Translation: Julian Brandt Interview with Sky Sport News Germany (May 12, 2020)

The video is avaliable here

Julian, Saturday Bundesliga starts again. And you will start against Schalke – the derby. How much do you look forward to?

Ju:    I’m really excited I have to say. I’m happy that everything starts again. 

I think it has been a long time, where we only had very limited training sessions. And in the end: every football player needs a goal. It’s not really fulfilling to only do training sessions. It’s a nice feeling that Bundesliga starts again. You can look forward to something again.

There has been a discussion: how fit are the players? How fit do you feel just a couple of days before the game?

Ju:    I feel good. Sure, you can’t really compare it with pre-season preparations. You do have to get used to certain things. We only were able to train in two-pair-groups. Then everything went quickly. You don’t have alot of time as a team. You have to simulate much more – or at least try 11 versus 11. And well… I was never a great fan of long pre-season preparations, so it was okay for me.

What was the experience like, when you changed from small groups to team training? Did you have to be a little more reserved or is that impossible?

Ju:    It really depends individually. There are some guys you are a little more reserved when it comes to one-on-one situations. Everbody reacts differently. It was okay for me. I never really had a problem. It was nice actually to have situations where it was a bit more rough. Sure everybody was keeping the distance over the past weeks. Everybody tried their best to avoid contact. In the end, football is a contact-sport and I think everbody was happy playing normal football again.

Now many players used the break to look for new talents among themselves. So was Julian Brandt killing his time with, while no training was possible?

Ju:    Well… sure there have been one or two days, where I thought my blanked fell on my head. I guess that’s normal. Sure you try to use your time… well I played alot of playstation. Like others probably as well. Because we had some really nice days and like I already said in the BVB podcast – I brought myself a new grill, shortly before everything was shut down. That was really, really important… I’m still very happy about it. I didn’t have one before. It also took away alot of my boredom. And then you this and that… but I havent’t learned a new language or instrument, yet (smiles). That was not the case with me.

So what does Julian Brandt you put on his grill?

Ju:    Certainly no eggplants! (smiles) We actually made some burgers most of the time. That was cool. I think I was at the grill every day, but I tried… to clear my head in terms of cooking (laughs)… It was actually funny: because one day the club had to weigh us, and surprisingly I didn’t lose weight nor did I gained weight. I was really surprised.

A small tip from my side: I always have an extra burner at home. Because nothing is more annoying putting the meat on the grill and then…

Ju:    Yeah… then the gas is empty (smiles)…

You mentioned playing playstation. How often did you play with your buddy Kai Havertz? And who of you has the upper hand?

Ju:    Actually we can’t really determine that. Kai and myself play together often. We aren’t really FIFA players. I for myself don’t play FIFA at all, Kai just a bit. We both play Fortnite, Call of Duty – these shooter games. We play in a team almost everytime, so we win together and lose together (smiles)… and most of the time we lose together, because even our playstation abilities reach a ceiling… our talents are somewhere else…

Well, with the 13, 14, 15 year olds who play it all night long…

Ju:    They are insane! It doesn’t even get better when I add my little brother, who is an avid player. We are just not good enough. (smiles) Thats something we have to admit to ourselves. 

Now Borussia Dortmund signed Philipp Laux as a new mental coach for the team. Did you talked to him and how does such a conversation go?

Ju:    It’s funny, because we actually sat together for an hour, yesterday. Not because for psychological reasons, but just to get to know each other. We just talked about everything. How the situation is. How those games without fans will be like. I already witnessed that in Paris. It was just a normal talk, no special topics. It was just to know the other person. He also talked about how he sees certain situations. How he thinks he want’s approach the team. He won’t stand in front of the team and hold great speeches. He just observes everything, which is normal if you are new.

But great guy? First impressions?

Ju:    Yeah, definitely. You can have a good chat with him. Even a normal conversation. I mean sure: he’s a sport psychologist many people think ‚Woah, he probably will „read me“ when I talk to him‘… but no, he’s a very relaxed guy. You can have a good chat with him.

You mentioned Paris. Dortmund was kicked out of the Champions League that night. But you do have some experience when it comes to games without fans. Schalke not in the same way – possibily. Could this be an advantage for Saturday?

Ju:    Yeah, sure. It’s is….  not something entirely new for you, when you have already had this experience before. The guys know how it will feel like…. it’s gonna be very, very silent. There were even fans and fireworks from fans in front of the stadium in Paris. PSG even had speakers on, so you were able to hear everything – but it went silent once the game started. Yet, we won’t have such an atmosphere. So yeah, it’s something new… you can perhaps get some advantages from it, but in the end: I think… even when you look at the Bundesliga standings… everything will start from zero on Saturday. There won’t be any home or away-games in the classical sense anymore. There isn’t a advantage or disadvantage anymore. So yeah, its in some way basically going back to the basics. Like the way when we started football as kids. I think there will be 200 or 300 people – I’m not sure…. but it’s a bit „back to the roots“.

Could this perhaps be a game-changer in terms of winning the Bundesliga? Bayern Munich has a 4-point advantage. But they still have to play in Dortmund, in Leverkusen and they play against Gladbach. They really have a heavy task in front of them. Could this be the small advantage into your favour?

Ju:    Woah… I don’t know. To be honest: I can’t say how the next weeks will be. I think many things are possible. In many aspects. In the end I think it will depend on which team deals with the current situation the best. A lot happens in your head as well. I mean, you can’t really let your feels rule you now. Fans cheering you on, for example. You know: there is a certain excitement the days before, when Dortmund players against Bayern….

But is there actually a slight chance to creat some sort of „derby atmosphere“? I mean, sure the fans will be missed. But isn’t there a derby fever that rises before the game on Saturday?

Ju:    Yeah, you do feel that Saturdays game will be special. Of course because of both reasons. Because it’s the derby, but also because it will be a game which has never happend under such circumstances. Like I said, because we already played in Paris, we know the situation, yet it’s also something new. The Paris game was eight weeks ago. But the „real derby feeling“ are the fans of course. They are living it and experience it. Suddently your neighbors talk about this game, they don’t even mention the other teams name – you get a certain feeling. Okay, we are in a hotel now. We don’t really feel alot and it’s not the same of course. It would have been nice to have a full stadium. But you still try to win the game, sure! 

The Night Of Your Life

As the gig drew to a close and shuffling bodies moved towards the exit you grabbed your friend Amy’s hand and made your way to the door.

“Man that was amazing!” Shouted Amy to you above the noise of the people all around.

“Yeah, I didn’t want it to end!” You screeched back hoarsely as your throat was raw from singing along to all your favourite Black Veil Brides songs.

“Let’s go for a drink” Amy said as the noise quietened down as the pair of you filed through the open doors of the arena.

You followed Amy to a nearby pub called the Black Horse Inn and you made your way to the bar and took a couple of seats. Amy motioned to the barman and ordered two Jack Daniels and cokes while you took off your jacket and had a look around to see how full the pub was. It was fairly quiet for a Friday night at 10 o’clock. You sipped your drinks and talked about your favourite songs the band had performed for half an hour before ordering a couple more drinks. Just as the barman served your drinks a familiar few faces walked in through the door.

“Oh my god!” You squealed to Amy as your eyes almost popped out watching the slim figures march into the pub. “It’s them! The band! Oh wow there’s Andy, man he looks so hot!”

“What?!” Amy span round in her seat so quickly she almost fell off the bar stool. They walked closer to you until Andy was a mere metre away from you. He shot you a smile as he waved the barman over, ordering drinks for himself and the band.

“Hi, we were at your gig tonight, it was amazing by the way!” You spoke calmly to him as though you weren’t nervous talking to him though you actually were.

“Oh really, did you enjoy yourselves?” Andy replied politely, “whatever these two pretty ladies would like as well” he said to the barman. He shot you another smile as the barman poured another two drinks for you and Amy.

“Yeah it was awesome!” Amy chirped in.

“We loved it!” You added, smiling back at his dreamy blue eyes.

“Good, good, I hope you don’t mind us gatecrashing your local like this.” Andy jokingly said as he pulled out a barstool next to you. He took a seat and sipped his drink slowly, purposefully. You watched him in awe feeling like this must be a dream, you discretely pinched yourself and realised this was actually happening, you were really in the same pub as Black Veil Brides and were actually having a conversation with Andy. You realised you hadn’t spoken in a while and coughed clearing your throat.

“Not at all, its great to have you here” you tried to sound casual but your voice squeaked, giving away that you were excited to be speaking to him.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying,” Andy started to say to you, “but I love your t-shirt” he finished. You visibly blushed and grinned a big smile at him.

“Thanks! I actually made it myself, well I tore off the sleeves and used fabric paint and bleach to make it.” Your shirt said BVB on it and was black with bleached tie-dye splotches on it.

“Really you made it? Well you must be quite talented then”, Andy said matter of factly.

“Thanks!” You grinned back. You finished your drink and excused yourself to go to the bathroom, Amy followed you close behind.

“Oh my god can you actually believe it?! We are talking to Andy fucking Biersack!!!” You excitedly screamed in the toilets. You washed your hands and fixed your make up making sure you were looking your best. “Ready?” You said to Amy and you both walked out the bathroom together. You approached the bar again and lightly stroked Andy’s arm as you took your seat.

“There you are!” Andy said as you hopped up onto your bar stool.

“Missing me already?” You said cheekily as you poked your tongue out your mouth licking your lips as you watched him react.

“Maybe I was.” Andy said in a low voice which you found rather sexy. You found yourself getting quite hot and tried to fan yourself with a drinks menu. The barman came over to ask if you wanted more drink so you ordered a couple more and continued chatting to Andy and the band. It was surreal, you didn’t quite believe it was happening; but it was.

“So listen, we have a few hotel rooms booked that we could go back to, maybe have some more drinks together?” Andy spoke softly, with big expectant eyes.

“We’d love to come back with you!” You spoke for you and Amy.

“Yeah sure” Amy added, feeling like a third wheel. You finished your drinks and followed Andy and the band through the doors and back to their hotel. It was warm inside the hotel and you Were standing so close to Andy inside the elevator that you could feel his breath against your cheek.

“C’mon inside” Andy invited you into his room. Amy followed the rest of the band to their rooms and left you and Andy alone.

“I never even asked your name, sorry” Andy spoke lowly.

“It’s Y/N” you replied, his ice blue eyes watched you intently as you spoke. Andy stepped closer to you and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Y/N,” he said “do you know how beautiful you are?” He asked in a whisper. Before you had time to answer his lips met yours in a soft crash. His mouth opened as he let his tongue explore your mouth. You couldn’t believe it, you were kisssing Andy Biersack. His hands found your waist and he led you over to the bed where you plopped down onto the soft mattress.

“Ready for this?” He asked you in a low whisper.

“So ready” you answered. You slipped off your top and he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled off his shirt. You eyed each other up and down before your mouths found each other again. He led you to the bed and you hopped up into it. Before you knew it he was in the bed on top of you and pushing his hard length into you.

“Oh my goodness! Oh Andy!” You exclaimed as he thrust into you again and again. Gaining speed he pinned your arms down and you could barely contain your screams. As you both climaxed he kissed your mouth again and his blue eyes searched your face for a contented smile.

Chris A Biersack is right I for one am Sick and tired of constantly seeing those that call themselves fans Bashing Andy Black and Juliet Simms they are married nothing any of you can do about it, they love each other, go find your own, they're happy, try to make yourself happy, they are being who they are and they obviously want to stay together those of you on Tumblr whom want to try to say that Andy will die because of her, THAT IS CUTTER BULLSHIT Andy Black is happy for God sake! He Encourages All of You to he Yourselves to Not allow Anyone to fucking tell you how to run your lives and all you mother fuckers want to tell him how to run his?? How is that? He tells you, You are your own limitation to your dreams. That you are worth it in this world. He tells you that what you do is important as long as it is important to you. He tells you that through your darkest hour you will never be alone, He tells you to be with whomever you want to, love whomever, be yourself, And yet You Assholes want to tell him how to run his life? Who he can or can not be with? Does that make any sense to you? Cause I'm having a hard time to process that. He is so much more, worth so much more He is Human not a God Damn Robot He is not a Puppet and You are not his Master. He is not and will not get a divorce or break up with Juliet Simms just because you low life's tell him too OH and to WHO EVER went to a BVB concert and HELD UP a Damn sign that Told Andy Black that you missed the old Andy! How fucking Rude and Immature can you possibly be! You are not the same fucking person you were 2 years ago You are not the same person you were 5 years ago You are not the same person you were 10 years ago get over it he grew up! And so should you! Don't ever go and give hate to someone just because they aren't who you like anymore if you miss the old Andy Stay home and listen/watch the old Andy on YouTube. He deserves far better than that shit and when I heard about it that fucking pissed me off still fucking does! Have some Respect!  GO GET A LIFE AN LEAVE HIS ALONE GOD DAMN IT! Here is a little WARNING im done playing nice nice You may have your OPINION but ill start voicing mine as well and we all know you wont like what i got to say ill DEFEND THEM BOTH TIL THE DAY I DIE and THERE IS NOT ONE GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING THING       YOU  CAN DO, You could block me but that wont keep me quiet because i have snip its of things that sites ON HERE have said stored on my computer, IM DONE SITTING BACK and watching my Idol the one WE CALL a SAVIOR?  1 OUT OF 5 of our SAVIORS? ANY HATE I SEE WILL BE SCREENSHOT AND YOU MAY DEAL WITH THE OTHER LOYAL ONES THAT SO CHOOSE TO.  He along with his band has helped Thousands if not millions find the light in their lives  since when did the lost and lonely  turn to targeting the one that is actually trying to help the best way he knows or is able to?

Erik Durm OS

AN:// I just felt like writing an Erik story because I truly miss him since. I hope he is doing well in rehab and that everything will work out fine. And that we will him soon again playing for BVB. 

His blue eyes flickered with a flash of emotion before it was gone and all I was staring at was the deep sea.

“Please say something,” I whispered gently, my hand reaching out for his.

Our fingers grazed before he pulled his back and settled them on his lap.

“What did they say?” I urged, barely able to live in the deafening silence of the car.

I was desperately searching for a twitch of emotion or a flicker of light in his eyes. We were sitting in his car, still in the vast and empty parking lot of Signal Iduna Park. I had waited for him while he went for a meeting with the big guys. He had seemed pretty confident about the meeting agenda and its conclusion but now, not so much.

“They’ve dropped me from the first team,” Erik’s voice cracked as he swallowed the big lump forming in his throat.

Suddenly, it felt like all the air in the car was sucked out and we were left in a vacuum of space.

“Stuttgart’s making a loan offer, with the condition I pass the medical tests,” He continued, still staring right ahead.

I took a deep breath and reached for his arm. Despite his reflex, I held on tight and soothingly rubbed his arm. It felt like hours of silence had enveloped us before I cleared my throat.

“Okay, then to Stuttgart we go,” I whispered convincingly despite the confusion blaring loudly in my head.

“What?” He wondered aloud, more to himself than to me.

“We’ll go to Stuttgart for the medical,” I repeated.

“I’m going to fail the damn medical, Aria,” He sighed frustratedly. “Nothing’s been the same since the surgery … it’s just …”

“Hey… Hey … Breathe,” I swivelled a little more in my seat so that I could face Erik, my arms moving towards his shoulders and gripping them tight. “We’re gonna get through this, Erik,”

“I fucking love this team, y’know. Now they’re making it like I don’t fucking exist,” He murmured, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he blinked back tears.

“People have faulty memories. Gratitude for past generosities fades –“

“Mario Puzo,” Erik finished quietly as I quoted our favourite author, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Exactly,” I shrugged a little and leaned over to peck him on the cheek. “We’re going to get through this,” I repeated my promise.

The air in the car seemed a little lighter now, as if the weight of the world is now shared across our shoulders and not just his. His burden would be mine too, I swore to that when I agreed to this relationship.

“And what if Stuttgart doesn’t work out?” He asked, finally turning to look at me.

“What has been suggested?”

“Full rehabilitation,” Erik sighed. “In Munich,”

“Wow,” I whistled quietly before looking him straight in the eyes. “Then to Munich we will go,”

“Aria, I have nothing to offer you. My footballing career is possibly at its wits end,” He shook his head sadly. “I’m just dragging you here and there. I’d really understand if you don’t think this will work out,”

“Erik Durm,” I spoke sternly, slightly offended that he would take me for a fool in this relationship. “Do you really think I’m with you for the glitz and glamour of the footballer life?”

“I just …” He stuttered.

“As I recall, when we first met in the bookshop I worked at in Berlin, you said you were a barista at the coffee shop across the street. You held on to that story for two dates, Erik Durm,” I chuckled lightly. “Your cover was blown when I walked into a Nike store. WITH YOU, NO LESS,”

“Yeah, that was pretty wild. I mean, not to actually mention difficult. It is quite a distance between Berlin and Dortmund to coordinate dates, mind you,” He laughed at the memory.

“Everything else that came with it is a bonus, Erik,” I continued, a little more seriously. “I mean, sure I loved that Berlin bookshop I worked in but hey, I’m still a curator for old books. Just in Dortmund, now. And so I’ll be in Stuttgart, Munich, wherever you may be,”

“Thank you,” He breathed out a sigh of relief, returning the peck on my cheek. “Thank you,” Erik closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts and feelings.

“You’d do the same for me,” I laced my finger with his and squeezed it gently. “I promise you forever,” Erik smiled gratefully as he turned on the engine of the car.

“You’d need a ring and to bend on one knee for that, Durm,” I winked at him cheekily, earning another chuckle from him. “Now, we need some gas, we got places to go, baby,”

“I’m definitely promising you forever,”

(corolar - INFOFER inc 2010, two years into the E.U., dropped on sending in the territory its CEO, or Board or executives from Bucharest, and especially since associated to Transportation Ministry cabinet through REVISAL credencies, the JD (job description - performance annual rider, annual bonus, management employee agreement, partly fix monthly salary, partly performance index). GSK GlaxoSmithKline RO of 2001-2004 before the E.U., almost same approach, not exactly the same, meetings via VOIP, tele-conference (the ‘george clooney Up in the air approach), on both UK embassy liaison (chamber of commerce, trading attachee, sustainable policies AIDS funding by Govt budgeting, Health Ministry orders published via Monitorul Official, the Official Bulletin, part I). so by 2010 SNCFR inc and INFOFER inc was catching up with GSK Ltd RO Balkans of the 2001-2004 ad_literam. once inside the E.U., INFOFER inc was catching up with same BUCHAREST based ten years before know-how and expertise on trading DIPLOMATIC affairs (sort of UTB Tractorul Inc trading Diplomats of the 1992-1995, the NATO ages, with studies Academy of Commerce Stefan Gheorghiu, Bucharest - post-uni degree, EQF 6 - not MBA per_se, sort of MBA true). Prodlacta inc joint-venture JLC inc MOLDOVA non-E.U. never revealed Academia Stefan Gheorghiu MANAGEMENT expertise, and they roll outside of the E.U., with College graduates 2013-2016, and bachelors as of 2017 when MOLDOVA switched Bill of rights to more RED and much more commi(s): it’s gotten nothing to do EQF 6 MBA versus the Russian only official state language. INFOFER inc and PRODLACTA inc the RAW MILK, them both similarity onto REGIONS, regionalized, and thus also CONDMAG inc of the 2004-2007, due to ROMGAS inc natural resources, and national resources, or the MSISDN SIM GSM printed plastic chips. 2005-2007 marked the Energetic breaking of boundaries with the E.U., and freely trading electric credit points around the E.U. (RO begun exporting hydro-energetic credits and secure green-ecologic power-line points against COAL of other E.U. - SIDEX inc Galati rolling with indian-UK LACHSMI MITTAL closed, 35 in-house legal team went AJOFM for employment screening). as of 2010 INFOFER inc no longer sends out in the territory its Executives, using only fiber daily tele-conference meetings all eight REGIONS, to avoid exposing due to ‘public clerk features of the JOB POSITION held by BUCHAREST office. PRODLACTA inc j/v JLC inc MOLDOVA, is also RAW MILK public clerk features at the CEO or Board of Executives, yet Bucharest Site A always sends in the Territory its key-point Executives, especially since 2017 November, ‘commis. thus not using at all RCS-RDS inc tele-conference sessions, lack of IT budgets, lack of TCO index, they use laptops 100mbs TCP-IP only (no HD ready plasma LCD mount for SKYPE alike meetings - used even by Ehrlich und Fenster Ltd RO (ie. limited liability 40 employees) vs Ramat-Gan as of 2014, the Intellectual property broker - they closely tight linked to Research Institutes sponsors mandatory published, Weissman and Bar Illan Uni public legal entities, education and UNIONs). thus not a traded stock-exchange 300 REVISAL employees such as PRODLACTA inc j/v JLC inc MOLDOVA (which should commit its Site B executives to permanently keep online daily one hour calibration collectively TV broadcast, and reduce pool CAR travel exposing to espionage and car-accidents and IGSU 911 calls if blocked roads - embassy liaison and incident - sort of NEAR MISS marked by ATC onto colliding routes up in the air - usually noted by Air safety - and ignored by RON LEI treasury or Securities commission next to the BVB Bucharest as of 2018 - i suggest audit and fine). max)

AI Analyzes Crypto Pump and Dump Schemes, $7 Million Every Day

New Post has been published on https://cryptnus.com/2018/12/ai-analyzes-crypto-pump-and-dump-schemes-7-million-every-day/

AI Analyzes Crypto Pump and Dump Schemes, $7 Million Every Day

According to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) Technology Review, two researchers at the prestigious Imperial College London have utilized artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning to analyze hundreds of crypto pump-and-dump schemes to figure out a way to spot them before they occur.

Since the 2017 bull market of cryptocurrencies, pump-and-dump schemes in the digital asset exchange market have become a major issue for both investors and regulators.

Even on major trading platforms, the market has seen assets pump within a period of hours and dump within seconds after the build-up, mostly organized by private Telegram groups, leading retail investors to lose out massively.

