I just wanted you to know that I am writing a football imagines book where you can request your favorite players, so if you like this story and you like my writing, please go ahead and support that book by voting and reading, and requesting, if you've got an idea! Of course, please read the Request Information chapter first before requesting! Thank you so much guys! Here is the link to my imagines book: https://www.wattpad.com/story/341405054-football-imagines-requests-open
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𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖.
Reese's Perspective
"Sure... I guess we can go for a walk together. Just let me go grab my shirt," he turns to run to go get it.
And I say, once again without thinking, "Wait, Antoine, you don't need your shirt!" Crap. Why did I say that? This time I really won't have an excuse for a response.
"Huh?" he looks back in confusion.
"No- nothing. Just go get your shirt and come back here."
"O... kay?" he says in confusion, and then turns around to go back and grab it. He runs back and starts walking alongside me, about to put on his shirt.
I guess my tongue really has decided to say what I'm thinking. I guess my vocal cords have decided there is no need for the filter today. Because now I say, "Wait, Antoine, aren't you hot? I mean, after all that working out, and it isn't exactly a cool evening..."
He shrugs. "Yes, I am. Clearly. Can't you see I'm covered in sweat?" He leaves his shirt around his neck to talk to me, looking at me with those piercing blue eyes.
"Yeah, I see that. So why put on your shirt? I don't want you to overheat," I say, sounding stupider than stupid. "And I don't mind."
"Oh, uh, okay. I just figured it would be the right thing to do, since I'm going for a walk with a girl."
"Gosh, Antoine, who taught you to have such good manners?"
"No one," he shrugs again. "I just kind of had to figure courtesy out myself. That's why I often mess up at it, I'm sure."
"Oh, well, I don't care if you have your shirt on or off. I care more about you not dying of heatstroke," I joke. And I care more about seeing your muscles, although I would never say that part.
We keep walking along, and I ask, "So, where are we going?"
"I'm going wherever you're going."
"I'm going wherever my legs lead me, I guess."
He seems to like this response, which makes me happier than I should be. He just nods, and we keep walking in silence, which is nice. It isn't awkward. I can tell Antoine is making sure not to walk too close to me, and it is because he is smart. He knows he doesn't want to give a wrong impression. Even in this way, I admire it.
Then we get to the sidewalk, though, and Antoine puts his blue t-shirt shirt back on finally, since we're now in more of a busy area. Being on a sidewalk, too, also means that we're forced to walk closer together, which I don't mind at all. Every so often, as we walk, our hands brush, and I just want to grab onto his hand and squeeze it and tell him everything that is on my mind.
I want him to be happy, and I want to make him happy, and I want to chase my dreams with him.
With him, who I hate. Or at least I'm supposed to hate.
I still cannot seem to get over the irony of these emotions I keep experiencing for him.
"Should I walk with you home, and then I'll continue on to my house?" he finally asks after a while of just walking.
I smile at this idea, and nod right away. "Yeah, I'd like that."
"Okay," he says, showing that gorgeous smile to me. Every time I see that, it is like a blessing straight from heaven.
Down the streets nearer to my house, the sidewalk gets even less wide, so soon our shoulders are bumping each other, and I love it. He is walking on the street side of the sidewalk.
Finally, we make it to my house, and I just have to cross the street to walk to my front door to enter my house once more. "Bye, Antoine. I had a great walk," I say, and then turn to cross the street.
Suddenly, though, as I'm about a quarter way down the street, I'm pulled back by the arm, and I fall right into him.
Antoine.
"Antoine, what are you-"
Suddenly a car comes flying down the hill by my house and zooms by, and my breath catches in my throat. Antoine grabbed my arm from behind and pulled my body to his chest to keep that car from hitting me.
Just as I'm about to turn around to thank him, I hear laughing, and I swivel around to my other side, seeing three of Antoine's football teammates, one of them being Henri, Brooke's boyfriend. The two I don't know are laughing, but Henri is just standing in the middle of his two friends.
We both freeze, staring at them.
One of them, a tall guy with a very square chin and messy brown hair, says, "Antoine, we got a picture of that, and it's golden! You know everyone really is going to hate your guts now!"
I feel like a wrecking ball was just dropped on my chest, and my knees feel weak. I glance at Antoine to see his face twisted in fear, confusion, and anger, but I mutter, "Antoine, don't do anything to them."
He very slightly nods as Henri says, glancing at Antoine with furrowed eyebrows, "Let's just go, guys."
"But Henri-"
"Let's just go," he repeats, and starts walking away, his friends following.
Once they're out of sight, I look at Antoine, saying, "Antoine, I'm so sorry! I should have looked before I crossed the street and then none of this would've happened... They got a picture and they're totally going to post it everywhere and make things so bad for y-"
"It's fine, Reese Mallory," he mutters, not meeting my eyes, his voice tight, unlike the light, casual, happy way he was talking to me before. "Everyone already hates me anyway." He tries to put on a smile and a chuckle as he adds, "And, besides, your life is more important than my reputation, which is already ruined anyway. But I'll see you tomorrow at school then, right? Bye."
I swallow, feeling something eating away at the walls of my stomach as I say, "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow," and I cross the street, going home.
