Offside love

~ CHAPTER TWO ~

Avery’s apartment smelled faintly of lavender and eucalyptus the essential oils she always kept on hand. The scent was deliberate: calming, professional, sharp. She liked her spaces tidy, functional, with small touches of comfort that reminded her she existed outside the stadium.

Tonight, the apartment was less tidy. That was Samantha’s doing. Avery’s best friend had made herself at home hours before, sprawled across the velvet couch in a silk robe that shimmered in the warm glow of the lamps. A glass of amber liquid in one hand, the remote in the other, she flicked between channels like a general commanding a battlefield.

“You’re late,” Samantha said, her voice sharp with mock offense. “I was about to send a search party.”

Avery shrugged, dropping her bag by the door. “Traffic was fine. You don’t live here, Sam.”

“Technicalities,” Samantha replied, stretching, her robe sliding off one shoulder. “I claimed your living room. It’s mine now. Don’t fight me on it.”

Avery rolled her eyes but smiled, the kind of tired, fond smile reserved for people who’d seen you through far too much and weren’t planning on leaving. “Fine. You win.”

Samantha’s grin spread. “Good. Now, tell me everything. The men. The bodies. Are they as ridiculously fine as their i********: accounts make them look?”

Avery leaned against the counter, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of white wine. She didn’t answer immediately. Some things she preferred to keep under wraps. Not because she was ashamed, but because giving Sam an inch meant losing a mile.

“Oh come on,” Samantha pressed, sliding closer. “I already know something has you spinning. You’re hiding. I can see it in your stance, the way you avoid my gaze when you pour wine. Who’s got you all stiff and professional?”

Avery poured two glasses, handing one over. “Nobody. Just work stress. The team’s demanding. Everything’s new. I’m focused.”

“Focused,” Samantha repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Right. That’s exactly what someone says when a certain star striker has them doing mental gymnastics in their head. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Avery smiled faintly but didn’t comment. Samantha laughed, clearly taking the silence as confirmation.

“I swear, some of these men are like collections,” Sam continued, leaning back dramatically. “You want sneakers, you want a jawline, you want abs that could cut glass. You want tattoos? You want confidence? And then, some of them… some of them disappoint in bed and you’re left thinking, ‘Was it the hype or just me?’”

Avery laughed into her glass. “You talk like you know from experience.”

“I do! I have a PhD in disappointment,” Samantha said, waving her hand. “Did I ever tell you about that corporate guy last week?”

Avery rolled her eyes, settling on the couch. “You mean the one who cried after two minutes?”

“That’s the one!” Samantha cackled. “Full-blown tears. I swear, I was half tempted to hand him a tissue and a pep talk. Can you imagine? Two minutes! Who does that?”

“You do attract drama,” Avery remarked, smirking.

“Drama is my brand. But let’s get serious. Gym rats, or corporate suits? Which category would make you forget the world and just ” Samantha waved her hands suggestively, “ go wild?”

Avery considered, sipping her wine. “Depends. Gym rats are hot, aggressive, physical. But corporate suits… there’s control, a slow burn. Easier to strip them mentally before physically.”

Samantha tilted her head, impressed. “Noted. I like how you think. Mental domination first. Physical second. Smart. I approve.”

The conversation shifted seamlessly, moving from body types to favorite shoes, preferred watch brands, even ridiculous celebrity crushes. Avery let herself relax, the rigid control of the day melting a little under the warmth of wine and friendship.

“You’ve been hiding something, though,” Samantha said suddenly, raising a finger. “I don’t care how much you pour wine into my glass, I can tell. There’s a story you’re not telling. And it’s not about the new kid in the med office, either don’t even try to lie. I can see it.”

Avery smirked faintly, resting her chin on her hand. “And if I am hiding something?”

“Then I’ll find out. I always do,” Samantha said, voice playful but dangerous. “And when I do, I’m dragging it out like the juicy, messy story it is. Consider yourself warned.”

Avery’s smile didn’t waver. “You’re terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly honest,” Samantha corrected. “Now, let’s change gears. Clothes. Fashion. Shoes. Because, honestly, life is too short to wear boring things and pretend you don’t notice the fine details in men.”

They spent the next hour rifling through Avery’s wardrobe, debating what was practical for work, what could double for a night out, and what screamed confidence without being ostentatious. Samantha suggested a sequined mini-dress for some imaginary date Avery might have, just to tease her.

“Wouldn’t even think of it,” Avery said firmly, laughing. “I have work tomorrow. Focus is my priority.”

Samantha raised her glass. “Fine. But one day, you’ll let loose. And I’ll be there to witness it, judge it, and photograph it for posterity.”

They laughed again, the sound filling the apartment. Between sips of wine and bursts of commentary on men’s fashion and s****l antics, the world outside Avery’s apartment ceased to exist for a while. Here, she was just Avery the friend, the woman who could laugh without control, who could joke about everything and nothing, who could sip wine without worrying about being observed, analyzed, or tested.

Still, beneath the humor, beneath the clatter of conversation, Avery’s mind drifted briefly to the stadium. To Zayne. She didn’t admit it to herself, even in thought. She didn’t feel emotional attachment. But she remembered that first look, that sharp assessment in his dark eyes. The way he seemed to catalog her, to measure her precision, her composure. And she hated that she’d noticed it.

Not in a “I’m in love” way no. That would be childish. But in a “he has power over the space in my head, and I don’t like it” way. She reminded herself of the rules: he was a player, a distraction, and nothing more. She wasn’t going to give him constant access to her. She would remain cold, professional, untouchable, even in her thoughts.

Samantha didn’t notice the flicker of tension crossing her friend’s features. She just leaned back, sipping wine, dangling a sneaker in her fingers. “You’re hiding something spicy,” Sam murmured. “And one day, I’ll force you to tell me. Until then, I’ll just enjoy guessing.”

Avery laughed, raising her glass in a silent toast to secrecy. Outside, the city lights blinked faintly, indifferent. Inside, the apartment smelled of wine, silk, and faint lavender. Life felt contained, manageable, safe at least for tonight.

Tomorrow, the stadium would call again. And with it, the presence of the man who had already begun to disturb her composure, Zayne Navarro, would return.