$7 Million Per Day

In their study, Jiahua Xu and Benjamin Livshits at Imperial College London revealed that on average, at least two pump-and-dump schemes are materialized in the crypto market on a daily basis, producing $7 million in daily trading volume.

The researchers said that hundreds of pump-and-dump schemes happen every quarter and the only way to not be affected by them is to completely avoid assets that show any sign of an artificial price build-up.

For instance, one of the 236 pump-and-dump schemes Xu and Livshits studied between July 21 and November 18 is a little-known coin called BVB. The researchers said that once a Telegram group announced the initiation of a pump on the asset, the price of BVB almost immediately skyrocketed to its peak.

To go from a low price range to an all-time high, it took BVB 18 seconds.

The researchers wrote:

“We notice that the first buy order was placed and completed within 1 second after the first coin announcement. After a mere 18 seconds of a manic buying wave, the coin price already skyrocketed to its peak. Three and half minutes after the start of the pump-and-dump, the coin price had dropped below its open price.”

The CFTC has warned consumers that crypto pump-and-dump schemes are illegal.

With low market cap cryptocurrencies, especially those with less than $1 million in daily volume, it is very cheap for manipulators to artificially create an upward price movement in an instant. The sudden increase in price then fuels a follow-up rally, influencing many other investors in the market to join in out of fear of missing out (FOMO).

The researchers also stated that some insiders accumulated crypto assets even before the pump is initiated to stay ahead of the pack and squeeze out a higher profit margin over fellow “pumpers.”

“The study reveals that pump-and-dump organizers can easily use their insider information to take extra gain at the sacrifice of fellow pumpers,” Xu said.

Simple Solution

Most of the information Xu and Livshits gathered was discovered by a machine-learning algorithm that was trained using historical pump-and-dump schemes to instantaneously detect potential pumps before they even begin.

But, to the majority of traders that do not have a machine-learning algorithm readily available, the researchers said that a simple way to find out if an asset is going through a pump-and-dump cycle is to see if a low volume and low market cap cryptocurrency sees unexpected trades in an unexpected period.

Although the Commodities and Futures Trading Commission (CFTC) has released a stern warning to investor groups in the crypto market against running pump-and-dump schemes, strict regulations have not been practical and effective in preventing them.

Featured Image from Shutterstock

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The Sequel - 900

Food Blog

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“What are you doing? What is that sound?”

“I’m cutting limes into wedges for the tacos but I’m trying to cut them on a plate because my butcher block and cutting board are both covered in veggies, so every time the knife hits the plate it makes that terrible sound.”

“That’s a lot of vegetables.”

“I’m drowning in avocado and red onion.”

“Want me to let you go?”

“No. I miss you. I missed your voice. You never call me.”

“The phone works both ways, cariña.”

“Actually I do need to get off. I just don’t want to. Can I call you during the dinner? I’m not gonna sit out there and make it weird.”

“Text me 30 minutes ahead of time and it’s a date.”

“K.”

“Bye, baby girl.”

“Later.”

Okay, two pans worth of onions and peppers ready to go. Sweet potato cubes ready to go. Avocado cream drizzle just needs a squeeze of one of these limes. Rice is cooking. Black beans are on the stove ready to fire. Pico needs to be mixed. Cilantro is chopped and covered. And gross. Still need to slice avocados, but that can wait ‘til closer to dinner. Need to cut some for the guacamole too. Red onion, check. I know I said I’d do a version of the avocado cream with cashew cream instead of yogurt but I’m too lazy. What else? Christina wiped her hands on a towel and looked around her kitchen, which was organized chaos.

Grilled steaks and fish were out. Taco Night was in. She told André his team dinner menu was impractical, because everyone likes their steak and their salmon cooked differently and it would be difficult to make sure everyone got what they liked if two people were trying to bulk-grill all the food. Instead she furnished a list of ingredients that were heavier on the prep but much easier to actually cook. There was 7 pounds of spice-rubbed pork shoulder getting fork-tender in her slow cooker for the meat eaters, shrimp defrosting in the sink for the pescatarians, and spicy sweet potato and black beans for the vegetarians and vegans. They had flour and gluten-free corn tortillas. Everyone was covered, and most importantly, everyone could serve themselves and have exactly what they liked. Christina could put everything out on her island counter like a buffet and then be completely done with her hosting duties.

They’re supposed to be here in like half an hour, which means I have 15 minutes before I need to put anything in the oven. I’m taking a chip break, the rider decided upon completing her prep survey and checking the time. She grabbed the bag of whole wheat tortilla chips, ripped it open, and dumped the whole thing in a wooden salad bowl. Then she scraped the diced tomato and onion from her cutting board into a smaller bowl with finely chopped Serrano chile and some of the cilantro. She squeezed one of her lime wedges over it, sprinkled some salt on, and delicately mixed it all together. It seemed like she only stepped away from her chips and salsa for a couple of seconds- just enough time to open the refrigerator and get the bottle of Pellegrino- but André managed to get in there and start eating her snack.

“Do you need anymore help, pretty girl?” he asked with his mouth full. He’d been on the patio getting the space heater and the fire pit going. The extra folding table was already set up end to end with the glass one so that everyone could sit together, face to face, and he brought the dining room chairs out after promising he would make sure they didn’t get dirty. Before all that, he had to help in the kitchen.

“I think we’re good for now. I was just going to sit for a little.” Christina picked up the pico de gallo and the tortilla chips and walked away even as the player was trying to dip a chip. He followed her around to the other side of the big island and pulled a stool out for her so that they could have a break before the swarm of Bees arrived. On a scale from 1 to letting a 4-0 Revierderby lead slip, how pissed would she be if I asked her to finish making the guac before she sits down, he wondered. Then he felt the bag of ice wrapped to her ankle hit him in the knee as she climbed onto the tall seat and decided not to ask her to get up to make him more food. Christina had to ride and teach all day, and there was no rest for her between rushing home from the barn to see Lukas off with Zoe and Noah and beginning her vegetable cutting. She just changed her clothes, strapped on her ice, and went to work.

“Thanks for doing this,” André told her once he was in his own seat. She was gobbling chips.

“You can thank me by getting your shit sorted out and winning some games.”

“On it.”

“Can you make sure the puppies don’t get too much people food?”

“Where are you going to be?”

“I’m making myself a burrito bowl and hiding upstairs.”

“Why?”

“I’m not part of the squad. You guys should be alone to talk out whatever you’re gonna talk out. Believe me, I’m perfectly fine eating dinner in bed and watching TV all night.”

“I have a gift for you that I wasn’t going to give you yet, but maybe you could use it tonight.”

“I like gifts.”

“I’ll go get it.” The player scooped some chunky salsa for the road, but paused to kiss his girl’s cheek before getting down from his stool. Christina pushed both bowls away while she chewed her last crunchy whole wheat triangle. She didn’t want to ruin her appetite. The pork smelled amazing. She had designs on pigging out, having a long chat about nothing with Juan in bed, and passing out. Lukas was having his first sleepover and his dad vowed to do all the cleanup from the dinner. There was no reason to have to do anything else for the rest of the night. She hoped the gift was a holiday candle, or an interesting face mask, a cozy blanket, or maybe, if she were really lucky, an air popper. Popcorn and a movie sounded great. But André came back with a long, slim box wrapped in chrome paper and tied with a burgundy velvet bow. It definitely wasn’t big enough to be an air popper.

“I can tell you didn’t wrap it,” the rider smiled once the box was in her hands.

“I paid the extra €5 to have it wrapped for Christmas! Open.” A sneaky smirk lurked behind the unusual humility with which he presented the present. Normally he openly salivated in anticipation of the response. He watched her tug the pretty bow loose and carefully place the ribbon on the counter. It was nice enough to keep. The top and bottom of the box were actually wrapped separately, so she didn’t need to tear the heavy duty paper. Before lifting the lid, she shook the box and asked if it was a dragon. André said it was not, and apologized for that.

“Okay, let’s see...” Christina plucked the top off the box and immediately recognized her gift as a sex toy. It was an unmistakably phallic wand with bulbous top after a pinched in bit at one end. It was smooth black silicone, just as she asked for. The length of it was plain- tapered at the tip and a little narrowed in the middle. It was not intimidatingly big or disappointingly small. The proportions were just right, like her other toys.

“It’s rechargeable, bendy, and self-heating. How nice is that?” her partner asked like a salesman. “I think it has 10 different vibrations.”

“Thanks, babe,” his wife chuckled. She then bit her lip, but it wasn’t a shy gesture. It was more like she was trying not to laugh.

“Do you like it? Try bending it. It’s probably not charged yet so I don’t know if it turns on.”

“I definitely like it. I’m just...” Christina snorted and couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you really want me to be using this upstairs while you’re outside having crisis talks with the guys? Isn’t that weird? Who does that? Who is like, “Oh, there’s a dinner party happening at my house but I’m not really part of it so I’ll just go masturbate”?”

“Why would I care? Now that you mention it, it might actually be kind of sexy to think about that- To know what you’re doing. I for sure would know what we’re doing together when everyone leaves! It’s supposed to be very quiet, by the way.” He watched her lift the toy from the box and investigate its flexibility. It was a solid thing, so it took some effort to bend it. It held whatever curve one shaped it to. “I think you’re supposed to use that big part for your clit. That’s why it bends. To make it more comfortable to hold, I guess.”

“You did good. I’m very interested in this self-heating business.” Seriously, he’s good at picking out vibrators. He’s three for three, she realized. I can’t wait to try this. I have a phone date with Juanin. It’s like my stars have aligned! Except that would be particularly cruel wouldn’t it? Break in the new vibrator boyfriend gave me with Juan instead? While boyfriend is home, even?

“Go plug it in in the bedroom so it’s charged up for later.”

“Okay,” she laughed. Things had really changed. There was no way she would be so relaxed in a conversation about a sex toy with André when they first got together. It had become just a regular thing, or a funny one. She pulled the USB cord out of its indented place in the packaging to make sure she wouldn’t need scissors to free it, and then took everything upstairs. Just holding the device- feeling the silicone texture, and the weight of it, and the hardness under the surface- was kind of exciting. She thought to check the tiny user manual to see if it indicated how long it took to charge. There was always the possibility of trying it out and then eating dinner. Especially when she discovered that it was already fully charged. She went up through the different speeds and vibration patterns, and turned on the heating feature. The device took about as long as a curling iron to warm to a sort of humanlike temperature. It wasn’t going to burn anything. I’m gonna take a picture of it and text it to Juanin with my 30 minutes notice.

André helped with the food when his party caterer returned. He was in charge of dredging the shrimp in chili powder, cayenne, salt, pepper, and cumin, and skewering them for the grill grate on Christina’s gas range. Having 6 burners, a grill, and a griddle made the range her favorite feature in the whole house. She gushed over it to people all the time, like her mother-in-law. This made André feel very proud. His dad once told him that one of the most important things a man can do for his partner is flatter her with the finest kitchen appliances. He’d enlisted his son’s help in choosing a new toaster oven for Luise, and his teenage son had no interest or patience for walking around the store and comparing all the toasters. A toaster was a toaster. The wisdom stuck with him though, because his mom was thrilled with the eventual choice. She was happy for days, and used it to make things she normally would have put in the regular oven. And her happiness was tied to who gave her the very nice, extremely expensive, top quality toaster oven. Thus “he who provides his wife with the finest goods for her kitchen is the most accomplished man” was ingrained in André and set out as a future goal. When he met girls that made him smile, he tried to imagine their future response when he was able to give them the best appliances money can buy. Doubt was cast upon a budding relationship if he decided the girl probably wouldn’t care that much.

Christina loved having two ovens and a separate broiler too. She had three sheet pans of vegetables going in there while she made the guacamole and started setting out serving dishes and plates and bowls and utensils on the island. They did get the holiday decorations out the night before but never actually started the decorating, except in the kitchen. The rider filled her glass fruit bowl with white, silver, glittery, and disco-ball like tree ornaments, and put two staggered height pillar candles in there with them. It sat on the raised part of the island with the stemless wine glass and the carafe full of Cabernet Franc. André teased her about how unnecessary it was to decant wine for that specific dinner “party”, and she countered with some excuse about how it made up for the fact that she was wearing skinny track pants and a sweatshirt.

“The onions and peppers go on the long platter so that they’re not all piled up and steaming themselves,” she told him when he grabbed the plate in question with the intention of using it for the trio of cheeses.

“You know how we’ve been talking about what you want to do next with your career, and what else you want to try? You should do something with cooking, pretty girl,” the footballer suggested somewhere between kidding and thoughtful.

“Like what? A YouTube channel?”

“Or a blog. I don’t know. You’re so good at this.” Who else thinks about the shape of the plate and the effect it has on the food? Oooh, people must be here.

“Your phone is ringing.”

“I hear.”

Christina didn’t have much time to consider the suggestion. The embattled Bees arrived in a steady stream of calls and texts seeking passage through the security gate and guidance on where to park. André handled that, and his wife handled transferring food to the appropriate plates and dishes, shredding the pork, grilling the shrimp, warming and setting out the tortillas, showing the guys where to find different drinks, and accepting cheek kisses and compliments on her spread. She did in fact make herself a big bowl of rice, savory carnitas, cotija, cheddar jack, pico de gallo, and shredded lettuce before announcing to the 30 footballers milling about her home that “the buffet” was open, and she did take it straight upstairs. Spencer and Lucky were invited to join her but they were much too interested in running around to sniff all the strangers. She put the bowl on André’s nightstand because it was the closest to the door, went in her dressing room to take her pants, sweatshirt, and bra off, and was then surprised to hear her partner in life and in food prep call her name questioningly from said door.

“What do you need, babe?” she asked, leaning out of her closet and looking toward the adjacent doorway.

“Thank you so much for taking care of everything,” the blonde forward said. He walked over to give her a smooch. “Love you.”

“Welcome.” His girl smiled inside and out. It’s very nice to be appreciated, she thought. Even if it’s for something he shouldn’t have sprang on me in the first place. He’s been very helpful and he gave me a really nice new vibrator so I guess it’s all okay. “If I hear a riot, I’ll call the police, mm?”

“Sounds good.” André gave her another kiss, on the forehead, to close out his hit and run, and went to get some food and take his place at the table outside.

I’m gonna eat and watch TV and then I’ll call the Spanish Teddy Bear. I’ll give him his heads up now. I think I should save my gift for later with boyfriend though, especially if he doesn’t finish this dinner with a good feeling about the team. I can make him feel better, or distract him at least. I’d be such a ho if I christened the new vibrator with somebody else. That’s ungrateful ho shit. But I’m still gonna send the picture to Juanin because I’m a tease like that. I miss the fuck out of that boy, Christina thought as she got settled under the black satin quilt and chose a jersey pillow to serve as her lap table. Schü was right yesterday. I did want his attention. I want anybody’s attention. Sometimes it really sucks to be here with him while he’s in a bad mood, or he’s really busy, or wants to do stuff alone all the time, when I know there is someone in London who is desperate to hang with me, and be fun, or even just be with me on the couch. It makes me miss Juanin even more than I always do. Plus I want to complain to him every day about how angry I am that we moved here for Dortmund and Dortmund just keeps getting worse, and I mean as a whole situation, not just results. It’s been nothing but bad for us. I want boyfriend to be happy. He was happy one night when he scored an equalizer against Real Madrid and he was semi-happy when they won the league cup. That’s it in a year and a half. The rest he’s hurt, not playing, or losing. This pork came out soooooooo good. What did Teddy Bear say? The rider rested her fork in the oversized salad bowl and lifted her iPhone off the pillow to read the Chelsea midfielder’s response to her photo.

“Do you give it a name?”

“No. I’m not that girl.”

“See if it fits in your butt.”

“Not that girl either.”

“Your Christmas wish list is weird this year.”

“I’m that girl that asks for a new vibrator and secondhand sweatpants.”

“One of a kind.”

“Do you think I could be that girl who does cooking tutorials on the YouTubez? Or nah?”

“I think you can be any girl you want. That would be a big project though. We’ll talk about it when you call?”

“K. See you in 30.”

Christina wrote one more text, to Zoe, before fully resuming her burrito bowl grazing. The text breaks were actually important because they prevented her from inhaling the food too quickly, as she was prone to do. She asked Zoe how dinner went and if Lukas wanted to talk to her or Face Time or anything before bed. Zoe said she was letting the boys stay up until Noah’s regular bedtime, a bit later than Lukas’, and that they were playing with action figures and watching Toy Story. Lukas’ mom was really looking forward to introducing him to some classic Christmas movies. His dad told her to pace herself and not overdose on Christmas too soon and run out of Christmas stuff. André told Lukas a different story. He told him it was going to be wall to wall Christmas, for weeks, and that they were going to help Mommy have the best Christmas ever. Of course, that was before he forgot their tree shopping date- the very first part of the holiday season.

Her 30 minutes of dinner, CNBC Europe, and getting upset about geopolitics went quickly. Juan called right on time. He was on his couch with a blanket, his MacBookPro, and a to-do list of images to make for the restaurant’s Christmas menu announcements to be posted on social media. His faraway friend shared André’s stunted idea about doing some sort of cooking or food blog.

“What do you think? Should I do long pithy posts and funny videos with cool recipes?”

“I think you should ride. You just told me the thing you want to do is ride and win. You know you can’t do it as well as you used to if you take on too many other things. Make riding your focus. You haven’t found the same kind of motivation again yet. I’m afraid if you stray now, you may not get it back,” the Spaniard testified with logic and levelness, and most importantly, keen interest. “Not too many days ago you got very upset- furious, even- and then very unhappy about a mistake from hours earlier that you had already dismissed as meaningless.”

“Well it didn’t bother me that much when it first happened,” the rider shot back, referring to a miscalculation she made in the ring in Doha on her Winter Soldier. It cost them a rail in the second round of the Champions League finale. She walked out of the ring shaking her head at Daniel, who was already saying the name of the sponsor on the jump. But then she just shrugged and said it wasn’t a big deal, and that riding the approach to that fence differently could have resulted in a knockdown anyway. Hours and hours later, at a corner table at the jazz club, Christina worked herself almost to tears of condemnation for not doing better in the tack, and being smarter, and above all else, for acting like her mistake didn’t matter. She hated letting herself off that way. The attitude disgusted her when she was able to look back on it. “It just gnawed at me whenever I re-rode the class in my head.”

“It gnawed at you because you were careless, it cost you, and you pretended not to care to protect yourself from being disappointed. I don’t know how you never learn that doing that to yourself- trying to put off the disappointment- just makes it worse when you finally let it in. You used to always face everything head-on, cariña,” Juan practically whined. He was always lamenting the disappearance of that quality in her.

“I know.”

“Don’t load up your schedule with other commitments again,” he reiterated, voice lowered, intensity dialed up. “Work on your horses, on your body, and your relationships. The mind takes care of itself when you do that. You’ll be happiest when your horses are performing their best, you feel good physically, and you spend lots of time having fun and relaxing with your family and friends.”

“Okay.”

“I know you’re looking for things that help keep you sane and happy, so that you can ride with a clear head.”

“Yeah. I just keep thinking that maybe more non-horse hobbies would help with that,” Christina shrugged before rolling over onto her side and pulling her blanket up.

“I get it,” her absentee teddy bear affirmed, emphatic. “I just believe you’re better off making your relationships your hobbies. I don’t want to sound selfish when I say this, but the time you use for writing a food blog or something is time you aren’t spending with Lukas, or André, or your girlfriends, or me. For you, and I think for me too, the most important thing is to be with my friends and family. Then it doesn’t matter what we do- it’s always fun, or relaxing. Don’t launch a video account and teach people how to make lasagna two ways. Just cook something with Lukas. Come here and cook with me in a professional kitchen. You get what I’m saying?”

“Yes. But I’m gonna be real honest. What if I go 100% No Holds Barred Show Jumping All-Star and I’m still making dumb mistakes and my instincts are still bad? At least when I’m not 100% committed I can keep telling myself I’m not at the top because I’m not trying that hard. I’m really and truly afraid that my best- No- That Dirk’s best, for example- isn’t good enough anymore.” Phew. Got that out, Christina thought, applauding herself. It was hard for her to air real fears and insecurities. What she said could never be for Tom’s ears, for example, because it would jeopardize the footing her whole working persona was built on. Her whole professional existence was staked on confidence and an unyielding belief in her horses and their supremacy over the others. To let anyone see her doubts in them or herself would feel like a violation of her very being. But it was a petit, intelligent, and understanding Chelsea midfielder that she was speaking to, and he could learn anything about her without changing his belief in her.

“You have to find out, cariña,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation. His immediate reactions were so valuable to her, because they were instinctive and real. He didn’t take the time to think about what she said and then take care to qualify his response so as not to upset her, or to deliberately manipulate her in some way. Sometimes André’s ponderous nature on matters of consequence that he didn’t fully comprehend from the get-go read as strategizing and made the eventual reply feel a bit contrived. “You find out the answer as quick as you can, and if it’s the wrong answer then you go to work to fix it. If your best isn’t good enough anymore, you make a new best. And don’t even try to argue that because I know you believe too that’s how it should be.”

“I do agree on that,” she chuckled, amused by his forcefulness. “It’s daunting though. I don’t want to feel like Stevie G.”

“I really don’t think you need to be worrying about that. Your 80% is better than most riders’ 110% right now. Get back to the hundred and you’ll be the best again. Use getting to the hundred as inspiration and motivation to get the extra 10% you used to unleash in big moments to shock everyone. I would love to see this.”

“Thanks. You have a way of making me feel better about myself by making me feel bad about myself.” That is the clearest way I’ve ever been able to put The Juan Effect into words! By George, I’ve got it!

“You’re welcome? I guess?”

“I would hug you so hard right now if I were in London.”

“Have you ever had shaved octopus?”

“Is that food or like a sex thing?”

“Food, cariña.” Juan’s eye-roll was audible over the line. He was calm again after getting a little excited there about self-improvement and reaching for top. Christina could hear his typing and taps on the computer resume too.

“So like octopus carpaccio?”

“Yes.”

“Come on. You know the answer to that.”

“You should try.”

“What else is on the holiday menu?”

