."
"I do belong here," I tell him, though my own tone is playful as I continue. "The fact that I have to deal with you is just an added bonus."
His laugh is rich and easy, and it makes something inside me soften despite myself.
"Ah, you're too kind."
The silence that follows is more comfortable than I expected, though the tension between us lingers like an unspoken challenge.
Matteo's eyes flicker toward the door to the press box.
"So, are you going to fetch your charger, or…?"
"Ah - yeah, I’ll just… You know. Grab it."
I pull a face at my own awkwardness as I raise my palm to the door and push against it.
"I can walk you back to your car again,” he says. “Make sure you don’t forget anything else."
I give him a side-eye at the suggestion.
This is very unusual territory for us.
I don’t know what’s gotten into him tonight, and I don’t know how I feel about it, either.
“I’m sure you’d love that. Let me guess, you just want to make sure I don’t trip over my own feet, right?”
“Maybe,” he says, voice dipping a little lower, his grin turning a touch more mischievous. "I’d catch you, I’m sure. As you’ve witnessed first-hand, my reflexes are excellent.”
I scoff.
"You're unbelievable, you know that?"
"What?” he says, widening those big brown eyes and feigning innocence. “I’m just trying to be helpful."
"Yeah, I’m sure,” I snort, glancing back at him as I push open the door to the press box. “You know, you really do have a knack for making simple things unnecessarily complicated.”
I slowly move inside, and he follows.
“Only when it’s fun,” he replies. “Admit it - you’re never bored around me.”
“You’re unpredictable, that’s for certain.”
“Ah. That’s a good thing,” he says smoothly. “It means I keep you on your toes.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather be in control of my own toes for the time being.”
“A wise choice,” he responds, propping the door open and hovering in the doorway as I make my way across the box.