She bursts into laughter. “It’s kind of fun, seeing you get all worked up like that. Relax,” she says, tearing off a slice of pepperoni and cheese. “I’ve only ever watched football because you were on the pitch. It won’t be remotely as interesting without you there.”
My face splits into a grin. “Oh, really?”
She rolls her eyes and chucks a throw pillow at me. “Don’t get cocky now. Are they any good?” she asks, nodding toward the TV, where the players are lining up in the tunnel.
“They are,” I say, grabbing a slice of my own. “But they’ve got nothing on us.” I wiggle my eyebrows and take a bite.
“I could have predicted that answer,” she says, nudging my knee with hers. “Have you ever played for another team?”
I shake my head as the taste of warm mozzarella and spicy pepperoni tickles my taste buds. “Nope. After training at the Regents academy as a kid, I moved my way up to the team. Same with Finn. We’re pure Regents products,” I say with a chuckle, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Frankly, I don’t even see myself playing for another team, you know?”
“Funny enough, I do.” She leans back, one leg stretched out now under the coffee table. “I actually interned at St. Mark’s. It’s the only hospital I’ve ever worked at, so I get it.”
“See? I knew we had that sense of loyalty in common.” I nudge her foot with mine, then reach for another slice. “That, and impeccable taste in pizza.”
“Well, you brought me Five Guys and Shake Shack in one sitting.” She takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, then adds, “You may have set the boyfriend bar a little too high.”
I glance over at her, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Boyfriend, huh?”
She freezes, a flicker of something in her eyes, then waves me off. “Relax. It’s agenericterm. Placeholder. You know, for the guy who shows up at work with burgers.”
“Right.” I grin. “Well, as placeholder-boyfriends go, I’d say I’m killing it.”
“You are,” she says softly, eyes settling on mine for a split second before returning to her food.
We eat in comfortable silence for a bit, the roar of applause and snappy commentary of the announcers creating a cheery background noise. She stretches out her legs, tucking herfeet under the throw blanket I keep on the couch, and I watch her for a moment. It’s a beautiful sight—Kat in her leggings and hoodie, relaxed in my living room, eating pizza like she belongs here.
I try not to read too much into the warmth that spreads through my chest, but it’s not easy to ignore.
“You know what’s funny?” she says out of nowhere. “I used to think people who watched sports on TV were a bit… much. Like, what’s the point if you’re not playing?”
“Excuse me?” I put a hand to my heart, mock-offended. “Watching football is anart form, thank you very much.”
She laughs. “Yeah, yeah. After seeing it for myself, I take it back. Kind of. It’s more fun when you know someone playing, though. It gives you someone to yell at.”
“Wow,” I say. “And here I thought you’d be the supportive type.”
“Oh, Iamsupportive,” she says with a mischievous grin. “But also brutally honest. If you screw up, I’m yelling at you. Fair warning.”
I lift my drink to her. “I’d expect nothing less.” After taking a sip, I clear my throat. “So… does that mean you’re now watching my matches?”
She presses her lips together. “Fine. I’ll admit I caught bits of your away match at Birmingham last week during my shift. And maybe a couple others too.”
A grin splits my face, but I don’t push her further. Truthfully, though, it warms my heart that she takes the time to watch my matches.
We settle into the match, stealing bites of pizza between commentary and occasional trash talk. She asks smart questions—positioning, offside rules, formations—and I’m surprised by how quickly she picks up on things.
At one point, when a striker misses a sitter, she groans louder than I do. “Seriously? My nan could have scored that.”
I angle myself to face her, stunned. “You’re turning into a football fan.”
She shrugs, trying to play it cool. “I just don’t like incompetence.”
“That’s it. You’re watching the rest of the season with me,” I declare. “It’s non-negotiable.”
She lifts a slice in salute. “Maybe… As long as there’s pizza involved.”
“You can have anything you want,” I say, awe slipping into my voice. “You’ve never looked as sexy as you do right now.”