“My mum’s slow roast lamb, and Spanish bread pudding.”

“Sign. Me. Up. Are you having Christmas dinner at home or at the restaurant?”

“Home! The whole family will be here with me Christmas Eve to eat.”

“Good. That’s how it should be. Are they all staying for Boxing Day football again? I didn’t even look at the fixtures yet. Are you home or away?”

“Home, against Brighton. Most of the family is coming. I’m saving a ticket for my girlfriend though, in case she decides at the last minute to come to her favorite match of the season.”

“Do you want me to?” she questioned in a small voice after a brief pause to be touched by the player’s sweetness. “Or are you just looking out for my love of Boxing Day at Stamford Bridge?”

“If you’re asking is it important to me that you come for that game? No, not especially. I know you love the atmosphere with all the kids. I always want to see you though.”

“That’s very sweet. Lemme ask you this though- which do you want more- for me to come over that morning for the football and stay one night while your family is there, or...for me to come the morning of New Year’s Eve, and stay for a party and the associated hungover lie-in on New Year’s Day?”

“Is “both” an option?” the Spanish footballer laughed. Christina said it was not. “Would you really come for New Year’s?” he asked with more sincerity in his lilt. “I thought you wanted to be at home?”

“I do. Home is as much with you in London as it is here.” THERE’S a truth I’m willing to confront head-on. For better or for worse.

“Come home whenever you want, baby girl,” Juan sighed with something like muted satisfaction. There was a softness in his voice too, which the primary listener found deeply comforting and personalized for her. “If you’d rather come for a party than football, or if you want to be alone together the next morning instead of surrounded by nosy Spanish people, either is okay with me.”

“Let me think about it, okay?” She pushed and pulled idly at the “stuffing” in her satin quilt to make it fit evenly in its square instead of bunched up in half of it. It was one of her favorite blankets but it was impossible to prevent that bunching problem. No amount of shaking it out helped. It drove her nuts whenever she let herself think about it for too long. Luckily she wasn’t really thinking about it while she tried to fix it. She was thinking over André’s potential reaction to either London visit. The New Year’s one was something on the fringes of her mind for a few days already. It was amplified a little the previous morning when she found the pretty and romantic red party dress in her closet. The flared Gazar silk skirt, with its organza underpinnings, was a touch dramatic for her, and it begged to bounce and twirl at a glamorous celebration.  

“Mhm.”

“Hang on a second. I have a message.”

“Come downstairs. We’re going to have dessert. Schmelle brought you an Oreo cheesecake as a thank you,” Christina read on the screen.

“I’ve been summoned downstairs. I’ll call you back?”

“I’ll be here.”

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The Sequel - 886

Parrot

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“I hate Everton. They always fuck us. The least they could do is beat the team we would like to move ahead of. They find ways to fuck us even when they’re playing somebody else. And what the fuck is wrong with them anyway? Koeman is good. You love Koeman. You were literally the only person in all of Valencia who loved him, but still. England loved him last year. What is he even doing that they’re this bad?”

“If I open another bottle of Sant Jeroni will it make you calm, or more complaining?”

“I don’t know. Open it and let’s find out.”

Juan rolled his eyes when Christina clunked the side of her head into his and then gestured angrily at the iPad again about Ronald Koeman’s side and its ineptitude. They were installed in Rincón de Juan, at his dad’s restaurant, to eat Iberico and Manchego croquetas, and off-menu cheese fries. They were also testing new wines to see if they should go on the menu. The rider liked a white blend that included her favored Viognier grapes. They were merely sampling though, so she wasn’t yet drunk. Coca Cola with lemon was her prime beverage of choice. She did ask for more of that Sant Jeroni blend, however, and was disappointed to hear that the rest of the bottle was already gone. The restaurant manager poured samples for just about everybody in the place. Her personal host evidently thought he could temper her animated football commentary by opening up the second bottle sent from the distributor.

She was in London on Sunday afternoon, enjoying an Everton vs. Arsenal and Tottenham vs. Liverpool doubleheader, because an artist who painted a stunning picture of her sailing over a fence aboard Dirk at the Olympics invited her to the fundraiser auction at which he was selling it on Saturday evening. The proceeds were going to UNICEF, as part of a “Sports for the Greater Good” initiative. All the auction lots were sport-themed. Christina agreed to attend and sign the piece with a personalized message for the winning bidder. That really could have happened via mail, even though the painting was enormous, but it was a good excuse to go see Juan, so she went. He provided her with a ticket for Watford’s visit to Stamford Bridge at lunchtime, and accompanied her to the event. She was staying until Monday morning.

“Do you really want it, or no? It’s not cold. I have to put it in the freezer,” the Spaniard pointed out after Arsenal scored a fourth goal and his “secret girlfriend” closed the streaming app in disgust.

“No but can we take it home? For later? And can I go get my own soda or do I have to wait for whatshername?”

“I’ll get it.”

“You don’t trust me to walk around the bar and grab a soda?”

“No.”

“K. I need some more napkins too. Thanks.” Christina slid her empty soda bottle in front of him and helped herself to a French fry dripping in gooey white cheese sauce. Chef David greeted her when they got there and asked what she would eat if she could eat anything in the world, and she picked cheese fries, much to his amusement. He vowed to concoct the best cheese fries she’d ever had, and really delivered. She had no idea what sort of cheese was in the sauce, or what else was in it, but it sure was delicious, and the potatoes were crispy and perfectly salted. Visiting London was, for a while, like going on a mini holiday. Christina always ended up eating junk food, drinking, shopping, and having a lot of sex. Nothing at home in Dortmund was so stressful or monotonous that a vacation was necessary, but they were still nice little breaks, and they repaired the part of her heart that felt damaged and slightly painful whenever she was away from Juan for very long.

They were also a satisfying football fix. Dortmund was slowly killing her. Chelsea suffered a rough patch too. The Blues fought to rescue the three points at home on Saturday in a really exciting match that really fed her addiction in a way her husband’s side seemed incapable, and she was glad to be with her favorite Blue afterward because he made an individual error that led directly to a goal and she was afraid he’d be very down on himself about it. With a nice cocktail party and charity auction to go to, and a beautiful girl to go with, he couldn’t dwell on the mistake for long. His arm candy refused to let him beat himself up about it too. She blamed a blanket lack of organization and responsibility for both goals conceded.

“Do you want to stay here for the second game or nah?” she asked after he returned with a bottle of Coke and fresh glass of ice with two lemon wedges and a black straw. The black straw was important. Christina made him promise his restaurant would only use black straws.

“I don’t care. My dad is out of things to make me do while I’m here, so...” The Spaniard shrugged and sliced into a croqueta with the side of his fork. His interest in the fried food and cheese was necessarily less than hers. He picked while she stuffed her face. She also promised to cook for him later, so he was saving the space in his stomach.

“How is he always here? Does he just live here now?”

“Sometimes. I showed you the pictures of his place, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you said it was going to be like a crash pad when he’s in town. He’s always in town.”

“I’m not complaining,” Juan smiled.

“I miss Aidan,” Christina confessed. There was a reason why she was asking about the other Juan Mata always being around when she was in town. There was some kind of binding between her and friends who didn’t live near family. For example, Natasha’s parents hardly ever came to London. Eden’s were around all the time, and he took his family to his parents in Belgium often, but Natasha didn’t get to see her family much. Christina thought she related better to people without close family, despite Jill living at home permanently. Her parents weren’t actually in that home that often. Juan’s parents came to the UK for important matches, and he saw them at home in Spain when he could, so that distance was something she identified with. It was different, having one or both of his parents right there in town all the time.

Many times throughout the most difficult parts of the previous year- through her riding struggles, and her relationship nightmares- the equestrian star wished she had a mother read-in on all the drama to consult with, or just to vent to. There was no one. No one was in on her secrets. Sometimes she thought her desperation to talk to someone about that stuff was why she gave in and clued some people in, like Daniel and Marcus. It was really difficult to keep all of that stuff inside. The only people she could vent to were the people directly involved. It wasn’t that she missed her mom, per say, but any mom, or mom-like figure. A family member she did specifically miss was her brother. He hardly reached out to her since their father’s funeral. Christina missed that odd relationship. It wasn’t close or affectionate, but in some ways the Martin kids knew each other better than most. And she really wanted Lukas to benefit from knowing Aidan. Her brother was wonderful with kids. They all loved him, and he loved to hang out with them and show them things. He was a really great big brother when she was little and their age gap was more significant in terms of maturity, experience, and knowledge of the world.

“Have you spoken lately?”

“No. He doesn’t call me, and I feel like I need a reason to call him. I know we would end up on the phone for an hour, talking about ourselves and current events and movies and stuff, but usually I call him for a reason, like...his birthday, or an art question or something. The last few times we talked it was about the boat money.” I want him to come visit and demand that we go to the store to get a case of Coke right away, she thought, staring into her glass while pulling on the straw. He needs immediate soda and bread. I want to joke about the stuff only we find funny. Like Captain Ron.

“Why don’t you ask him to join you for the holidays? He has off from school?” Juan suggested. He leaned back on the banquette and put his arm up on it. He also picked up and then dropped her braided ponytail. The restaurant was a vigilance-free zone. He didn’t care who saw him do what there, which was kind of ironic given that diners often just sat there watching him. Playing with her hair wasn’t exactly a dead giveaway that they were sleeping together, but she thought the way he interacted with her was just really flirty at times, as in if she were watching then she would assume they were together. It didn’t worry her as much as it once did.

“I don’t even know where I’m going to be for the holidays. I’ll be here riding right before Christmas, Schü wants to have his family over and we’ve also talked about traveling since he has the long break, I know I’ll want to spend time with you...”

“You have a bad habit of focusing on obstacles instead of solutions, cariña.” The footballer gave in to desire and speared the other half of the breaded, fried log of ham and cheese béchamel with his fork, and popped it in his mouth before Christina could come back at him with some protest about how ignoring obstacles doesn’t solve anything and just gets one’s hopes up. But she didn’t say anything, or look up from her soda. If she wasn’t going to argue, he was going full steam ahead. “Your obstacles are mostly imaginary too. You don’t need a reason to call your own brother. No one does. Just call him and say “Hey, what’s new? How are you?” Or you could try something really crazy and tell him you rang because you miss him. And if you want to see him and he has the ability to come over, make the plan around that. André wants to be with family at Christmas, like most people, so he plans that. You can plan to be with family too. You could invite him to you in Germany, or ask him to join you here during the horse show, or have him meet you wherever André wants to “travel”. Why not have the whole family on the boat after New Year’s, something like this?”

“He’d be really bored. He doesn’t like sitting on a lounger all day.”

“That runs in the family, eh?” Juan smiled. He patted her thigh too. Her expression was quite patronized when she looked up to frown. “Stop making excuses,” he urged, clearly trying to be warmer about it and head off any impending angry, defensive backlash. He does that thing with his eyes so even when he’s being mean it seems like he’s not picking on you, the rider told herself. He’s so goddamn sincere. “If you want to talk to him, or see him, you can manage it. You’re a smart girl with means and flexibility!”

“Yeah but...what if he’s still mad at me about Dad?”

“That wasn’t your fault and he can’t seriously think it was.”

“But what if he does?”

“Then you should talk to him and find out why.”

“That sounds unbearable.”

“Give it a try, and if it’s unbearable then I’ll be there for you after. You can’t miss out on something good because you’re afraid it could be bad. This is why we have people close to us- why we let them in. We know they’re there to support us and comfort us when something doesn’t turn out the way we want. Having people makes you stronger. It-“

“Alright, alright, I don’t need a sappy speech,” Christina groaned. “I need cheese fries.” Deflecting and humor would always be her preferred tactics for avoiding emotional vulnerability on someone else’s terms. She wasn’t willing to admit to herself that the whole reason she brought up Aidan was that she wanted her sort-of-partner to talk her into it, tell her how, and then do something to make her feel better if it didn’t go well. She ate a couple of mildly cheese-blessed crispy fries and wiped her hands on a napkin from the pile he brought with her soda, and then put it in her lap to protect her sweatshirt. Ankle-length, super soft, light wash jeans, low leather sneakers, and casual-fit crewneck sweatshirts were the staples of her autumn look. She thought it wasn’t a “Mom Outfit” if the sweatshirts were by luxury brands and the butt in the jeans was world class. Her more practical sensibilities occasionally insisted that it was ridiculous to buy €300+ sweatshirts that were more or less the same as €30 ones without a brand or logo on the front, so she treated them like her nicest clothes. Fried food grease on a free adidas sweatshirt was unfortunate and disappointing but not tragic. Fried food grease on an Alexander McQueen swallow-motif sweatshirt was a nightmare of conscience.

“What are you making me for dinner later?”

“My mom’s beef stew, because it’s stew weather, it’s enough to last you several days, and it requires chopping a lot of veggies and stuff which is something fun we can do together.”

“You’re really missing the family, sí?” Juan knowingly inquired, voice low, grip on her leg tightening, eyes fixed on her profile.

“I always do this time of the year,” his visitor replied in a monotone but somehow still slightly begrudging way. Sometimes his ability to see the pattern in her behavior was annoying rather than comforting. “Thanksgiving, holiday decorating, Christmas shopping, really cold horse shows, making checklists for Florida...”

“You still do holiday decorating. You shop almost professionally. Your horse show in the arena is freezing. What’s missing,” the player mused, sitting forward to lean on his elbows on the table. He slid the platter of cheese fries over closer to Christina. “Thanksgiving, I understand, is just for eating. I generously volunteer to eat the Thanksgiving,” he offered as if to make some great sacrifice. “And for the list-making...how about you make a checklist of things to put in your bag when you come to the beach with me after the crazy part of the schedule is over and I get some time off? Write down the books, the dresses, and the shoes- oh, the shooooes-”

“I love you,” she said very quietly in his ear before pecking his cheek just in front of it as soon as he sat back again. It wasn’t that he provided some groundbreaking solution to her holiday homesickness and nostalgia for the good old days. It was just incredibly sweet of him to her to list books, dresses, and shoes in that order. Firstly she felt good learning that he was already thinking about using his very limited time off for resting and recharging after the jam-packed holiday football season with her, even after she alluded to her intention to fit some time with him in during the actual holidays. That indicated that he wanted a double-dose. Then he mentioned the first three things that would be on her mind when thinking about what to bring for a little stay at his place in Mallorca- books, because one of her favorite things to do with him was enjoy quiet time in which they could do their own thing but together, without interrupting each other, dresses, because she thrived on making different impressions on him with her outfits, and shoes, because he always poked fun at her for bringing so many shoes on her travels, and because he told her he wanted to go away with her to a place where shoes aren’t necessary, and she kept that in the back of her mind. She kept the idea of traveling anywhere and everywhere with him in the back of her mind. It was the only thing she wanted to be doing that she was not yet doing with her post-Olympics freedom. It also didn’t hurt that his instinct or choice was to pivot to giving reassurances, rather than continue harassing her about complaining instead of coming up with solutions. Juan sat up taller and pressed his chin to his chest to stretch his neck, and his response to her love and her little kiss was delivered with more nonchalance than the rider would have retroactively anticipated.

“I love that you’re like obsessed with me and I actually see you more now than when you lived here,” he said while stretching and looking down at his lap.

“To think people call you humble.”

“Every other week, you’re here, or I’m with you at a horse show.”

“I’m not obsessed. I’m addicted,” Christina stage-whispered behind her hand.

“To what?”

“Your sweaters, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“And soon, your restaurant’s cheese fries. You should put these on the menu. Forget the wine.” She collected a couple of fries and stuffed them in her mouth to demonstrate her love. They’re getting cold though, she realized, disappointed. And my tummy is getting full. Her watch said she had 15 minutes left to choose between remaining there to watch Tottenham take on Klopp’s team at Wembley and going back to Juan’s to watch it on the couch, or in bed. He was picking over what was left of the fries, and yawned instead of addressing her suggestion. We should go home. I can watch football and nap off this food and then go downstairs to get the stew stuff. “D’you wanna go home for the other game?”

“So you can feed your addiction by touching all my sweaters?”

“So I can feed my addiction to referring to your apartment as “home”.”

The Spaniard calmly grinned in appreciation and winked at the addict. He asked her if she needed to have her remaining fries boxed to go, but she said she just needed the Sant Jeroni and some good bread to dip in the stew later, since the grocery store in his building didn’t bake bread in-house and what they had brought in wasn’t very good, or fresh. They walked two blocks to Juan’s Mercedes and Christina sang to the radio for 15 minutes of pretty light Sunday traffic. The wine went on ice as soon as they got “home”, and they chose the couch for their football viewing. Getting into bed was too dangerous. It posed a risk of them never getting up to make the stew, or do anything else for that matter. Then didn’t stop the friends from changing into comfier clothes and making a nest to share and try not to fall asleep in. They were briefly amused by Tottenham’s ability to totally rip Liverpool apart in the first half-hour, before silently agreeing amongst each other that the home side was scary good, and thus a threat to the Blues’ prospects. On that unspoken but fully realized note, Christina grabbed her phone to check in with André.

“Training?” she wrote as a prompt. Dortmund embarrassed themselves again on Saturday, without him, and he was working with the substitutes and other recovering players on Sunday.

“It was good!! I was just about to msg you. I’m in the cold water. If everything is normal tomorrow, I’m going to be in the squad for the cup,” he wrote back immediately. Awww I’m so happy for him! His wife was seriously thrilled. Finally! It’s been at least twice as long as it was supposed to be. I wish I could hug him right now. I’m gonna give- Oh, yeah. Hmm. Christina wanted to give her partner a great sendoff before he departed for Magdeburg. But her flight got her back to Germany around lunchtime, and he’d already be at training. She couldn’t let him go off to maybe make his comeback without at least a hug, and preferably with a quiet vote of absolute confidence.

“Can I come to Brackel and see you before you go?” she asked, thinking she could go see him just before the team got on the bus for the airport, when she couldn’t interrupt anything important, or be a distraction. Partners and even kids were not banned from Brackel. Wives and girlfriends dropped off and picked up their players all the time, and some even occasionally took in training. Christina met with the team doctor there once, and she even borrowed a room and their TV production crew to film a thank you message for her fans, partners, family, and friends with good production value. She didn’t have a relationship with the facility and its staff like she had at Cobham, but wasn’t a stranger there.

“Are you going to bring me flowers?”

“Hugs.”

“With kisses?”

“Duh.”

“Then yes.”

Yay! I hope I get to give him even better hugs when he comes home Tuesday night, she smiled to herself. I hope he gets to play, and he feels good doing it. I don’t need a goal or an assist or anything. Just for him to feel good in the kit, kicking the ball, being with his teammates...please, she added, glancing up at the ceiling.

“What are you so happy about?” Juan yawned beside her while she reminded André to call her when he was tucking Lukas in for the night.

“Schü might get to play on Tuesday.”

“Yeah? That’s good news.” He sounded genuine when he turned and smiled at her, and she felt a flicker of guilt. It was twofold, because she felt bad that she was under a blanket with another player and longing to be in hugging distance of the one she was married to, and bad that she had to tell Juan how happy she was for another guy. Neither of the guys would have expected any different. They were used to it. It was just weird in that moment. She wished she could be home in Dortmund, but also felt sorry for letting the Spaniard see her get so wrapped up in an André thing. The moment fully illustrated the inherent difficulty and unfairness of their arrangement.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, introspective.

“Will you be there to watch?”

“No. They play away, in the cup. Some third-tier team.”

“That’s perfect to get some time and confidence. I wish him well.”

“Thanks.” Christina let her head fall over onto his right shoulder, and rubbed her right hand up and down and his arm. I believe him. He resents boyfriend for a lot of things but they’re still friends, kinda, and he wants whatever makes me happy too.

“He’s taking Lovren off,” the Chelsea man literally pointed out as the Liverpool center-half made the embarrassing walk toward the sideline well before the halftime whistle. “Harsh.”

“Let’s see if he has a tantrum when he gets to the bench, like...someone I know.”

“Are you ever going to forget that?”

“No.”

“I guess it’s good to have someone who won’t ever let me forget my mistakes.”

“Yes. A good way to learn,” his girlfriend sniggered. “I remind you about them because I love you and want you to do better.”

“Because you love me, eh.” He wasn’t having her joking-but-not-really explanation.

“I love you as much as American chain restaurants love using other food as bread for their food.”

“What?” He definitely wasn’t buying her metaphor.

“Like when they use grilled cheese sandwiches as the bread for a hamburger, or they make a sandwich out of bacon and cheese between two fried chicken cutlets, or they wrap a burrito in a quesadilla.”

“You Americans really love cheese.”

“I love you more than cheese sometimes.” Christina looked up from his shoulder with her doe eyes on. Any man on the receiving end of that look knew he was being played, one way or another.

“I’m not getting up to open the wine.”

“Oh I forgot about that, actually. I’m just trying to make up for getting giddy about Schü before.”

“Nothing to make up, cariña.” He didn’t need to say more than that. She knew deep down that it didn’t upset him when she did things like that, or showed him that she missed her husband, or told him she couldn’t do something because she had plans with him that she didn’t want to break. He was well aware of how she felt about André, and there was no point in ever pretending about it. The opposite situation was the same too.  

“I do love you like a fat kid loves a cheeseburger with a pizza bun though.”

“Have you ever ate anything like that?”

“No, but I put macaroni and cheese on an egg sandwich once because it needed cheese and the only cheese I had was leftover macaroni and cheese. Macaroni and cheese burgers are a thing. I think lobster macaroni and cheese burgers are a thing now too. So gross.”

“You’re a thing.”

“Your face is a thing.”

“Why is your face always on my shoulder? You’re not a parrot, cariña.”

“I’m the angel on your shoulder. Duh.”

“Awww.”

“I think your angel needs a nap,” Christina yawned before she began adjusting in her spot for a more reclined position. Liverpool was a mess and didn’t look likely to stage a comeback.

“My angel, not “the” angel?”

“Yes, your angel.”

The Sequel - 880

Roadhouse

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Hiiii. You look so hot. What the fuck?”

“Thank you? I think?”

“Get back in the car! We’re gonna be late.”

