WILLIAM
Steam curled lazily from the pot, fogging the kitchen windows as I adjusted the flame and stirred slowly.
A plain white apron hung around my waist, the strings knotted carelessly behind me.
The counter looked nothing like the training facility or the stadium. There were plates set neatly on the table, cutlery aligned with an almost obsessive precision, a folded napkin resting beside a deep ceramic bowl.
The smell of ginger, garlic, and herbs filled the space for her hangover soup.
Speaking of hangover, Damn yesterday was a great war out of her hands. It's the first time seeing her that way, even though I badly wanted to take her right there I wasn't letting things go easily that way.
It was so hard but I needed everything and also several cold baths to get my freaking self