Christina wanted to give herself plenty of time to get from the airport to Natasha’s birthday party in Soho, but she wanted to see André after training more. It was his first day back with the full squad, and she had to see for herself, on his face and in his energy, if it went well and encouraged him or if it was really rough on him and got him down. So she ended up on a flight that got her to London just 20 minutes before the party. Juan picked her up, and the sight of him waiting outside his Mercedes SUV sparked a lot of feelings. The first was just sheer happiness, because she missed him, and, regrettably, Juan in greater London was still home to her, and the feeling of being home is always a happy one. Then she felt slightly surprised and a bit excited, because he looked really, really good in a dark turtleneck, small blazer, fitted jeans, and his favorite brown suede boots. The look really worked for him. The rider and part-time model thought the footballer and part-time model looked very much a real model. And then there was panic, because the clock was ticking. She hopped in the car and decided they could waste one more second though.

“Kiss! Kiss first,” she demanded as he shifted the big red vehicle into reverse to make room to get out of the line of waiting cars. Juan leaned over the console to give her a hello smooch, or perhaps a welcome home one. “Thanks for not making me take a taxi.”

“Thanks for being so happy to see me.”

“Thanks for being so happy to see me. I got you a present! Want me to describe it to you since you’re driving?”

“I hope you remembered to get a present for Natasha.”

“Duh. Yours is better though.”

“Qué es eso?

“A book! That’s my Roger Bennett “what are you putting in the emporium, Rog?” voice, from the Men in Blazers.”

“Okay.”

“It’s poetry.”

“Aww...”

“That’s how much I love you. I bought you poetry. I even got it in a store, in front of people, and the cashier and everything. Très embarrassing.”

“Dr. Seuss?”

“No.” Christina rolled her eyes and fished around in her pretty well stuffed “L’Aveugle Par Amour” Gucci backpack, which was black canvas with some embroidered flower patches, the titular French phrase across the top flap and the bottom of the front, and comfy padded straps in the classic signature green and red stripe. The buckles at the front had the stripes too. The bag was her favorite item of the moment. Juan’s book was in there because she originally planned to save it for later. Natasha’s gift, by contrast, was in her purse. But the Spaniard seemed so happy to have her back when she gave him a drive-by hug and ordered him behind the wheel, and she just wanted to prolong his delight and the feeling it made within her. Also, she’d been anxious and eager to see how he’d like her book selection. “It’s Frank Bidart. Have you heard of him? It’s his highlights from 1965 to 2016.”

“No, I don’t think I know him. What sort of poetry?” the Gucci-scented driver asked. He stole some glances as the paperback in her lap when traffic allowed.

“Well apparently he’s sort of known for...embodying others? I don’t know,” Christina chuckled. “I read some hoity toity poetry critic stuff in the New York Times Book Review, and- Okay well this is a random aside, but earlier the day I found it I was watching a clip of my favorite cable news show host from the night before and he quoted St. Augustine of Hippo and I wasn’t familiar with the quote and it intrigued me so I Googled, naturally. Then hours later I’m in the bookstore and looking at the Times review of this collection of poems and it says the poet “interpolates his life with those of such figures as St. Augustine of Hippo, Maria Callas, Benvenuto Cellini, and Walt Whitman”. Isn’t that bizarre? I’d never even heard a single thing about St. Augustine of Hippo and then bam, twice in one day. I love/hate when that happens. Anyway, I don’t even really know what the critic was trying to say, but what I took from it is that he does a kind of vocalization, and interrogation. I didn’t really care about the explanation, to be fair,” she digressed, anxious still to get to the good part- the part that did matter to her. “I just liked the poems. Just a few lines of some of them, even. I tagged a couple for you that I’ll let you read on your own. Can I read the thing that grabbed me? I think you’ll like it. It’s only three lines.”

“Yes, please do.” Juan was smiling at the road and Christina missed the fond, amused expression because she was a touch shy about the gift. Poetry wasn’t her thing, though she wrote what her teachers and several literary contest judges deemed very good poetry as a high schooler. She seldom took it seriously, though she actually owned a whole moving box of poetry books.

“This is from one called “Guilty of Dust”. “Love is the distance/Between you and what you love/What you love is your fate.” And then there’s another stanza that I don’t like as much, and then, “Then the voice in my head said/Whether you love what you love/Or live in divided ceaseless/Revolt against it/What you love is your fate.” I couldn’t think of, let alone write, a better verse about you and me- about how you love me, and how you know we’ll be together, and how I never know anything, and both things are our fate. It’s so true. It’s the same thing. I couldn’t believe I found something so...relevant, in a book I picked up off the table just because the cover has a statue of a guy with a huge knife, holding up a severed head. It made me think of Thrones,” the rider admitted, blushing for a multitude of reasons that had little to do with her ridiculous Game of Thrones obsession. “I just flipped through a little. One of the ones I bookmarked for you is almost even more relevant. You’ll see.”

“Stop rush-talking.”

“What?”

“You’re doing the thing with the talking so much, and so fast, because you’re nervous about what I would say if I could get anything in.” Her friend looked over as he slowed the car to a stop, and that happy smile persisted. He held his hand out for the book. In the momentary pause while Christina tried to load up a comeback or dismissal for his accusation, he showed her that she didn’t need one. “I can’t wait to read. Those are beautiful thoughts, you just read. The best things are the accidental finds like this, I think. Especially for you. Things find you, cariña. Something finds you and then you go learn everything about it, and then it’s part of you, or shows you something about you, and you have it with you from then on.”

“Okay now you’re sounding like a cheesy poet,” she quickly shot back. But oooooo damn it I love when he says stuff like that, she was thinking inside. He’s so right. Things do find me this way. It happens all the time. This is how I know so many random things. I have accidental knowledge. That’s what I was thinking about when the St. Augustine thing happened. It happens to me all...the...time. The player handed the book back after thumbing through it at the traffic light. Christina was careful about slotting it back into its spot in her bag, where it could be flat against the back part.

“What did you get for your girlfriend?”

“Nat got “Eat What You Watch” which is a cookbook with recipes from classic and cult movies, because she’s always texting me for cooking help and I think Eden likes movies and I know he likes food. And I got the new DeMille, because I loooove DeMille and it’s set in Key West and Cuba this time and as you know, I’m having Havana feels lately.” Both of the hardcover books were produced from her handbag for illustrative purposes. One was wrapped in pineapple-print paper and had a big green bow. The other had Juan’s 2012 London Olympics hotel card key sticking out of it. She never returned the good luck talisman to him after the games, and had no intention of ever doing so. He used her Nations Cup medal as a bookmark, and she was using his card key.

“Nice. Are you wearing a new perfume?”

“Sort of. Schü got me this new Burberry scent last Christmas. He thought it was one I already use, but it had literally just come out so I dunno where he came up with that. I don’t wear it much,” Christina shrugged, pulling on her leather jacket sleeve and the cream-colored one underneath that to sniff her wrist. “I’m out of my Chanel at the moment. I like this one though.”

“I got you a present too. It’s in the bag in the back.” Juan nodded over his shoulder and she reached behind his seat into a plastic bag. There was a small rectangular box in it, among other things, and he said to grab it. What is...

“Summer’s Eve...Douche? Juan! You bought me a douche kit?” she complained loudly and incredulously, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, jaw gaping open. The footballer was laughing hysterically. She figured he meant for her to use the cleansing product for a different part of her body than that for which it was intended.

“Open it!”

“No.”

“Just open it! For me, please, cariña?” He tried to subdue his laughter enough to make a pouting face at her but it didn’t really work. What did compel the rider to open the light blue and white box was its weight. I’ve never bought one of these things before but I find it hard to believe it’s supposed to be this heavy, she reasoned before sticking her finger between the top flap and the box to open it up- tentatively, almost as if she was afraid of what might be inside. It was roasted peanuts.

“Nuts?” she questioned skeptically.

“I went to the cinema with my sister the other day when she was here. We wanted to take the peanuts with us to eat, and she thought no one would check the douche box.”

“You snuck outside peanuts into a movie theatre in a douche box? What the fuck, man. You two are weird.” Christina shook her head and sniffed the contents of the box. The sugar was kind of tempting. “What was she even doing with a douche kit? Who goes to visit their brother for two nights and thinks, “I better bring a douche”? I wouldn’t even want my brother to know I’d ever been in possession of one.”

“Why? You’re acting like it’s some shameful thing,” Juan chuckled. “She uses after her period.”

“Why do you know that?” His friend’s incredulity was ceaseless.

“I grew up in a house with her. I shared a bathroom with her. I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It’s not weird to me. You prudish, embarrassed American girls are weird.”

“We’re products of our environment.”

“Speaking of American girls, do you still talk to Samantha?”

“Occasionally. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“How does Paula like Iceland?”

“She loves it.”

“That’s good.”

“I’m happy you’re here.” The Spaniard’s tone was finally serious and sincere, and somewhat quieter. He reached over to grasp her right hand, and fit his fingers between hers. Their hands sat together on her black velvet pants.

“Me too,” she smiled back at his profile. “I’ve missed you extra since Sid’s interview came out.”

Sid Lowe published his story in The Guardian two Mondays after the interview with the subjects. It ended up being mostly about Juan, and his Common Goal project, but a big chunk really examined his symbiotic relationship with the American-turned-German girl parachuted into his life when she started dating his Chelsea teammate. He explored the theme that she presented and talked about most in that interview. He focused on their mutual quest for clarity and freedom of mind so that they could use their natural feel and instincts to do their best on the pitch and in the saddle. To Christina, that was the most important aspect of their friendship, and in some ways, the most important thing in her life. She was sort of proud that someone like Sid, whose writing she adored for its intelligence and interesting point of view, far from the usual sports journalist’s work, latched onto something she put forth as key in their interview.

He also wrote about midfielder’s admiration for rider, and the unusual nature of it. He wrote that it’s normal and customary for footballers to be big fans of other major stars, like tennis and NBA icons. He called Juan’s appreciation for show jumping something unique, and special, and telling, and based those characterizations on the whole thing Christina brought up about skills not being so important, and work ethic maybe not even being that important compared to being open and receptive and acting on feel. He wrote about his experience watching her, and how he had to look her up on YouTube to get the full sense of what she did on horseback, and that when he watched her compete with Dirk it was like a different manifestation of watching a magical, gifted, intelligent player do magic on the pitch. And he did say it was like watching Messi. He described it as Messi doing a solo performance for performance’s sake, separate from the ends he did his magic for, separate from goals and points and cups. Juan told him that watching Christina and Dirk at their best left him hungry- wanting more- wanting the show to go on for longer, just the way he felt watching some of the game’s best players, and by best he meant Messi, sure, but more than that, Xavi and Iniesta.

Sid traversed from there into the Chelsea man’s affinity for Iniesta, and his insistence that Iniesta makes everyone else on the pitch better, and always makes the right decision, and always sets up the next three players with his one pass. Juan thought Christina did that. She always made the right decision on course, and what she did three strides before any obstacle was intended to help her horse clear the next four jumps. Scoring a goal was the best feeling for him, but he reveled in any successful manipulation of his teammates like that when he managed to do it- when his vision played out. From there, Sid got into Juan’s vision for the entirety of the football industry automatically giving 1% of its earnings and profits to his Common Goal charities, and emphasized just how long term that vision was, and how ardent and unflappable his faith in reaching the goal was.

Christina was always obsessed with that faith, and belief. She couldn’t empathize with it. It was foreign to her. The closest she could come to that kind of commitment to a future reality was her belief in Dirk, but she was much too cynical and pessimistic to ever aim as high as her friend did, be it in his ability to affect change and help hundreds of millions of people around the world, or his assured insistence that he’d live out his days in happiness at her side. Sid brought her to sedate tears with that stuff, even without knowing the parts about Juan believing he’d end up with her, because she recognized how beautiful the faith in being able to corral the football community that way for such a wholly good and important purpose was, and how he saved his extraordinary faith for only the most tremendous things in his life like that goal, his own ability to perform, and in their future together. To be up there on the podium with those things felt so immense to her, and swelled her heart. She told him so, in a quietly tearful phone conversation.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place? We’re so...wrongly dressed. Who are all these people?” Christina questioned when she and her party escort arrived at the American roadhouse-themed restaurant. Natasha described it as a classic American diner to her, so she wasn’t expecting women in denim hotpants and ripped fishnets, blaring hard rock music, and a general ambiance of Harleys, cowboy boots, and tequila. The birthday partying was happening in a segregated area, and it was full of people the rider didn’t recognize.

“The girls are the partners of the new players. That one is Zappa’s girlfriend, I think, the one next to Natasha is Marcos’ partner-“

“He has a girlfriend? You didn’t tell me this.”

“Does it matter?” Juan chuckled.

“Yes. I mean no. Well...yes.” She furrowed her brows and almost stomped her foot. There’s like a whole new group, she realized, sad. Thorgan’s wife and lots of other Chelsea girls and old friends of Natasha’s were around, so it wasn’t like she didn’t know anybody. There was plenty of Chelsea players present that she knew too.

“Let’s go say hi to Natasha,” her favorite Chelsea player suggested, a hand on her lower back to urge her up the two low stairs to the party area. There was one long table with old school metal napkin holders and empty beer bottles acting as anchors for lots of birthday balloons. The walls were covered in highway signs and foam fingers. A separate table was set up with plastic cups for beer pong. Christina wondered if at any point during the party a waitress would pull a chair out to dance on and pour a pitcher of Bud Light over herself to “Pour Some Sugar On Me”.

“Chris! Hey!” the woman of the hour exclaimed happily when she spotted her best friend from out of town. She had a plastic crown on, and was visibly drunk. “I miiiiiissed you!” The two girls hugged, and the Belgian complimented the German’s subtle peplum sweater and her incredibly thin-heeled stiletto booties. The German complimented the Belgian on her drunkenness. Juan told her she looked like a teenager, and then departed to talk to his friends. “What do you want to drink? We have like a punch bowl over there full of vodka, elderflower, cranberry juice, and prosecco, or you can order a cocktail, or a beer. Whatever you want!”

“What have you been drinking?” the rider questioned knowingly.

“Something called a Caipiruski. Or roska? Something Russian. It’s like a caipirinha but with vodka. Russians do vodka in everything. Take your jacket off!”

Christina and Juan were the last guests to arrive, so just a few minutes after they began mingling with their friends, everyone sat down to look at the menu and order food, though their team of Coyota Ugly-ish waitresses assured them they could get up to socialize again or play games after. Natasha reserved a seat next to her at the head of the table for Christina, which made Christina very happy. Her first reaction to seeing her friend laughing and having a good time with a bunch of new people was jealously, or whatever one feels when it seems like they’ve been replaced. She was introduced to the new faces while she perused the menu. Everyone seemed nice enough. Everyone was a model or lifestyle blogger. Everyone was somewhat flummoxed by the menu. It was full of things like nachos smothered in cheese sauce and sour cream, chili cheese dogs, hamburgers, and bbq chicken, and everything came with fries. It wasn’t very model friendly, and Christina was sure lifestyle bloggers only got food like that to take pictures of it, not eat it. The birthday girl, of course, was not either of those things.

“I think we should order all of the sharing boards to start with, don’t you think?” Natasha asked, consulting her former partner in crime. The two non-models and non-lifestyle-bloggers were delighted by the food offerings.

“I’m not eating any crispy cod but chicken wings and nachos and sticky ribs I am down for,” the equestrian star nodded, eyeing the guys at the other end of the table to gauge their reaction to the exclusively unhealthy menu. It took a good week to reacquaint her stomach with solid food after she got over the flu, and the birthday party was the first opportunity to really try anything heavy. Christina hoped her digestive system was up to the task. Her hunger certainly was. I’ll try a little of everything, but I’ll order the steak because that can’t be too greasy, salty, sticky, or spicy, right? Also... Her appraising glance arrived on Juan, who was sitting amongst the other Spaniards. I don’t want to be sick or in a food coma later.

“Will you get a little drunk and be really American with me?” Natasha implored beside her, recalling her attention. “You’re never offensively American but I know you can fake it! I think you should have beer. We’re going to do karaoke with the rock band later.”

“I’m afraid to get drunk because I’m still taking antibiotics,” Christina explained sympathetically. “I’ll have a beer though, for you, because it’s your birthday. And I’ll definitely do karaoke if you do it with me. Or Eden. I didn’t even get to talk to him yet. I still need to congratulate him on that performance at Atleti.

“Everyone wants to do it. I bet you know some good 80’s rock songs to do.”

“I can think of a few. I should make Juan play guitar with me...”

“He’s so happy lately,” Natasha whispered. “Eden says so, and I see it when we do things with this crew. We think he has a secret girlfriend. I’m afraid he’s screwing Lex again or something. Would you know if he did?”

“No secret girlfriend. No Lex. He’s just happy that his charity thing is going so well.” The girl with the long and sleek ponytail inadvertently hit Marie in the head with it when she snapped her head around to smile reassuringly with her answer. I wish I could tell her I’m the secret girlfriend, she was thinking inside. So many people already know. It seems ridiculous that my best girlfriend doesn’t know the truth.

“It figures Juan Mata would try to save the world,” that friend snorted.

“Am I still giving the boys a lesson tomorrow?”

“Yeah! Do you need me to come collect you or are you borrowing a car from Juan?”

“I’m definitely commandeering the DB9.”

“Oh! Tell me about the Ferrari! Is it amazing? Do you love it? Is it a dream come true?”

The girls caught up with each other after settling the food questions with the whole table, and even while other people got up to chat and play beer pong. They talked and texted a lot, but sitting next to each other with a couple of drinks, fun music, and enough going on in the background that no one paid any attention to them was just better, and more satisfying. They could make dramatic faces at each other to react to news, or gossip. Watching other people around them reminded them of things they wanted to talk about that just didn’t come up normally, like Christina’s wanting to get the dirt on all the new Chelsea girls. Some of them ended up joining the conversation at different times, so she got to know them directly a little bit too, and they got to know her. A couple of old timers brought up the charity WAG tournament and lamented that there was no one left to organize it, and no natural athletes left to play in it. Discussing that event, and the people involved in it, made Christina feel a long way away from that past. Dortmund and BVB and Olympic medals felt like a decade from the good old Chelsea days.

The population at the table fluctuated when the appetizers arrived, but a lot of people just picked up a chicken wing or tortilla chip and went back to what they were doing. It took a really long time to get the main course, which was fine with the partygoers, and maybe even planned that way on purpose. The food was okay. It was certainly better than diner food, though Christina loved authentic diner food anyway. She stopped eating before she felt really full, just in case. She braved a second Corona after dinner too, just to get in the mood for singing and making a fool of herself. Juan gave her her space for most of the night. They weren’t there “together”. He just happened to pick her up from the airport, and she just happened to be going home with him after. It was a lot of fun to hang out with Natasha again, and the others were fun to laugh and joke around with as well, but by the time she was done trying to sing “Night Moves”, and her bottle was empty but for the lime rind, she wished the Spaniard were around more. He could be really fun too. All the party was missing was a boy to flirt with.

“How are you, cariña?” he asked after taking a seat next to her near the beer pong table. He’d been summoned there by text. “Tired yet?” He definitely thought she was going to say she was close to ready to leave.

“Yeah, but I’m okay,” she shrugged. The place really was like a roadhouse. Some ladies were dancing on the bar, and the people drinking at it were shouting and throwing cash at them. Others got really into the rock band karaoke. It was all a little fake, however, like a Las Vegas attraction. The scene was kind of overwhelming. Christina had to lean in close to be heard. “I think you should do a song.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Oh come on! I did a song!”

“You and 5 other girls who fought over the mic so much we didn’t have to actually hear any of you.”

“Pfft.”

“You should go on the bar and shake your ass around. It’s better than theirs.” The player nodded toward the center of all the commotion.

“I’m wearing velvet pants. I’d die if someone got beer on them.”

“Do for me later then, without the pants.”

“Deal.” I want to kiiiiiss him, Christina groaned to herself. Grr. “Let’s go find Eddie, speaking of asses. Also, you should tell Alvi and Marcos how awesome I am so that they want to be my friends.”

“Can I tell them you want to have-“

“No.”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

“You know, all this party needs is a Juan and Chris duet.”

“No.”

“You’re more handsome when you’re laughing.”

“You’re beautiful all night.”

“Awww.”

“That’s the truth. I watch. When was the last time you had fun with friends?”

“Tokyo. I don’t have friends to have fun with at home.”

“That’s why London should still be your home.”

“Oh,” Christina smirked. “Is that the reason?”

“Just one of them.”

The Sequel - 863

Miss-you-mergency

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“How did you get so drunk?”

“Cabernet.”

“You didn’t have that much!”

“You’re so handsome. It’s not fair.”

“Why?”

“Kiss my tummy.”

“Stop shaking your butt.”

“I want sex.”

“I’m aware of that, Prinzessin.”

“Sex meeeee.”

Christina accidentally got quite tipsy on Thursday night and somewhat lost control of her limbs. Poor André became her jungle gym in bed when he made the mistake of lying down to try to watch TV. She kept sitting on him, leaning on him, tipping over and falling on him, falling on herself, falling over the side of the mattress, and forgetting what she was even trying to do. Thankfully he found it more entertaining than annoying, though he did keep having to right her body for her. She tried to get in his shorts. She tried to kiss him. She tried to sit on his face. The problem was that she kept getting distracted or temporarily losing willpower. Her tolerant husband wasn’t exactly turned on by her behavior, and the stop/start nature of her focus was pretty unfortunate, but if she was going to get her act together and take it upon herself to get him into it, he wasn’t going to tell her no.

“Why are you so horny, hm?” he asked her when she sank back down on his chest. Before that she was straddling him on her knees, right up close to his face, and wiggling her hips around like she was trying to dance or something. She kept playing with his hair and touching his face too. At some point she shed her panties, so all that was happening with only a t-shirt to cover her. It happened to be one of André’s black BVB tees, so it was at least long enough to hide about half of her butt, which he repeatedly put his arm around in a manner more protective and precautionary than sexual or sensual. It was kind of like holding onto Lukas when he wanted to climb on him.

“I dunno,” the rider shrugged. He pushed her hair back and she crawled forward to kiss him. Christina was really torn between wanting his dick- immediately, hard, fast, and on a mission- and wanting to make out with him, touch him, get fondled and caressed, kiss his neck, fluff his hair, and rub herself all over him for several hours. His blasé response to everything she did didn’t help give her direction. “Do you think I’m sexy?”

“Usually.” André’s smirk made his girl pout, but he didn’t feel bad for her. He tried to pull her into her regular spot next to him by getting a hold of her waist. Moving a 100lb drunk, wiggly toddler wasn’t so easy.

“Why don’t you want to have sex with me?” the overgrown toddler complained after reluctantly collapsing in the general vicinity of where he hoped to install her.

“Who said I don’t?” he picked up her right hand and placed it on his crotch. “Make it hard if you want to play with it, Prinzessin.”

“But usually it gets hard on its own! Am I not sexy tonight? I shaved yesterday and didn’t eat any garlic at dinner.”

“I was hard when you kissed my thigh and touched down there.” The player nodded at her idle hand, trying to be encouraging. He didn’t care if he was going to get off or not. He just didn’t want to listen to her sound heartbroken over his lack of an erection. “You made me all hard and licked me like twice and then you keeled over and burrowed in the blanket curled up like a snail for 10 minutes.”

“Are you saying I’m a tease?”

“Something like that.” Don’t laugh, he ordered himself. Christina snuggled closer and put her cheek on the side of his chest.

“I don’t want to be a tease. I just want...” Juanin. I just want Juanin. I want to listen to our song. I want him to hold at least one of my hands over my head and fuck me slowly to our song. I want his nose to rub up my cheek ahead of his lips doing it while he pushes in and up my body during the “yeah, you got it, I have never needed nobody, nobody but you” part. I want to hold onto his sneaky growing upper arms and feel my boobs get squished by his ribs where they stick out. I want whichever one of his hands isn’t holding my hand over my head to squeeze my side, or hold my face. I want to push my heels into his nonexistent butt. I want the way he kisses with just his bottom lip. I want the way his pubic bone pushes on mine because his pelvis is like an entirely different shape than...Schü’s. “Tethered” is such an appropriate song title for our song. We are tethered, and it’s like the wheel tethers that keep wheels from flying off Formula 1 cars and hitting people in the head- unbreakable. I just want him. Shit, Christina thought as she felt the beginnings of hot tears readying themselves. Wine-drunk was the worst drunk for her. It could start out playful and fun, but it nearly always ended in emotional trauma. The man she wasn’t fantasizing about noticed that her eye rubbing looked suspiciously like tear wiping.

“What do you just want, baby?” he asked in his softest voice, afraid he upset her with what he said, or with his reluctance to hold her still and fuck her silly. There was also the possibility that she was drunk enough to be hugely upset because she realized she was being a tease. Any disappointment was exacerbated by drunkenness. “What’s wrong?”

“I drank too much,” she mumbled as she sat up and reached for her phone on the nightstand. She wanted to take it with her to the bathroom. Her departure left the BVB man wondering if she fled because she was about to experience a stomach issue or if she was truly upset. Normally she didn’t shut the door if she was just going in there to actually use the bathroom since the toilet had its own little room and door. That didn’t rule out either answer though, because she might want two layers of auditory protection if she were about to throw up or have diarrhea, either of which could happen from drinking too much Cabernet Sauvignon, and she would want the regular door closed if she were just going in there to cry or to get herself together so that she wouldn’t cry. What she actually did was dry her eyes and sit on the fluffy rug beside her bathtub to text the man she was fantasizing about.

“I’m drunk and it’s a miss-you-mergency and it’s going to make me say something earthquakey to him.” I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t. I can’t tell him I miss Juan, or that I’m horny and affection-starved because I’m thinking of him. Nor can I tell him it feels like this situation isn’t working for me anymore. It’s just because I’m drunk. Everything is more exaggerated when I drink. It’s just- It’s- André knocked on the door twice.

“Are you okay, pretty girl?”  

Get your shit together, Chris. Be a grown up, Christina urged herself. The sober factions of her brain couldn’t believe she managed to win some medals at the Olympics a week earlier but she couldn’t handle three glasses of wine after dinner, and her horny imagination. Stop being so dramatic.

“Yeah,” she called back.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you sitting on the floor?”

“I drank too much.”

“Is your tummy upset?”

“No. Only my brain has been affected. Hug please.” The World Cup winner, WEG silver medalist, three-time Nations Cup champion, Olympic team gold and individual silver medal winner and reigning Global Champions Tour Champion, mother of one, and fully grown adult woman on the rug turned her lip over and held her arms up in the air. André’s sympathetic expression on his way to her made her feel bad, so she kept telling herself the sequence of incriminating thoughts in her head weren’t real, and not her actual desires. They were simply wine-induced nonsense. He bent in half to hug her and lift her off the floor. “Sorry I’m a mess.”

“Ehh I think it’s allowed once in a while. How about some water?”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No one does,” André sighed wistfully- an act, of course, meant to entertain. “Don’t step on your phone. Here, lean on the tub. I’ll get it.” He removed her hands and arms from his shoulders and helped her sit on the tall side of the deep bathtub, which was probably unnecessary. His girl wasn’t so drunk that she couldn’t manage to stand on her own, or navigate to a seat. She let him think it was that bad because it made her behavior more excusable and thus less demanding of a more reasonable explanation. “Juan says he misses you too. How many people did you send annoying late night texts?” Chris is such a predictable drunk. She messages everyone she can think of in hopes that one of them will reply and talk to her while she’s hiding from whatever imaginary or stupid thing has upset her in her drunkenness. She does it on airplanes too. “I’m bored, save me”, send all. “Come on. Back to bed.”

He held her hand and led the way, and then surrendered his glass of water to her to try to dilute all the Don Melchor. Christina drained it and settled under his arm to try to chill out. Regardless of what was happening in her head and whether it was meaningful or just drunken silliness, she didn’t want to be annoying. She bunched up some comforter like a pillow on the right side of his chest and tried to be still and quiet, and he rubbed her lower back and butt and thought more about his TV show than his sloppy bedmate.

“You don’t have to go in until the afternoon tomorrow, right?” she inquired after a solid 10 minutes of controlling her physical compulsion to not be still and her mental compulsion to over-think and analyze.

“I’m leaving a little after noon.”

“Can I make you pancakes for breakfast?” I haven’t done anything nice for him since I got home, the rider realized. Not a single thing. Literally all I’ve even talked about is me, what I want, what I’m going to do, how it’s going to be good for me. That’s unfortunate enough without thinking about the intricacies of how I want Juanin to make love to me while my hand is literally on his dick, which was reluctant to play with me because I was too drunk to do it right.

“Sure, Prinzessin, but I think you’re not going to feel like doing anything in the morning. Except maybe guzzling coffee and hiding under a pillow.”

“Nooo, I’ll be fine. I didn’t drink enough to be hung over.”

“Just enough to be drunk, eh?”

“I’ll make nice breakfast for you and Luke. We can eat outside. It’s supposed to be really warm tomorrow.”

“Okay,” André yawned. He wasn’t going to hold her to her plans. In fact, he didn’t expect her to even remember making them.

“I think I need to wear a bikini for several hours tomorrow. It’s been too many days without a bikini.”

“Okay.” Didn’t we go swimming on Monday?

“Can I sit on you and kiss you? Like, non-sexually.”

“Now, or tomorrow in a bikini with pancakes?”

“Now.”

“Sure.” He removed the remote control from the middle of his torso and Christina clumsily yet daintily moved herself into the same spot. She folded completely in half to hug her favorite furniture, cheek to chest. André pulled the duvet up over her back in hopes that it would help to contain her and prevent more aimless leaning and crawling. It was possible to see over her and continue watching TV at first, but then she sat up a bit for a not at all clumsy and very sweet smooch. The middle of her plump lips lined up with the middle of his thin ones. Hers puckered together when they made contact to make more “push”.

Somehow she could tell his eyes were open, and that made her sad. To her, eyes-open kissing was for saying hello, goodbye, or be-right-back, or, she realized, when he was really drunk and horny and wouldn’t leave her alone and she was looking at her phone or watching TV or actually talking to someone else. It wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t have to drop everything and ravage her or wrap her in a tender embrace whenever she was in the mood for it, or whenever she wanted to be sweet. But she really could have used the reminder of what it felt like when he did want to express his love and desire, while she struggled to see past Juan and be happy and satisfied with what she had. She put her head back down on André and tried not to feel disappointed about his total lack of interest in intimacy or affection.

“That’s it? That’s all I get? One kiss?” he smiled over her hair, which he took to combing with his fingertips after a couple of minutes of blessed stillness.

“You didn’t kiss back so I thought you didn’t want any more,” his girl mumbled.

“Aww, are you going to play that “you don’t love me” card?”

“No. You can love me and not feel like rubbing your mouth around on mine.”

“You’re saying words that sound very reasonable and wise, but you’re saying them like it’s a line a teacher made you write on the chalkboard 30 times- like you don’t believe it. What’s on your mind tonight, pretty girl?” And why did you drink so much in the first place, the player added. Three glasses is for when she’s having a great time with people and doesn’t realize it’s three glasses, or when she’s unhappy about something. All she did tonight was have dinner with Mausi, tuck him in, and watch news by herself on the couch for an hour. I finished my game online with the guys and she was drunk.

“Nothing special.”

“Are you sure?” There will definitely be drama if I ask her why she drank so much.

“You know what it’s like to be a little drunk and think you want something, then forget about it, then remember, then not have enough motivation, and give up again? It’s like when you get home from a party or the club and you’re starving so you go through the fridge and start grabbing stuff to make something that sounds really good to drunk you but would be disgusting and nonsensical to sober you and you get too lazy for some of the things or some of the steps while you’re making it so you just leave it out, and by the time you finish it and you’re ready to eat it you take like one bite and go meh and sit on the couch with your phone instead. Or like when you make your designated driver stop at McDonald’s on the way home so you can get the entire Value Menu but then you realize you just want fries and wish you got more fries.”

“You’re making me hungry.”

“I want McNuggets.”

“This is exactly like what you were just saying,” André laughed. “I was just going to suggest we take your new car for a midnight snack, but I bet by the time we get there you’ll be asleep and not hungry.”

“First of all, we can’t go anywhere because Lulu Schü is sleeping, and if we could somehow get him out of the crib to take him with us then we couldn’t take the Ferrari because we can’t put his car seat in it. Second, no way could I fall asleep in the Ferrari. Third, no fast food in the Ferrari. Fifth, no drunk me in the Ferrari either. I don’t want to barf in it.”

“You skipped the fourth thing, Prinzessin.”

“What’s the fourth thing?”

“I don’t know, but you went first, second, third, fifth. Mausi is better at counting than you.”

“You could just go get McNuggets for me. Not in the Ferrari.”

“I could.”

“But I don’t want you to because I’d miss you.” Christina lifted her head just to shake it at him. Her eyelids were getting heavy and it was a lot of work to do anything but be dead on him.

“It only takes half an hour to go there and back.”

“So I’d miss you for half an hour.”

“I wouldn’t go anyway,” André smiled, his long and pudgy fingers still in the hair on the crown of her head. That wasn’t making it any easier to hold her head up. “I’m too lazy. I only go out for McNuggets in the middle of the night when you’re pregnant.”

“Are you saying “But I won a gold medal” has already expired as a compelling reason to make you do whatever I want?”

“Yes.”

“I was hoping to milk it ‘til Christmas at least.”

“If I went to get you McNuggets, what would you be doing when I got back- sleeping, or trying to get yourself off?”

“To be honest, I would probably start out doing the second thing and then end up doing the first one.” She finally returned his smile and gave her Dejected Little Girl expression a rest.

“Do you want McNuggets, sleep, or an orgasm more than you just want me to pay attention to you?” the recipient of her happier face asked knowingly. She shook her head no and pulled both lips between her teeth, the momentary smile gone from her grayed out blues.

“I’m going to let you pick two things, like the special deal at McDonald’s. Pick two from the McNuggets, the sleep, getting off, and my attention, and I’ll help. I’d really rather not go to McDonald’s though,” he winked. I don’t like when she’s restless and unhappy, especially this week. “I won a gold medal” is definitely still a valid coupon to use. I want her to be happy and spoiled. I just don’t want to have to put shoes on. Or see the kids working at McDonald’s giggling to each other about how Schürrle can’t get it together on the pitch because he’s going out for fast food at midnight.

“That’s not a very smart deal to offer, boyfriend. If I choose getting off and sleep, you have to pay attention to me, so I’m really getting three.”

“Always looking for bargains.”

“It’s not specifically on the menu but can I order kisses and hugs, to continue until I fall asleep?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Can we turn the TV and the lights off?”

“Costs extra.”

“How much?”

“I want blueberries in my pancakes.”

“Deal.”

André reached for the on/off switch on the lamp cord with his left hand and used the remote to kill the TV with his right, temporarily perplexing his wife with his ability to multi-task. He then wrapped his arms around her bare behind and held on tight so as not to lose her when he turned on his side to get started on the kisses for which she negotiated. Her arms crossed behind him too, but around his neck instead of his butt. His first kiss was a short one on her lips, and the next 6 were around her face. That made it pretty clear to her that he had no interest whatsoever in going beyond kissing. There would be no free orgasm thrown in for the price of attention and sleep. That didn’t really matter. It just told her that he didn’t feel into it. Christina tried not to let herself think that his casual smooches and lack of desire were any reflection on herself.

Her footballer was trying his best not to rain on her Olympic parade with his own personal professional discontent, and she was aware of that. A little fraction of him was entirely out of reach to her since the day she left for Tokyo. The Olympics were over and she was waiting for him to let go of that, and be however he felt like being, without worrying that he was a downer during her moment of brightest shine. If he felt like just chilling out and being affectionate but not passionate, it was, his wife assumed, at least in some way because he didn’t feel that great and had things on his mind. It annoyed her to no end when her friends and loved ones prodded at her to unburden herself or be more transparent, and she thought he was actually pretty okay, so her policy was to just wait him out. She hoped her presence at Signal Iduna Park on Saturday for his next match might help- her first match of the season. Most of his football problem was mental, and she thought her support, in person, where he could see her even, might help. In the meantime, her mind drifted to an entirely different, less conventional, more controversial relationship.

“Babe, I need to tell you something,” Christina admitted after helping herself to three or four seconds of his lips on hers. André slid his left arm some way up her side to make room to hook his knee over her right hip in its place, and he watched her eyes in the darkness. “My thinking has changed...on a pretty big thing...”

“Yeah?” he asked, intending to sound curious and not alarmed. What now, he asked himself much more incredulously. That she wouldn’t look him in the face was not a good sign, especially since they were so close that it was a literal challenge for her to even see anything else.

“Please don’t get upset, or think less of me...I just...I think I need to do this...”

“Okay.”

“And I hope you understand and-“

“Spit it out, Chris,” the Dortmund forward sighed at the end of the ticking clock on his patience.

“I...I want to get into Game of Thrones, and I want you to watch it with me.”

“Fuck, baby.” He legitimately snorted and tried to exhale sharply at the same time, resulting in a really unattractive sound when he let go of her and leaned back. As if her little act weren’t entertaining enough, his horrifying sound effects made Christina laugh uncontrollably. “Don’t do that to me!”

“What did you think I was going to say?” She reached for his fuzzy cheeks to semi-apologize through comforting. The face between her palms was relieved and slightly bemused.

“I don’t know. Something about Juan. How can you just now want to watch Game of Thrones? For years and years, all I hear is how stupid you think it must be, and you���re like weirdly proud that you’re the only person in the civilized world who has never watched an episode. Now you want to get into it?”

“Yes, and I expect you to watch the entire series with me.”

“Why now?”

“All anybody is talking about today is Kit Harington and the dragon lady finally banging it out, and I saw this photo of them a couple of weeks ago from a magazine shoot where they’re kissing, but themselves, not as their characters, and it was so sexy, so I started reading on the Internet today about the last episode because it was everywhere and now I need to see it! I saw gifs of the sex scene. I need the context and the 7 seasons of foreplay.”

“Oh jeez.”

“Will you watch it with me?” Christina used her hold on his cheeks more purposefully, to keep him still right in front of her nose. “It can be a thing. One episode per night, right before bed, up here, no Munchkin, no phones.”

“That’s what you want?” André put his scoffing and eye rolling on hold to be serious because her proposal sounded kind of serious. I can’t tell if she desperately wants to get sucked into an addicting and manipulative TV show or if she wants a regular activity to do with just me. Or maybe she hopes to make a routine out of it because she thinks that will be good for us. I don’t know. She’s nodding like it really matters though, so... “Hope you like incest, pretty girl.”

“I like love. And dragons!”

“From the episodes I’ve seen- and that’s more than half, for sure- there is more rape than love,” he sniggered. “And a lot of murder. Sooooo much murder.”

“Don’t tell me! I’m a Game of Thrones virgin. We’ll start Saturday night.”

“All right.”

“Get ready for role play fantasies.”

“Oh god.”

“You know how I am about kings and queens and being iffy on consent.”

“What about princesses? You’re a prinzessin. You should have fantasies with princesses.”

“I do. I’m the princess and I take as my lover some mighty warrior of questionable origin. He’s handsome like someone of noble birth though, and his roguish facade crumbles for me.”

“I think you’re going to like the show, baby.”

“Can you take your shirt off?”

“Why? Do you need to wear this one too?”

“No you’re just warmer and softer without it.”

“Warmer for you maybe. I’m warmer with my clothes on.”

“Whatever I like your skin, okay?”

“Is the shirt my roguish facade?”

“Shut your face.”

“Am I your warrior?”

“I strongly dislike you.”

“That sounds like iffy consent to me. Spread your legs.”

“The warrior doesn’t get to rape the princess, boyfriend. That’s not a thing.”

“Oh just you wait!”

“Do I still smell drunk?”

“Yes. And you talk too much.”

“You could fix that.”

André fixed the problem by covering his wife’s mouth with his hand. He could feel her frowning underneath. He was pretty sure she meant for him to quiet her with his lips. Her playfulness was a well-received sign that whatever thing popped into her head and upset her earlier must have passed. Playful, silly Christina with a side of sweetness and affection was a welcomed bedmate. The player liked her better than playful, silly Christina with a sharp edge. Sometimes her playfulness and joking around could sting, by accident. Harsh things that rang too true to truly be jokes slipped out and hurt him while she carried on laughing and he pretended not to mind. He much preferred her perpetually warm fingers traveling around under his shirt to rub different spots, squeeze his waist, and passively knead at his sore lower back to augment her banter. The silky soft top of her right foot felt nice against his calf too.

The Sequel - 858

After Tokyo

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Hey, man. She’s still sleeping.”

“It’s like 2 in the afternoon there.”

“She didn’t get here until late, and she talked for like three hours before she could go to bed. And jetlag.”

“Can you tell her to call me when she wakes up?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t even know why she’s there.”

“You’re away.”

“I’ll be home tonight!”

“I’m not getting in the middle.”

“You are the definition of in the middle.”

“I’ll tell her to call.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

André and Juan didn’t talk on the phone often, but when they did it was almost always about Christina, and it almost always frustrated the German and seemed not to bother the Spaniard. Nothing changed on that front when Christina opted to fly to London when her participation in the Olympics came to an end instead of going home to Dortmund. Her stated reason for the decision was that André wasn’t even going to be home. He was with his team for an away match. Juan played while she was in the air. She wanted to go home to someone, to have someone to receive her and her massive emotional baggage. She could go home and be with Lukas and her barn family, but that wouldn’t be the same as having one of the only two men she’d ever considered essential components of her heart to hear the come-down. The build-up was so dramatic and lengthy, and she felt as if she were still standing on the climax, unable to begin the descent back to normal until she had one of the right receptacles for her energy. To her the question was, “Why go home and be alone for 24 hours when I could go to London and not be alone?” André understood the logic. He just didn’t like it.

What he missed out on was her first retelling of her Olympic story, from start to finish but surely with a lot of jumping around and confusing side stories, and he knew there was a sentimental difference between the first time she would share all of that and every subsequent one. The first one was going to be the best and most significant, and the most raw and instinctive. He’d been waiting nearly two weeks for it. Christina talked to him every day while she was in Tokyo, and he knew everything that happened there, and most of what she thought about it. But he was waiting for that experience when she’d come home and tell the story.

The story after an event was a staple of their relationship. From early on, they were often most close when they recounted to one another the most private and personal of feelings from their matches and horse shows. Other people didn’t get to hear that stuff, and wouldn’t understand it the same anyway. For a long time, there was no one else who even could hear the story. Neither of them was comfortable enough to give the same insight to someone else. That was how they knew their connection was real and significant in the beginning. They could tell each other everything. But the rider developed a relationship with Juan with a similar level of security and trust. André felt ripped off by that many times, but never more than when he thought about the Spaniard getting that first Olympic debrief- that experience he’d been looking forward to the whole time Christina was away, that he thought would make him smile uncontrollably, feel immensely proud, laugh, feel awe, get inspired, and enjoy all the benefits of immense love.

In addition to feeling jipped, the player was annoyed that she wasn’t coming the next night, when he’d get home too. She would fly back first thing the following morning, mostly because she had media commitments. He thought it might be time for a test balloon to find out how she’d feel if he wanted her to stop giving Juan so much of herself. The Olympics were over and there was nothing on the horizon that was so important as to require that no one rock the rider’s boat.

Christina woke up in the Chelsea man’s deep and cozy bed in the middle of a rainy London afternoon, and almost decided to pretend she’d never woken up at all and just go back to sleep. Tokyo was exhausting. She got at least 7 hours of sleep each night, but never felt well rested. Tom kept telling her she could sleep for a week when they got home, and as she stretched, curled up, stretched again, and then re-burrowed in Juan’s Merlot colored linens, she felt like even a week’s worth of rest wouldn’t be enough. Eventually she ventured out of the featherbed and duvet sandwich with just one hand, seeking her iPhone. Juan removed it from his nightstand hours earlier because it was vibrating nonstop. André was far from the only one trying to reach her, but he was the only one whose call Juan picked up. Their girl did a fairly thorough search in the bed and only got out of it when she was sure the phone had to be elsewhere. The main reason she wanted it was to check in with Tom, who welcomed Dirk home that morning.

“Are you awake, or are you sleep walking?” her host questioned from the chaise lounge in the corner of his living room- the one she put there as part of his “reading nook”- scaring her to death because she assumed the couch being unoccupied meant the rest of the room was too, like the empty kitchen beyond it.

“I think I’m awake,” she mumbled, scratching at her head. “Do you know where my phone is?”

“Right here. You should plug it in again. It’s so busy it’s killing the battery.” The player picked up the device from the square leather footstool that served as a side table in his reading nook. There was a magazine on it, two other phones, a book, his reading glasses, and a glass of iced green tea- a drink he developed a penchant for as a result of Christina having it available in her refrigerator throughout the summer when Lukas was born and he was at her house all the time. She set her butt down on the small bit of empty chase next to his hip, and then rotated to her right to lean her elbow on his waist and look at the many notifications on her phone.

“Dirk is home and out playing with Calvin. Why are you listening to The Centurians?” Her eyes lifted from the screen to the Chelsea man, and her brows furrowed together. His blues lifted from the computer in the middle of his stomach to acknowledge her with as much skepticism.

“Why do you even know that it’s The Centurians?”

“I know everything.”

“It’s the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, on the record player.” He nodded at the turntable and speakers atop the cabinet under some bookshelves. Christina never understood the appeal of listening to records, even on high quality record players. Juan had a growing vinyl collection, and her brother’s was enormous. She thought they were both weird. She also thought it was weird that she initially decided he wasn’t around even though she heard the music. Waking up was hard. “Did you sleep enough? You look like a zombie.”

“I might get back in bed after I call some people back. You should bring whatever you’re doing on the laptop in there so I can sleep on you. What time did you get up?”

“9:30.”

“You should take a nap.”

“André called many times. I answered. He wants you to call him back.”

“K.”

“A gorgeous zombie,” the Spaniard smiled after he closed the computer without ever looking back at the screen again. Guess whatever he was doing isn’t that important, his visitor decided, yawning. He reached over the Apple logo to try to stick his finger in her gaping mouth since she didn’t bother to cover it. When she snapped at it with her teeth like an angry turtle, he dropped his hand down in front of her. “Are you going to wear this for the rest of your life?” he questioned with all five of his fingers on the medal hanging from her neck.

“Yes. I’ll switch it with the other one when it needs polishing.”

“I was thinking we could go to Ferrari, unless you really want to go back to bed...”

“You know what’s really cute?” she asked with a knowing smirk that lacked its usual mischievous appeal because her face was still “sleepy”- she could feel that the squishy areas under her eyes weren’t ready to firm up and disappear yet, and her skin was kind of dry.

“What?”

“You fell in love with me the first time we went to Ferrari.” And he even let me talk him into getting a completely different car, the gold and silver medal winner laughed inside, her eyes on Juan’s, which were comically shifted up and to the left as he pretended to consider her statement. They both knew it was accurate. He’d told her so before.

“And that’s cute?” he questioned skeptically.

“Yes. I don’t know. Maybe “cute” wasn’t the word. It’s something though. Six and a half years ago you asked Schü if you could borrow me to shop for cars. Not only did I not think then that I might ever compete in the Olympics or own a Ferrari, I didn’t even have those things as dreams or goals or anything, and it never would have occurred to me that you and I would be to each other what you and I are. Life is crazy.” Christina tilted her head so that she could scratch at her scalp again with her right hand, and she shrugged and smiled too. Forty-eight and a bit hours were not enough to move past the “deep reflections” stage of winning Olympic medals. “I didn’t think I’d ever even get to ride Dirk again that day.”

“How lucky I am that he still lets me borrow you.” The Spaniard rolled his sparkly blues at her and sat forward to tousle her hair, which already looked like a bird’s nest. The colors in his eyes mattered much more than what he did with them. They exploded into the full spectrum of blue shades, with metallics mixed in, and told her he was every bit as happy that afternoon as she was, even without any Olympic medals on his neck. “You should take a shower or the people at Ferrari won’t take you seriously.”

“I don’t want to go to Ferrari. I want to go back to be-“ The rider was drowned out by her stomach groaning as it tried to digest food that wasn’t in it. “Bed,” she frowned. I’m tired still and Schü and I already have an appointment at Ferrari in Düsseldorf. He wants to go with me, and I want to do it with him too.

“Would you like a sandwich now, and a nice dinner out later?”

“Can we go to your place? So I can have the whole menu? And not be limited to a “reasonable” number of plates?”

“Yes.”

“Yay!” Christina sat up and clapped her hands together like an excited seal. She was excited for the summer menu, and for regular food. Ten days of eating exclusively at the equestrian venue and in the hotel had her ravenous for just about anything else. Their competition venue was too far from the Olympic Village to making staying there with the others realistic, and that was disappointing on many experience levels but none more important than dining. The hotel where all of the jumping, eventing, and dressage riders stayed had one restaurant and only three “continental” dishes- a hamburger, steak frites, and chicken marsala. Everything else was very, very Japanese in the German girl’s eyes, and thus highly suspect. Fish products could be lurking anywhere. There was more to eat where the horses were staying, but nothing there was very tasty or interesting.

“I have roast turkey and 7-grain bread.”

“K. Do you want a sandwich too?”

“No thank you.”

“K.” Christina sat up and fixed her gold medal so that it hung evenly from her neck again, and she crawled on her knees to give her host a kiss. He was able to slide his laptop out of the way just before the heavy prize would have banged into it. “Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t wear this for the rest of my life,” she chuckled. “It’ll probably turn me into a hunchback anyway.”

“You will always know you won it. It doesn’t have to be on your neck,” Juan pointed out levelly. She pushed her lips into his for a few seconds, his nose pushing into her cheek because she lost her balance and tipped forward. Her body was still as asleep as her face.

“You’re really handsome when you’re really delighted for me.” It was necessary to explain her compulsion to kiss him, but she didn’t really know why. There was a strand of thought in her crowded head about the idea that she wasn’t supposed to treat him like a boyfriend, or partner. They weren’t supposed to kiss each time one of them got up and left the room. Usually she didn’t even think to do that, or feel like doing it. Amidst all the other important and significant things on her mind in Tokyo, Christina kept pondering her relationship situations. It kept happening because she kept struggling with whom to text first when she wanted to share something. It was the Olympics, and nearly everything she did and everything that happened to or around her was worth immediately notifying her person. The problem was that she had two people.

It felt weird to text them both the same thing. It felt unfair to text Juan first, or exclusively. It felt incomplete to only tell André. Deciding in which order to call them after the results of the team competition were final was so hard that it actually detracted from the spectacle of the thing. She’d just secured a gold medal for her country and for her teammates and she had to stop freaking out about it to freak out about which love of her life she wanted to share it with first.

Circumstances allowed her to compensate for the decision to call her husband first. Her best friend got the first call when she knew she was going home with a silver medal too. And it was fortuitous that it worked out that way, because it was hard for her to figure out exactly how she felt about that second-place prize. The Spaniard helped her process her disappointment, pride, regret, and acceptance. She wasn’t expecting to be so conflicted. Christina wanted that individual gold for Dirk, but the anger and dejection she expected to feel when the winner bested her jump-off time didn’t show up as scheduled. Instead, immense pride in her horse filled her heart. He was the only equine athlete to jump 5 rounds and a jump-off without a single knockdown. The winner had 8 faults in the second round, as part of the team competition, but second and third round penalties were wiped clean for the fourth. Her Holsteiner was perfect. And he was tired. He gave her everything he had left in the jump-off, in a faraway place, in front of tens of thousands, after a relentless, packed program of monster fences and the most technical courses. It broke her heart that that wasn’t enough for double gold. Christina wanted that for him more than anything. The hurt of missing out just didn’t come right away. Once it did arrive, it came and went in ebbs and flows. Juan helped her deal with the confusing mix of emotions and the sporadic way she experienced them. André’s refrain was more simplistic. He told her to just be happy and content in the knowledge that she and their stallion were perfect and no one else was- that it didn’t matter that the color of her medal didn’t reflect that, because everyone knew it.

“I’m going back to Comfyland,” Christina declared after consuming three slices of turkey, two slices of bread, and one light smear of mayonnaise. She caught up with André while assembling her very, very late breakfast. “Come with?” The Chelsea man resumed work on his weekly blog while she ate. He looked over at her where she lingered near the hall, and she tried to make her face compelling. Hours upon hours in bed was pretty great, but extra hours with him would undoubtedly be even better. The whole point of going there was to not be alone, as she’d just reiterated to her husband on the phone when he accidentally got whiny.

Juan put his laptop aside again and followed her back to his bedroom. Her team luggage was spread out on the bench at the foot of his bed and on the floor in front of that too. Her black adidas garment bag was hanging on the frame of the full-length mirror near the closet. The bed looked like four people had been living in it for four days. There was a silver medal on the nightstand, arranged nicely where there had been an accumulation of teacups and drinking glasses the night before from the lengthy Tokyo debrief. Christina made its regular occupant help her fluff up the featherbed and pillows, and then ordered him to get into bed first so that she could make herself at home on and around him. Wearing an Olympic medal around one’s neck was actually not that convenient in terms of snuggling and being comfortable in bed. The gold medal joined the silver one on the table, after its winner kissed it lovingly. She claimed territory on and alongside Juan’s left side, moving his arm for him so that she could be exactly where she wanted, and settled in with her phone to continue catching up. He put the last Sunday fixture on the TV across the room.

“Hey, look at this. I didn’t know this!” She tilted her phone so he could see a Tweet.

“I didn’t learn to read German since I last saw you,” Juan tutted sarcastically about the German equestrian federation’s post.

“It says I’m the first rider to ever own three Olympic gold medal winning horses at one time. Rio has a team gold from Rio, Nick has an individual gold from Rio, and Dirk has team gold, obvs. Wow. That’s so neat! I only own a tiny bit of Rio though. It’s kind of ridiculous that of the three of them, Dirk is the one without the individual gold.”

“You’re going to harp on that for the next four years, eh? Until you can fix that problem.”

“No. I can’t. He’ll be too old in four years.” This was it. This was our chance. Now we have to try for the WEG or something or he ends his career without any individual gold medals of any kind. Bleh.

“Can we just enjoy that you did win a gold medal a few days ago for at least a few days more before you start obsessing over the next thing?” The other Olympian- the less successful one- poked the small of her back intrusively with his pointer to emphasize his words. “Those of us who have to live with you need a break, cariña. Give us this grace period before it all starts again.” He was teasing her. Inside, she knew he had every right to be serious. Her support team was put through hell as part of her quest to get those tokens on the nightstand. She made her appreciation for that very clear the night before.

“I suppose we can. Can you tell everyone in the restaurant about it and have someone bring me cake while the whole place claps?”

“I have news for you: everyone there already knows,” Juan chuckled, perhaps amused at her obliviousness. It was strangely easy for her to diminish her role in his life as perceived by others. It never occurred to her that everyone close to him knew about what was going on with her because she was such a huge part of his life and he thus talked about her all the time. His whole family and several of his closest friends watched the team final with him during lunch service at the restaurant, in the private party room, on a TV brought in just for the occasion. He told her that, but it went in one ear and right out the other. There was way too much happening that day for Christina to hang onto any faraway information.

“But if you want me to tell all the customers too, I can. I can make a big embarrassing announcement. I’ll stand on a chair. “Attention, everyone! My girlfriend over there at that table in the corner just returned from the Tokyo Olympics, and she won gold and silver medals, and she has a very big, obnoxious ego, so you all need to clap for her and tell her how great she is!” Is that what you want?”

“I’m not comfortable with the very big ego part, or the girlfriend label,” the sleepy girl laughed back. “I really do want a cake though. Do you need to call someone in advance?”

“For real, baby girl, how long are you going to be this annoying?”

“I won medals! I can’t brag and get special treatment for at least as long as we’re enjoying them instead of obsessing about the next Olympics? Come on, dude. That’s not fair! Let me be special for a night!”

“I always give you special treatment!” The Spanish footballer argued back with the same good humor with which he teased her. And he leaned down to kiss her head while he patted her backside affectionately. “I offer to lick your asshole all the time. How is that not special?”

“Ewww can you not? Don’t even talk about that. Part of my special Olympic Medal Winner’s Privileges is the freedom from having to hear you talk about putting things in my butt.”

“Fine.”

“Did you give me a shout out in the blog?”

“I gave you the whole blog. It’s all about you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Can I read it?”

“Tomorrow, with everyone else.”

“Lame. And why are we watching this? Who cares about Crystal Palace and West Brom? Can we watch my course again?” So what if we watched it already last night and I watched it like four times already before that? It’s different because those times were from the German and US broadcasts, and the local coverage. I want to see the UK version again, Christina rationalized. The medal podium rested entirely on her and Dirk’s shoulders when she rode into the competition arena in the third round, the team final. They had to go clear to win, and they were last to go, so they went in knowing that the result would be confirmed as soon as they crossed the timers. Germany’s anchor was so enamored with that high-pressure ride that she couldn’t get enough of it. It was masterful on her part and heroic on the horse’s. She viewed it with her team before the medal ceremony, and then again in her room on the phone with André, another time on the phone with Juan, and then again by herself on the plane to Heathrow.  She and the Spaniard replayed it from his DVR while she told the whole story from the pillow next to him on Saturday night. There was no doubt she’d see it again on Monday when she got home, with André and Lukas. One viewing on Sunday couldn’t hurt.

“I thought you were going back to sleep?”

“I thought you loved me. If you loved me, you’d put me on the TV.”

“This really is unbearable,” the Blues midfielder smiled down at her imploring face. “You used to be a lovely, humble girl.”

“You bitches have been fluffing my ego for years and telling me I’d win gold medals and now you’re gonna try to tell me to be humble? Now? All I’ve heard is how I have to believe in myself more, and be more confident, and know that I’d be great, and blah blah blah. Stop moving the goal posts!”

“I love you like this,” he grinned. “It’s funny, and special. I finally see you happy and carefree again like...I don’t know. Whenever. Doesn’t matter. I love it.”

“Yeah, sure, until you really do find it annoying,” Christina droned dismissively at the elated, fuzzy-faced man drinking in her inflated, spiky, sassy, confident, and even contrite personality. There was so much happening in her head and in her heart that it all came out as a jumbled mess, moving her mood in and out of every possible category, and exaggerating each one to almost comic-caricature levels. And she totally didn’t care. Entitled Winner was a great role to play. It was like when having a birthday when she was a kid meant getting her way for a whole weekend, and having everyone bend over backward to make her happy. She made Daniel carry all of her luggage at the airport. “I just won a gold medal for you, so can you do this thing for me” worked really well, on everyone. It took less than three minutes to break André after he initially shunned her Ferrari.

“I’ll give you tonight, at minimum,” her friend vowed with a touch more sincerity. He rubbed her back gently too.

“Thank god. Now put my round on and order my cake. Oh, and thank you.” She fought her lazy body to sit up enough to offer a little kiss of thanks, but Juan wanted something less fleeting than that. He wrapped his palm to her cheek, and under her ear, and slid his fingertips into her hair at the same time he slid his other hand some ways up under the back of her white tee. Every part of his body worked together to make sure their lips remained like stripes- his, hers, his, hers. He didn’t want to let go of her top lip but he didn’t want to hold it hostage either. He did what he could to compel her to keep it there for him, and she felt that, and she did. His body communicated with hers as well as his mind always had, and that was a developing connection. It still had room to grow. It was the main reason Christina kept doing things like giving him thank you kisses and I’m-going-to-the-kitchen-be-right-back kisses, but she didn’t know that. She didn’t realize she was so perpetually hungry for human connection that she was feeding a growing one to make it stronger.

The sedate but significant kiss lasted a while, but didn’t evolve into anything more. The rider broke it off first, and kissed the player on the nose to sort of punctuate that the other kiss was done. Then she demanded he put the jumping coverage on again so that she could once again talk through every single thought she could remember having while on course, and then they put André’s match on. He wasn’t starting. His girl still wanted to watch though, and not just because it was still her team and she still loved nearly everyone on it. It was important to her to watch how they played and have an understanding of everything so that she could talk with him about it in real and honest terms, and not just blow smoke up his behind to make him feel better. The new manager was not her favorite. It was hard to tell if it was his fault that his team played at glacial pace. Regardless of who was to blame, it put Christina to sleep.

She napped on the guy who played for her other team- the more exciting though thus far no more successful team- until he woke her up to talk to Natasha, who texted and even called. He said he thought that was someone worth waking her for, in case she wanted to invite her friend to dinner. That was a small thing that meant a lot to her. Juan mentioned it the night before too. They talked about how she was going to spend her one day there in London, and he suggested inviting Natasha and the kids to lunch, or even going to Box Hill to give the boys a lesson so that they could brag to everyone in the barn that a gold and silver medalist flew straight there from the Olympics to teach them. And he wasn’t even kidding. He had very little time with her, no scheduled next visit, and was willing to share it with her best girlfriend. Natasha couldn’t do dinner, but she begged for breakfast. They were going to hit one of their old favorite spots on the King’s Road, and then Natasha would take her to the airport. It wouldn’t cost her any time with Juan.

Under penalty of tickling, Christina eventually vacated the bed and took a shower and got dressed. Most of the clothes in her various bags and suitcase were team gear- polos, pullovers, track jackets- or riding clothes, so that meant her favorite skinny jeans with the knee holes and the only clean top she could find- a classic straight-cut white crewneck tee with the big adidas logo in dark red. She blew her hair out and used her trusty travel curling iron to put some messy waves in, put enough makeup on to hide the fact that she was still suffering jetlag and travel-related dehydration, and carried her trusty black slip-on sneakers out to find her dinner date.

“K, I’m ready,” she announced to him. Juan was sitting on the couch with his phone. He got up right away, because he was ready to go before she even got to her foundation.

“Do you want to bring a sweater? It’s cold in the restaurant sometimes,” he reminded her while double-checking that he had everything he wanted to take with him, including a cardigan.

“I don’t have any warm-ish layers that are clean. Everything has horse on it,” Christina frowned.

“Go pick something from my closet, then. Get a sweatshirt.”

“Mmkay.”

“Quickly. Don’t take forever trying things on!” the Spaniard called after her once she’d made an about face. “And bring your medals.”

The Sequel - 840

Privacy Policy

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

I miss boyfriend. I miss how he pats my butt all the time, and drags me into spontaneous aggressive hugs, and likes to be spontaneously hugged back. I miss that he’s so much bigger than me. He’s such a good chair. I miss how dumb he is, and how smart he is. I miss how he always smells like laundry. I wish he were here. One and a half more days.

Christina and her Quixtep were untouchable when they were both “on”, and they were “on” in Cannes for the premier spectacle of the weekend. Their first round looked like a warm up, and their jump-off was blistering. The crowd enjoyed it, the horse reveled in their atmosphere, and the rider admired his ability to perform and his ability to soak up adoration. He got a lot of more personal love after the prize-giving, plus apples. Christina was still with him when the hangover from the emotional high began. It was coming sooner all the time. The highs didn’t last as long as they used to. It was normal when the adrenalin and endorphins receded to feel a sort of low set in. It always happened. It was just worse that night, for some reason. So Dirk got a lot of clingy hugs when he finally got to return to his stall and get started on a big pile of hay. His person wanted to keep petting him, and running her fingers through his mane and forelock, and giving him nose kisses. Anyone who provided a major high for her got that love. It had been mostly Juan for days. He was the one she couldn’t leave, or stop touching and kissing.

It was a little depressing for the rider that when the low set in after the high, the person she wanted to pet and kiss was André. It seemed like all of her low moments were bound together almost singularly by her desire to find comfort in her husband, even when he seemed capable only of providing the opposite. Her Spanish friend took a stroll down the walkway toward the end of their row of boat slips to speak on the phone with Taylor, who was having some kind of personal issue and wanted her ex to help her feel better. Christina didn’t mind that at all. In fact, she needed a few minutes away from him. He really upset her with that kiss at the table before the Grand Prix. If he wanted to use the sketchy photo as an excuse to stop hiding their relationship, then she needed to have a conversation about it first, and it needed to involve the third member of their situation. She knew it wasn’t the most egregious betrayal. It wasn’t like he stuck his tongue down her throat and then stood on a chair and told everyone in the riders’ tent that they were sleeping together, so she couldn’t be too outraged. Her plan for him was just a level conversation in which she would let him know what he did wasn’t okay. He was always on her case about just communicating her feelings anyway. But in the meantime, while he was out of her immediate vicinity, she let a bucket of ice soothe the pain in her right ankle and let thoughts about her husband soothe the mega-high hangover. Lucky was helping too. He sat in her lap and closed and opened his eyes slowly and repeatedly for her in that cute and sleepy way only a tiny dog can do. Spencer was down at the end of the sofa by her left foot.

“I miss you. Don’t be late on Monday,” Christina wrote to her boy in Miami. They’d already talked since her win. His congratulations were offered, and he said he hoped she could do the same again in Monaco when he’d be there to celebrate with her. Dirk wouldn’t be there though, so it wouldn’t be the same. That bummed her out just a bit.

“I’ll be with you by lunch, unless there’s a runway traffic jam at the private terminal in Nice, which is entirely possible,” the BVB man reminded her. He was flying commercial from Miami to Milan overnight, and then using their regular charter from there. The private jet would drop him and Lukas in Nice and then deliver his parents home to Germany.

“If you can’t land on time you have to parachute down with Lukas.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone sent me a picture of me and Juan kissing the other night. I don’t know who. There was no message. And he says to ignore it. So I’m worried, and I miss you, and I have that sad thing that happens after the champagne :(((“ his wife wrote back. Juan wasn’t the only one always beseeching her to speak her mind and communicate better. He wanted open communication too. She had to tell him about the picture, not wait to do it in person because she didn’t want to ruin his night, or because she didn’t feel like dealing with it when she was already kind of upset.

“Kissing where? You have to be more careful than that,” he told her, his text conveying in its lack of excessive punctuation or emojis that he wasn’t that angry. Christina half expected the phone to ring, not buzz once for a text, so that flatness surprised her. I know it’s just a few words, but it sounds like he’s annoyed at my careless but not pissed off. Is that possible, she wondered.

“On the boat. It was late and there was no one around and it was like 2 seconds. Do you want me to send it to you? I think it was taken from another boat.”

“No.”

“Should I ask Tim to try to do something about it?”

“I don’t know. I think it looks worse if we try to stop it. It makes me look like an idiot. Were you wearing clothes at least?”

“Of course. It wasn’t like some passionate thing, babe. And I’m sorry. I HAVE been careful.” It’s just Juanin who wants to be all careless now.

“If you ignore it then maybe whoever took it won’t think it’s worth selling. It could have been anyone, not necessarily a pro.”

“That’s what Juan said.”

“Great”

“I really am sorry.”

“I know. It’s ok.”

Both Toy Fox Terriers’ heads lifted together at the sound of someone crossing the gangway. They were down on the floor and waiting at the baby gate blocking the couple of stairs on the left side by the time Juan stepped over it, and they followed him back into the covered sitting area. He managed to sit before they could hop onto the couch and take up the last bit of space at their human’s feet.

“Feel better?” the Spaniard asked, presumably about her ankle and not her emotional state. He rubbed her other leg with his whole palm.

“Did you have to give me that very boyfriend-girlfriend kiss in front of everyone when I dropped your shrimp?”

“Have you been saving that up all these hours?” he laughed. Christina just nodded, her face blank. “You looked so upset. I haven’t seen you that way in a long time. You’ve been nothing but happy since we got here. I didn’t want to see again,” Juan shrugged.

“Come on. We were literally just talking about that picture, and about people finding out. You’re trying to tell me you forgot the rules a minute later?”

“Friends kiss each other on the cheek, Chris. Don’t be silly. Why are you making a big deal?”

“Because it was clearly more than that,” the rider argued, frustrated. “And you called me “angel”. You don’t call me that in front of other people.”

“So what! Those are people you spend half your life with. You’re this worried about them hearing the name “angel”? Why do you care so much?” Juan argued back, evidently growing rather angry. Seeing him truly upset was always rare for her. It was kind of alarming, and made her feel funny, like when her dad yelled at her. She also felt like he was trying to impose a double standard.

“You care what everybody thinks too! You have a wonderful reputation in a world of idiots and bad guys because you’re careful and smart. You wouldn’t even let me kiss you hidden behind a car door in a dark corner of a parking garage. You don’t hug or kiss or touch your girlfriends in public, like, ever. You don’t even hold hands. Can you please not try to lecture me on caring too much about what other people think? You don’t have the good reputation you do because you’re simply the most upstanding and infallible guy there ever was. You’re just too smart and vigilant to get caught being anything less than that.”

“What is your point? What are you trying to get me to say?” The Chelsea man sat back against the arm cushion of the blue and white striped sofa and looked thoroughly over the discussion. His patience was historically short whenever she managed to get him on the defensive and he couldn’t pivot back to the front foot. He differed from André in that. If he couldn’t turn the tables, he refused to continue engaging. It infuriated the debate champ in Christina.

“The truth about why you did it,” she shot back defiantly. “Do you not want to keep us quiet anymore? Are you okay with people knowing, or having bits and pieces to put together? I’m not trying to make an issue. I just want the truth. You’ve tried two different answers already and neither sounds that genuine. And if you do want to let people figure it out, why? Do you think it’ll make it harder to maintain and then I’ll leave Schü? Or you get to feel like I’m more yours if everybody knows? Just help me understand your thinking. That’s all I want.” Infuriated or not, the night’s big winner had matured over her year of marital discontent. Her thirst for wins in arguments shrunk. The thirst for understanding stood out more. Getting answers was more important than getting vindication and feeling right. She’d learned that being right didn’t always mean her circumstances changed for the better.

“I don’t know,” Juan said, lips pursed and hands up and out at his sides. One of the dogs thought he was offering him a treat, and licked at his empty fingers. “I didn’t make a comprehensive strategy in the half-second between when you looked devastated about everyone laughing at you for spilling my dinner on the floor and when I opened my mouth to try to make you feel better. I just did it. Maybe it happened because we’ve been together almost constantly for four days and it’s easy to be comfortable.” His attitude was very “what do you want me to do about it” and “it just happened”.

“Okay.” He’s not lying, Christina concluded. I know when he lies to me, or tactically avoids telling the whole truth. I can believe he just slipped. It’s just...odd timing, she sighed inside, watching his blues in the bright light from the bulbs in the ceiling, or the floor of the fly bridge as it were. Being outside on the boat at night was the rider’s favorite part of having Lilly XO. It reminded her of one of those inside/outside rooms in a Spanish or Italian villa that she’d always wanted and had security questions about. There was something relaxing about it, and vacation-like. It was hard to imagine how the crew onboard saw the boat as their workplace, and their temporary home, rather than their holiday venue. It just didn’t seem possible to stand there and not feel the same. And she wanted to get back to full holiday mode- full calm- and away from the newfound tension with her best friend.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” that friend conceded.

“I’m not upset. I was just...I didn’t want you to have made a unilateral decision to change our...privacy policy.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Okay. Can you hand me the towel?” She opened and closed her hand in the general direction of the fluffy white towel waiting for her on the coffee table, which was actually twice as far from Juan as from her. He got it for her anyway, and held it open to “catch” her frozen foot when she withdrew it from the mop bucket full of ice. It was late, but with nothing on her agenda on Sunday and a lingering buzz- not necessarily a good one- from the big class of the night, she wasn’t anxious to get into bed.  Georgina’s number-two responded to the intercom call for snacks. The other English girl supplied pretzels and Coke with lemon. Christina found an old Billy Wilder comedy film about a May-December romance between Audrey Hepburn and Gary Cooper on the classic movie channel. Juan found a comfortable way to use her thigh as a pillow and took up 90% of the couch opposite the TV for himself, leaving just enough room for her to sit with her feet on the leather top of the coffee table and her pretzels on the flat arm beside her. That arrangement was okay with her because she didn’t necessarily feel like snuggling. She missed André. He was who she wanted to snuggle with during the funny movie, even though the German wouldn’t have appreciated the humor as much as his old teammate did, and even though she had every intention of sleeping in the arms of that teammate. A small measure of distance was required. They really had been together almost nonstop for days, and that wasn’t the same as being together all the time right before Christina moved to Germany. They at least separated to go to work and do their training then. And she was still feeling just off enough about the kiss and the ensuring difficult conversation that she wasn’t keen to get cuddly right away. He gave her until bedtime to decompress without a lot of talking.

“Are you going to be upset with me all day tomorrow too?” he asked her after she spent an inordinate amount of time in her bathroom and then walked back and forth around the bed to the “his” bathroom three times instead of just getting into bed next to him.

“I’m not upset with you now. I was brushing my teeth and washing my face and moisturizing and clipping my finger nails and-“

“Okay.”

“I’ll be done in a second. I just need my lip balm.” The rider pointed in the direction of her vanity, and her expression was innocent enough to sell her words. They were pretty honest. She wasn’t upset with him. She just had lingering upset about the situation. A minute later, after liberally coating her lips in vanilla and lemon Lush balm and switching off the overhead lights, she crawled across half the bed in a wife beater and lacy panties to give Juan a pleasant smooch on the cheek, as a show of good faith. “Just us tomorrow. And those guys.” Christina nodded at the dogs whose matching round shapes were identifiable under the comforter alongside Juan’s legs.

“I’m looking forward to actually sailing on the sailboat!”

“It’s kind of amazing,” she smiled as she folded her legs up under her. “And we finally get to get in the water. It’ll be like being on a boat instead of a floating hotel room. And I can sunbathe naked.” Her eyebrows blinked comically at the sleepy player and he leaned over for a smooch of his own, on her shiny, sticky lips.

“You taste like dessert.”

“Want seconds?”

He nodded and they moved together equally for a third, longer kiss. They exchanged angles halfway, switching the tilt of their heads, and making it a true co-effort. Christina felt a delicate hand wrap around her left bicep at the same time she pushed hers flat against the Spanish star’s chest. There was no need for a mental break from one another any longer. The two-hour movie-watching window was enough. Disagreements or tensions between them always seemed to go that way. They didn’t last. Only major mistakes made a serious impact. There was some kind of relief inherent for Christina in knowing that she wouldn’t be put off long. It made it easy not to stew over whatever put her off in the first place, and to actually use the quiet between them to relax and forget. That never happened with André. The Schürrles always worked out their problems too, and she knew that as well, but she was also aware that the process could be ugly and drawn out, and consuming.

“Come to the beach house after Monaco,” Juan willed her after he licked the transferred Lush product off his lips and while she unfolded herself and started tucking herself in.

“That’s the only week I get to go home,” she pointed out with an almost-laugh meant to hide her very real anxiety about when she would get to be alone with him again, her denial of which was also very real. There were 9 days between the end of the Tour event in Monaco and the horse inspection in Cascais. The entire Schürrle and Coletti clans would be there for that. The following week was a Nations Cup in Sweden, and then Christina needed to be in Aachen for 7 days. The jumping team for the Olympics would be named on the first day, and the horses nominated would depart for Tokyo a few days after the event concluded.

“Do half with me and half at home.”

“I don’t know, babe. Ask me again in next week. I have a hard enough time planning my next day and you’re asking about two weeks from now.”

“Your next day is going to be a nice morning sleeping in, some breakfast, sailing, swimming, jet skiing, tanning, more eating, book reading, probably napping, more swimming, laziness on the sofa, a shower, a nice dinner, relaxing under the stars, and then love with me back here in the bed.” The Spaniard waited for her to get settled on her side and then felt around under the satin comforter to find her hand, just to play with it. “That’s what it says in your diary. I read it.”

“Ohhh, I see,” she nodded, opening up her fingers for his. “What does it say in there for the rest of tonight?”

“Anal sex with Juanin.”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t say that.”

“Just “pretty” sure? So you’re saying there’s a chance?” The more arched of his two brows lifted with hope and feigned anticipation.

“There is more of a chance that I’ll spontaneously turn into a dolphin,” Christina assured. It felt good to her to be able to completely move past what happened earlier. It was so easy. It was so different. I don’t know if I want to sleep now or make him talk more, she realized while she watched his slightly sun-reddened face on the other extra-large gray pillow. The lamps on this boat make for some very flattering lighting. His freckles look so cute. He looks like one of those preppy guys I grew up with after they spent a week at Martha’s Vineyard, on Daddy’s boat, but without the douchey smirk.

“How drunk do I have to get you to convince you?”

“I would literally have to be unconscious.”

“How much wine is there on the boat?”

“Juanin!”

“Can we go to sleep now?”

“Yeah but you need to kill the lamps. I’m not moving.”

The player switched off the small glass art deco lamp under the large boxy shade on his right first, and then leaned obnoxiously over his sort-of-girlfriend’s head to turn off the matching one on her side. She attempted to deliberately get herself stuck under his t-shirt so that she could blow on his stomach or otherwise be annoying, but she wasn’t that fast. The best she could do was close her arms around his waist like a vice and refuse to let go. All it took for Juan to get free was a reminder that he recently had surgery in the general area she was clinging onto. It got her to let go immediately and then apologize profusely for not using her head. He laughed and teased her for falling for it. He also accused her of making up excuses to keep him awake longer. Christina denied the allegation of course but she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t in fact doing that. She enjoyed his near undivided attention for days, and then she didn’t want it for a little while because of what he did at the table in the riders’ tent, and then she was right back to not wanting to give it up. Even when beyond tired, his company was just good. She could have done with a little more pointless pillow conversation.

“Sweet dreams,” she said when she nevertheless conceded to bedtime and got her goodnight kiss.

The Sequel - 822

Bit By Bit

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Have you seen my bit box? Nicky’s getting a rub from the bit guards on the loose ring we travel with so I want to switch to a regular snaffle or find a bigger loose ring. Actually, first, I wanna just see if the one on the traveling schooling bridle is the same size as the one we use at home, ‘cause that one doesn’t seem to bother him. Oh, she’s on the phone,” Christina finished in a whisper. “My bad.” She spun around to continue her 360-degree survey of her gorgeous tack room to look for the miniature trunk/bit box. Half of the burgundy painted room with the stunning Brazilwood cabinetry was still in a state of chaos because the horses and equipment from the North America trip were just delivered, on Monday afternoon. Stefanie was sitting on a packing case and leaning on the tall grooming cart/storage box, on her phone. She was away at a show over the weekend too. It was back to work for both girls that morning.

Christina started catching up with the horses she left home, including Cartagena, who was known around her stable by a variety of nicknames, including “Carter”, “Escobar”, and “Santi”, which the lady of the stable was partial to. She called him Santi after Santiago Gamboa, a Colombian journalist and author whose work to which she was turned on by Juan. Dirk and Calvin got good schools too, and Socks and Kimi would as well after a snack break. Stefanie still didn’t have a job, so it was easy to change her lessons so that Christina would be free to explore the neighborhood with André when he returned from training. She was saving Kimi for that, as he was least likely to freak out on the road, dump her on her head, and take off.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Stefanie asked as soon as she quietly ended her call.

“Have you seen my bit box?”

“Yeah it’s right over here, but I don’t think you’re getting to it until somebody moves this thing.” She leaned her head back to tap on the portable metal cabinet trapping the fancy bit box. “I thought Kyle was supposed to be doing this?”

“He would be if Tom didn’t fire his help.” So inconvenient, her coach thought, reflecting on the head groom’s dismissal of the very woman he picked to be the “at home” groom. There was some drama first thing in the morning. Strictly on the low, Christina told André, she thought Tom was a little cranky from his travels. He beat the horses home by a couple of hours, at the expense of an aggressive flight itinerary. Nevertheless, he was very dissatisfied with the state of things upon his return from the long trip. He didn’t like how the stalls were bedded. He didn’t like that the water buckets showed signs of not having been scrubbed daily. Kyle reported some other problems that he didn’t think were a big deal but apparently were indeed. The most serious strike against her was a cut on the underside of Calvin’s long and voluminous tail. It was obviously more than a day or two old and hadn’t been treated, which meant the new groom didn’t do a thorough job of grooming, or even checking over the animals regularly. The boss agreed. She had to go.

“I’m sure he’ll find someone else,” Stefanie shrugged. “Is it okay if I bring a date to your cookout?” Her question was barely audible because she totally swallowed the end of it and turned in the opposite direction. Her trainer still heard it.

“A date?” Said trainer’s face expressed puzzlement.

“My sister came to visit the weekend before this last one and we went to a nice restaurant for dinner but we couldn’t get a table, so we just ate at the bar. We weren’t there to like, meet people,” Stefanie blushed, her legs swinging faster against the front of the packing case. “We just wanted to catch up. This random guy sat next to me and I don’t even know how long he was there before he just started talking to us. He was waiting for a date- a first date. He thought the girl was standing him up because she was so late, so he invited my sister and I to take his table. We were already finished though. My sister suggested we all go sit, and we could have dessert and keep him company while he had dinner. He was really sweet,” the younger rider smiled, a deep red color coming through her cheeks. “Maybe we just felt bad for him because he got stood up? I don’t know. But he was nice, and he made us laugh a lot, and is pretty okay looking. He wanted my number. We’ve been texting...and talking...”

“Then yes, absolutely you can bring a date.” Yay! This is so good for her. Either it’s time to give up on Mario, or this is a good way to prod him a little. It will definitely get back to him, Christina reasoned. I know he has a lot on his plate right now but if he’s not leaning on her to help in a difficult time, how could they possibly have a future? This is good. I’m excited. She instantly looked forward to her little backyard party with more enthusiasm than when she invited Stefanie. André wanted to have friends over Thursday evening because his teammates had the day off and the weather was supposed to be nice. He hoped they could celebrate advancing in the Champions League. Christina thought he should have wanted to be alone with her that night since she would be out of town over the one before, but she couldn’t be picky like that. She knew she couldn’t go away overnight and then act like he ought to feel blessed to have her around. He promised to help her do the shopping and the cooking.

“Great. I’m going to go ride Dezy-mare now before you can ask me any more questions.”

And I’m going to figure out how to get to my bits, the resident World Champion thought, studying the traffic jam of equipment around the somewhat worn but still very beautiful and exquisitely made bit box. Her only route to it was crawling over top of two other full size trunks and reaching down. But first, I’m gonna find out where boyfriend is.

“Where are you come home I miss you,” she tapped out all as one run-on sentence, to André. She then did in fact crawl over some big boxes to get to the small one, and was very pleased to find that its contents were still fairly well organized by bit type and style. Only when she lifted the bar full of her many, many loose ring snaffles did it dawn on Christina that she didn’t know what size plain one she needed without having the one on the traveling schooling bridle to compare to, and that she actually wanted to compare that one to the schooling bridle she used for Nick at home.

“Chris?” Kyle asked while she was lying flat across her trunk lids on her stomach and staring into the bit box below. “Would it be all right if I put Goose in Kimi’s field for the rest of the day, as Kimi is about to come in and there most likely won’t be time enough to turn him out again when you’re finished?”

“Yeah, I don’t care. Optimus Prime might hurt him if he tries to pick on him, but they’ll probably be fine. Wait, why isn’t he in his own field?” the trainer questioned curiously while crawling backwards to get to some floor she could stand on. The bits she decided to take with her made annoying and loud sounds banging into the lids as she moved on her hands and knees.

“Carter is in it. We were putting him in Nick and Rio’s field while they were away. I was going to bring Optimus in with Kimi.”

“Oh. I forgot we’re a little short. We should probably find out if maybe he can coexist with Kimi,” she frowned once she was able to get back on her feet. “It’s a shame to give the Iceman and his little bro a whole paddock to themselves, and they’re both pretty chill.”

“Of course, but Goose has no chill. He hates everyone.”

“Well let’s give it a try tomorrow. The run is next to them anyway. Put him there in the morning and then when you’re done with the regular stuff, go move him over and stay out there to watch. Is Socks ready?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Cool. Can you find the bridles from the horse show?” Christina requested, knowing full well that she was asking an annoying favor. The nice thing about being in charge, and about Kyle being a full-time employee working for a paycheck instead of exchanging labor for housing, was that she didn’t have to feel too guilty about giving him annoying things to do for her. She didn’t have to lift a muscle in her barn for anything but riding and teaching, if that’s what she wanted. That felt more apparent to her in her new stable than the one in London. It did feel more like a professional operation than a family effort, like “home”. “I need the one with the plain-mouth loose ring.”

“What for? We have three schooling bridles with plain loose rings in the rotation right now.” Kyle looked like he didn’t feel like looking for tack that wasn’t normally unpacked anyway. He looked like Tom had been driving him crazy for hours.

“I just need it. Hang it up there for me.” His other boss nodded at the grappling hook dangling from the ceiling by the granite-topped island, and then went to amble back into the short aisle to harass her husband some more. Then she remembered she didn’t need to take the bits in her hand with her, and turned around to go back and hang them on that hook. André replied before she could get back to pestering him about coming home.

“I’m on the way, but I don’t think I’m up for the walk today. Sorry pretty girl. I need to rest.”

That’s okay. Why is he sorry? He’s the one who asked me to go on the walk. He’s the one who wants to make plans all the time. I don’t mind resting with him. If anyone knows what it’s like to have ankle pain, it’s me. I hope he’s okay though, Christina thought, sympathetic. It doesn’t seem to be getting better. He hasn’t trained since before I left. He hasn’t even really told me about what’s wrong- how it hurts. I guess he didn’t want to be whiny about it while I was away. Well if I do Rizzle Kicks and Kimi quickly then maybe I can get home in time for Munchkin’s nap and he can nap on us together. Plus those two, she added, tracking Spencer and Lucky in her periphery. They followed her out of the tack room and trotted toward the main aisle at a faster clip than she was motivated to travel.

“I have two more to ride and then I’ll come up and rest with you :)”

“Chris. Where are you going? Get on this horse. I have things to do,” Tom complained from behind her. He wasn’t supposed to be getting her horses ready. He was supposed to be home already, as a matter of fact. He was supposed to just come in to check on things and then take the rest of the day to be with his family. Christina was sympathetic toward her groom too. He worked himself into a major tizzy over what the new and then ex-help did and didn’t do, and acted as if he had so many things that needed to be taken care of right away and which would keep him there all day long. He had Kyle running around to move horses in and out in between sets of buckets he was supposed to be scrubbing in the wash stall. He insisted on tacking up and putting away all the horses Christina wanted to ride. He insisted on getting his hands on every horse on the property, himself, thoroughly. Evidently having to babysit Socks on the crossties was holding up his dramatic whirlwind assault on correcting what he perceived as damage and chaos in his domain. Tom was cranky.

“I don’t know. I was just wandering around,” his new employer shrugged. I’m jet lagged. I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m out of practice on the ride at home routine. I’m thinking more about boyfriend, and I wanted food. I’m allowed, aren’t I? She thought it was fair to take a leisurely and casual approach toward her first day back after such a long spell on the road. It didn’t quite get as bad as laziness and unconsidered, so she felt it was okay. Her right hand man wanted a more precise approach toward her posted schedule, even though he wasn’t even supposed to be part of it. She put her phone in her jacket pocket and let him lead the Dutch horse down to the back door for her so that he could give her a leg up, send her on her way, and begin readying the next and final horse of the day for her. She actually asked for a tall mounting block to be built and placed outside that exit so that getting on could be a one-person job. Tom said any kind of mounting by putting one’s foot in the stirrup and then lifting the other leg over the saddle is bad for the animals’ backs and thus unacceptable. Christina was aware of that. Leaning heavily on just one side of the horse is not ideal, and can be particularly bad when someone does it from the ground because they tend to be hanging there in the one stirrup for even longer. She wanted a tall mounting block, so that she could practically just put her leg over without even needing the stirrup. Tom acknowledged that it wouldn’t be so terrible, but he still didn’t want her using it, so it didn’t get built. She wanted one down in the space between her outdoor rings, with the jump shed and the gazebo, for further convenience. He didn’t let her have that either. She was looking forward to one day just leading a horse down to those rings and using a tall jump, like the faux brick wall perhaps, to mount up on her own, just for the personal satisfaction of defeating and defying his anal thoughtfulness.

Socks and Kimi were good boys for her, and like the others she left behind, right where they belonged in terms of fitness and sharpness. Kyle and Stefanie did well with sticking to the horses’ programs, and even if their other groom for those few weeks wasn’t up to snuff for the most elite-level operation, the animals didn’t seem to notice or care. Christina visited with each one that was still inside before she left for the day, and gave them each a carrot or left one in the feed buckets in the empty stalls. André was both bright-eyed and handsome when she got home. He wasn’t as down as the tone she read in his text. He’d either done his hair nicely that morning before going to Brackel, or he showered there and did it nicely when he was finished. He had sweatpants and a t-shirt on, but his smile, and his voice, and even his eyes all told his wife that he wasn’t in a “sweatpants mood”- what she thought of as the internal need to be dressed cozily and tucked into bed or parked on the couch to do as little as possible, while less than happy with life. He had plenty of energy. He couldn’t wait for her to change her clothes and come back downstairs to play with him and Lukas.

“Am I allowed in here, or no?” he asked facetiously on the threshold of her extravagant closet. Christina was fully installed in there. Everything was put away in a Christina-way, and she usually kept pretty flowers on the counter between two of the tall shelving units. She had black and white photos on the walls, all of which were of herself. They were mostly un-used snaps from her various fashion spreads. They were a rare nod toward a vanity André thought she didn’t really possess. And he liked it. He liked the notion that she’d grown beyond just being okay with seeing herself as a model- as a physical specimen- and grown into appreciating it enough to want to be reminded of it every single day. She was humble about a lot of things, and he loved that about her. But becoming just vain enough to put up modeling photos was a little bit sexy, and despite it proving a challenge for their relationship, the player appreciated that his wife was capable of growing as an individual. He watched her learn, change, and adapt over time. The ability to do that was something he valued in any person, but needed in his partner. André and Christina found static personality types boring and sometimes frustrating.

“I suppose you can come in,” she shrugged, feigning mild irritation. She was turning her just-removed sports bra inside out, to be hung on a cabinet handle. It was against her rules to put sweaty things directly into the laundry basket.

“You look hot in white underwear,” André commented after taking a seat on her bench. It was hers after the move. It was no longer “their” incredibly expensive Van der Rohe bench. It went with the decor in her dressing room, not his, so she claimed it. The bench was an example of another Christina quirk that her partner secretly adored. She literally treasured it. She looked after it. She wouldn’t sit on it without underwear, or if she was sweaty. Lukas wasn’t allowed anywhere near it. No shoes were ever placed on it, and she was even careful about setting certain bags down on it. For example, her backpack couldn’t go there because she often set her backpack on the ground and it could thus get the precious white furniture dirty. She looked after her nice things. She looked after things that cost a lot, and things that mattered to her. André knew some girls who got their hearts set on something expensive, absolutely had to have it, loved it for a month, and then didn’t care enough about it after all to take care of it, or be mindful about using it. He poked his girl’s right butt cheek right in the middle and then leaned over to kiss the side of the other one, outside the white cotton.

“Juan calls these my grandpa underpants.”

“And does he feel positively about that? Because that would be weird, to be honest.” And why do you think I want to hear what he has to say about your underwear, he wondered. Her odd misstep didn’t hinder his fairly fine mood. He was in some pain from trying different things with the doctor and trainers. Even just walking hurt his heel and ankle a little, so he didn’t want to go trekking around the neighborhood. He wasn’t exhausted though, or worn down, or bummed. The frustration he felt at being sidelined for so long could be ignored in favor of enjoying that Christina was home. His best friend was back around, and in small panties that looked nice on her behind and did pleasing things to her hipbones.

“He didn’t say.” I took them off before we got that far into that conversation.

“Did his grandpa wear very small underpants? I don’t know any grown men who could fit into these.” The BVB man ran his fingertip up and down the inside of the small trim sectioning off her butt into equal parts of covered and bare territory.

“That’s what I said,” she laughed over her shoulder. “I think it was a color situation. He associates white undies with grandpas.”

“I associate white undies with you, because you look hot in them.”

“Are you visiting in my sovereign territory to seduce me, or were you just so struck by my hotness after you arrived that you had to play with my butt?”

“I was going to wait until later to seduce you. I really just came here to get attention.”

“Oh, I see,” Christina chuckled. “And now?”

“I don’t know. A nice way for you to give me attention would be getting into bed with me and sitting on me in these panties, maybe without the shirt though.“

“Yeah, and then what?” She had a big smile on for him. Non-serious Schü was cute, sweet, and highly entertaining to her when she was in the mood for him. Non-serious Schü was typically only unwelcome when she was upset with him and needed the serious one, or simply too tired to be amused.

“I don’t know. You could tell me about your day- about the horses, and why you sacked Camille already. These are clean hot white underwear, yes?” the player asked for verification purposes. He didn’t necessarily want to be sat on in panties that were in the saddle all day. He was still playing with the seam around the right leg opening.

“I would love to tell you about my day.” Christina was still smiling, and she was still non-serious too, but she seriously relished the invitation to share with him the events of her Monday up to that point. He didn’t always give the impression that he actually cared about the tick-tock of her life if it didn’t directly relate to him. That was part of the disconnect that was making things tough for them before she went away. “And to hear about yours too,” she added. Again, it wasn’t just lip service. “I need the update on your boo-boo, and how the guys are doing.”

“Okay. Finish whatever you were doing. I’m going to get your ice pack, and do you want juice, smoothie, coffee, or water?”

“I love you,” she sighed, almost resignedly, while spinning in place to administer a kiss for André’s kindness. Traveling for three weeks was supposed to help repair things with Dirk, and that didn’t get to happen. It was clear that it repaired things with Tom on some level. It was beginning to feel like it might have significantly helped to repair the problems with her primary partner too.

“What would you like, Prinzessin?” he asked quietly while she lingered between his knees. He kneaded small spots at the back of thighs between his thumbs and pointers, absent a more sensical idea of how to touch her but with a need to touch her somehow. Another much loved Christina Quirk was her overreaction to kind gestures. Sometimes he forgot how easy it really was to please her. The smallest exercise of his care for her, her wellbeing, and her happiness, was a big deal to her, and one she didn’t take for granted.

“Nothing.” The rider shook her head and bent down a little for a second smooch. The first was just a peck on the cheek. The sequel was square on the mouth, and savoring. I love him so much, she reflected, blues locked on his, and hands ruining his previously perfect hair. But why does it feel so weird? Why is it like I’m almost disappointed or something that I still love him- that he’s still the sweet and caring guy who makes me feel so good?

“Let me go get your ice. You should have it on already. I’ll see you in bed, okay?” The footballer in question patted her bum and winked up at her. She stepped out of the way.

The Sequel - 820

Chocolate Chips

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

Getting from Miami back to Dortmund was more complicated and time consuming for Christina, Espen, and Lukas than for Nick and Rio. The horses would board a KLM flight from Miami International to Schiphol Sunday evening, and would be loaded on a truck for the 2.5-hour road trip home from there on Monday afternoon. The humans had to get on an American Airlines flight on Saturday night, spend an hour and a half at Heathrow at 9 on Sunday morning, fly another hour and a half to Düsseldorf with British Airlines, and then fidget for 45 minutes in a pre-arranged taxi to get home to Ahlenberg. André expected his wife to want lunch and either a walk around the property to stretch her legs, or a rest on the couch to relax and let go of the travel stress. Espen wanted to go home, and did. Lukas wanted to nap, and did. Christina wanted to take her clothes off and get in André’s lap, and did. It was there that she enjoyed her most satisfying ride of the weekend.

“Easy, baby,” he told her when her nails dug into his back. She had one arm around his neck and one threaded under his arm so she could hold his shoulder, and her face right next to his. His hold on her, on her butt and her back, was much more gentle. They were on the couch in the living room. The rider was trying to use the ability of her strong abdominal, thigh, and butt muscles to move her hips and thus her body in a way that would convey how glad she was to be home, and how much she missed her partner. It was such a relief to her to be able to see him in person, and touch him, and hear his voice without the effect of her iPhone speaker. It wasn’t all down to the scare on Tuesday either. Being away from him was just a lot harder when he wasn’t being mean to her all the time and picking fights, and when her riding wasn’t a problem but wasn’t exciting either. The actual competition wasn’t fun or interesting enough to distract her from missing her 6’ blonde, and she didn’t have any personal issues in the saddle to torment and pull her mind away from simply longing for him. For example, Saturday was the second and final part of the Global Champions League competition, and the Grand Prix, and the most excited Christina felt throughout the day was while she had her second breakfast and watched Marco score two minutes into his first game back after being injured forever, again. And even that was short lived, because Marco was always making André look useless by comparison. He wasn’t useless to her.

“Kiss,” she demanded when she let go of his shoulder and paused her moderately paced bouncing.

“Do you want to turn around so I can help you?” the footballer suggested before pecking her lips and then her neck. Christina came back from two weeks in sunnier climes looking like some kind of goddess to him. Her skin was toasted and her complexion made shiny, her hair was many more colors than when she left, and believe it or not, her grayed-blue eyes looked a lot less tired. That her first priority was working to rectify their intimacy deficit endeared her to him further. It was all love coming from her, not some need for sexual gratification. Still, he wanted to give her the second thing too, especially in light of what she did with her lips before climbing on. “Let me help,” he said, and smooched her again. In his experience, she never got off by facing him and moving up and down or rocking back and forth. If she faced away, he had better access to rub her sensitive spots.

“I had to wait more than three weeks to see you and you want me to turn around where I can’t see you?” The sun-kissed rider kept her face as close to the footballer’s as possible, as if to scan its contours at close range with the tip of her nose.

“I just want to make you feel good,” André chuckled.

“Kissing you makes me feel good,” his wife replied, lips as close to his as possible without actually being engaged in a kiss. Her fingertips- gentled, and with claws retracted- settled on each of his cheeks.

“Then do you want to lie down so you can kiss me and get off at the same time?”

“What’s the hurry?”

“There isn’t one, I just...You’re just very sexy.”

“So what you mean is my sexiness is so extreme that you need to go to town on me and do the thing and you have no self-restraint?”

“Yes. Yes that’s it exactly.” He smiled across at her, thin lips together like he was trying not to smirk, though he had no intention of concealing the truth. He didn’t think she’d be upset to know he just wanted her, and that her want for him was such a turn on. He didn’t think she’d feel used or something, or take it the wrong way. That was something that kept happening between them, for a long, long time. They kept reading their gestures and their words the wrong way, and it made them both wonder what was going wrong- why there was some translation problem in between. Rather unexpectedly, it seemed to him as if that problem was going away while Christina was away. The player thought she was being more open with him instead of guarding against bad reactions, and that she was understanding everything he said in the way he intended rather than latching onto the worst possible interpretation and adding it to some case file of evidence toward her indictment of their future together. He might have actually been a little wrong on that, since she was actually keeping a lot of her thoughts and feelings from him while she was traveling, preferring instead to share them with Juan only, but he wasn’t wrong about how she’d take his desire upon her return. She smiled back, rolled her eyes a bit, and then pecked his forehead.

André leaned back out of the way while she lifted up to do a 180 in his lap. Sometimes she tried to make a stripper or prostitute trick out of spinning around on him without first getting off his favorite appendage. It was a lot easier to just get up and move. Two very large and warm palms greeted her breasts as she settled on him again, and she felt his breath at her neck. That was a pretty good way to be close too. The rider relaxed back against her player’s chest and let him take turns holding her up a little so he could control the tempo and speed at which he moved in and out of her, and letting her do it herself while he rubbed her clit the way she liked. Christina still found ways to kiss him. It hurt her neck to turn so far around, but she managed, and when it got uncomfortable then he just made sure to keep his lips and even his tongue on her shoulder, or her neck, or her cheek. He toyed with her too, bringing her very close, knowing for sure from the sounds she made and the way she tensed the muscles in her behind that she was fighting not to finish until she got the exact feeling she wanted, and then taking his hand away from where they were joined. He hugged her waist with one arm and used one finger to gently feel around that area after he forced her to experience that which she was trying to delay for the right second, and he felt something he hadn’t in a while.

It’s really good to be with her when I know for sure that she wasn’t just with Juan, or with him recently, André thought during the little break he granted his wife. Her ribs grew against his arm a little less each time she breathed. Some of the hair falling out of her top knot tickled his shoulders and collarbones. I never really feel like she’s different, physically- it’s not like I know someone else’s cock has been inside her- but there is always something in the back of my mind. I love it when it’s like she can only get this from me. I don’t even know what “this” is, but...it’s there. It’s real. There is a thing she only looks to me for, and I don’t even know if it actually has anything to do with sex but I know she can get it from that. I love that its what she wants as soon as she gets home. I hope it means she’ll think twice about how she schedules her next shows.

“Your turn, babe,” Christina mumbled lazily. “Like this, or do you want my mo-“

“Like this. Don’t even move, pretty girl.”

She took her turn to zone out while André “went to town” and did “the thing”. She just felt good being near him again, and being able to smell his deodorant and clean t-shirt scent, and feel his voice against her skin. He sounded so much better in person, and not just because he spoke to her differently when they were having sex than when they were talking about what he had for dinner. It really did give her that coming home feeling. And she was sure that was a good thing- that André feeling like home again was a good thing, no matter what it meant for her relationship with the other midfielder in her life. But she didn’t take a second out to acknowledge that whatever she thought or felt immediately following a well built to orgasm could be hyperbolic in nature, or naive, or deliberately overlooking something. It was too nice a moment to be that rational.

It also happened to be Easter, so André presented his girl with a basket full of treats after she went upstairs to clean up, put her luggage in her dressing room, and put one of his crewneck sweatshirts on herself. He thought that was cute, but not as cute as the way her eyes grew when she started taking apart the basket. Besides the standard chocolate bunny, cuddly plush bunny, pastel almond M&M’s eggs, and fake grass, he got her frosted sugar cookies in the shape of bunnies, bunny and chick macaroons, a stack of chewy chocolate chip cookies, an individually wrapped gourmet brownie with extra dark chocolate and a hint of orange zest, a carrot-shaped and colored plastic bag of popcorn, and some flat chocolate eggs with pretzels, caramel, and sea salt on the top to make them look like decorated Easter eggs. There were fresh yellow daffodils to go with it. He got a smaller basket for Lukas too, with a lot of marshmallow treats, and an egg decorating kit so that they could do that together after his nap. André even hardboiled 18 eggs in preparation. He’d never boiled an egg before. His mom made fun of him when he called her to ask how. First he asked the Internet, but he didn’t trust the answers. There was too much conflicting advice on boil time, rest time, ice baths, and additives. He hid some wooden eggs around the back yard for Lukas to find too.

Easter was an important holiday for his family when he was growing up. It was a big deal. Easter for Christina’s family was just the egg painting, the egg hunt, and a barbecue. They only managed to really celebrate it once since they got together, because of their busy schedules. When the rider was pregnant, her in-laws came to London to do a big Easter dinner. André knew that wasn’t happening since everyone was waiting for Melanie to pop, and Christina would knife him if he asked her to roast a lamb or something on the day she got home, so he bought sausages, rolls, ground beef for cheeseburgers, and some pre-constructed chicken kebobs with peppers, onion, and cherry tomatoes, as well as the ingredients for her barbecue sauce recipe. Having a bookshelf in their kitchen meant having things like actual cookbooks and her folder of printed out recipes right where he could find them. Most of her experiments came from the web, but she had two or three very old cookbooks with trusted recipes flagged with everything from little Post-Its to folded napkins. André knew from experience that the only barbecue sauce she liked in the whole wide world was in there, and got the stuff for her to make it when he realized it was only a few things and not very labor intensive. All of this forethought and effort earned him the “I love you so much it hurts” face, and then Christina wanted to sit on him and eat chocolate for a while.

“Slow down and save some for dessert,” he told her when she bit into her second cookie.

“You’ve been such a busy little Easter Bunny. They need to get your boo-boo fixed up so you don’t have all this free time,” she told him, ignoring the suggestion. She sat sideways across his lap on the couch with her back on the corner cushion, and had her plush black bunny under her arm. The black bunny was particularly dear to her, because she couldn’t imagine anybody else buying someone a black Easter Bunny, or anyone else knowing that she would love it.

“I can try a little running tomorrow. How about you? How is your ankle?” The temporarily injured player grasped the chronically injured rider’s ankle and palpated around the spot that was most often swollen.

“It’s okay. Not better, not worse. I think saltwater helps. I went in the ocean two days within like an hour of riding in the morning and that was the best that it felt. These cookies are amazing. Where did you get all this stuff?” Maybe I don’t wanna know, Christina considered, glancing at the basket on her lap. This could be dangerous. I shouldn’t know where to get delicious cookies.

“At the Easter market downtown.”

“Oh, so there isn’t some bakery I can go to when I’m in a bad mood and get one of these?”

“Some of the sellers are from local places and some just do the holiday markets and events, I think. I bought the baskets at one stall and then went around to different tables to pick the things to put inside. Isn’t there a label on the package?”

“No. Did you not like any of the pre-made baskets or did you remember when I said I hate the pre-made baskets because you can never get all the things you want and half the stuff you don’t like anyway?”

“It’s quite difficult to get a pre-made Easter basket for a girl who doesn’t like milk chocolate, marshmallow, or cream eggs.”

“Are you saying I’m difficult?”

“I would never.”

“Where are my puppies?”

“At work.”

“How long do you have to go to work tomorrow? How much of the day can you spend with me?”

“Who are you and at which horse show did you replace my wife?” André teased, again confident that Christina wouldn’t take his joke too seriously.

“Shut up. I told you how much I missed you. I need to catch up. And I have to go to London on Wednesday, so-“

“What for? You didn’t mention that.” His easy tone flattened in an instant, and his eyes finally dropped away from her previously adorable face. Let me guess. She missed Juan just as much and now she needs to go do this same thing with him too.

“To help Isa close up the barn, mostly. Cornflakes and Wizzy are going to Box Hill on Tuesday. Also I need a haircut and I don’t trust anybody but my regular guy, and Juan and his dad are opening the restaurant that night. I can squeeze all of that into one trip.” It wasn’t lost on her that she’d steered their lovely afternoon into unpleasant territory, despite her casual tone and nonchalant explanation. She just hoped that talking about her 24-hour hop to London as if it were some small, inconsequential thing that she just had to do would duly make André see it that way too. She took another bite of her yummy cookie and glanced over at his downcast but still beautiful jewel toned eyes. “It’s important to him- the opening night,” she added more quietly. “And I have to go over anyway. I have to make sure everything is taken care of at the barn. I don’t want Isa to finish on his last day and accidentally leave a door open somewhere, or leave a trough right side up to fill with water every time it rains, and he needs me to look through what equipment and supplies are still there to tell him what to send here and what to leave, take, or throw away. I haven’t had a haircut since Christmas and I’d rather go to the person who’s been doing it for me for 5 years than gamble on a new stylist here. It’s better to just make one trip instead of three, right? More time with you...” She just kept going on and on because her seat wouldn’t say anything. She also tried poking at his hand holding the base of her basket for her on her legs.

“I see.”

“I just planned it out this morning. The restaurant had the soft opening Friday, so they didn’t set the real opening date until yesterday after they were sure everything was good to go, and then Isa just told me the ponies are going on Tuesday. Nat didn’t even tell me yet, by the way, which is...Well, let’s just say I have feelings about it.”

“Okay.”

“Please don’t be upset with me,” Christina begged, cracking. It was clear that André wasn’t taking her news as “no big deal”, and there was no point in continuing to pretend.

“I’m not upset with you,” he corrected. “I’m upset with...how things are.”

“That sounds like the same thing.”

“I wish you didn’t want to go see him. I wish you didn’t miss him the same.”

“I’m not going there because I want to see him,” his wife countered emphatically. She put her half eaten cookie down inside the plastic packaging and wiped her palms together to get rid of the crumbs so that she could try to pull his face closer by the neck to give him a cheek smooch. “If I didn’t have other reasons to go, I wouldn’t be going. I wouldn’t just go see him.” I can’t say that I don’t miss him the same though, because I’m dying to see him. The only reason I wouldn’t just go see him is that it would get this reaction.

“All right.”

“And if you somehow get to go to Monaco with the guys and you get to play, I’ll watch at the restaurant. I know for sure the bar has some TV’s.”

“All right.”

The worried rider relocated her basket of sweets to the empty cushion next to her player, relocated her legs down on top of and between his, and tried to hug around his waist while burrowing into it with her face. She thought she could fix his disappointment with extreme snuggles. She thought it was working when he put a hand on her back between her shoulder blades and another in the back of her hair. I don’t know if it’s possible to communicate a lie through a hug, but I hope it is, and I hope it isn’t really a lie anyway. I don’t want to upset him, and I don’t want him to think he’s just one of two. I miss Juanin like crazy too but not the same way. It’s different, somehow, Christina argued with herself. If someone gave me a choice last night and said that there would be no knock-on effect, no secondary considerations...I would still choose to come here, not go to Juan. I needed boyfriend.

“I need you,” she mumbled, almost by accident.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I need you,” she sighed. “I was running on empty. I need you or life isn’t...anything. It’s just a series of things I do every day. This you- Or the you that you were until a few minutes ago, who talks to me about stuff every day, and thinks of me, and wants to make everything nice, and understands what I say back to him, and can tell me a thousand important things in a kiss or a squeeze...I need that you. You’re the chocolate chips. My life is just a boring, empty cookie without the chocolate chips. Or something. I don’t know.” Even when I escape to the beach with Juan and get to feel good, real life is still bland and flavorless if things aren’t good with Schü. A holiday is always going to be nice. It’s the stuff in between holidays that needs to catch up.