Love

The blue light of Mimi’s phone screen was the only thing illuminating her face in the dark living room. She scrolled through her feed, her thumb hovering over a grainy paparazzi shot taken outside the stadium an hour ago. There she was—Michael’s ex-girlfriend, leaning against a sleek black SUV, looking perfectly polished in a designer trench coat. The caption was enough to make Mimi’s blood boil: *Spotted: Reunited and it feels so good?*

When the front door finally clicked open, Mimi didn’t move from the sofa. She didn’t offer her usual "Welcome home" or a kiss. She just waited.

Michael stepped in, smelling of grass, expensive cologne, and the cold night air. He dropped his gym bag by the door, his tall frame casting a long shadow. "Mimi? Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Ask your visitor," Mimi said, her voice tight. She turned the phone screen toward him.

Michael sighed, a sound of pure exhaustion. He rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to look at the screen. "Mimi, I didn't ask her to come. She just showed up after the whistle. I had to be polite for two minutes before I could get to my car."

"Polite?" Mimi stood up, her small stature making her look more like an angry kitten than a threat, though her eyes were flashing. "She’s been texting you for weeks, Michael. You didn’t block her. You didn’t tell her to stop. And now she’s at your games, making it look like you’re back together. How am I supposed to feel?"

"You're overreacting," Michael muttered, walking past her toward the kitchen. "It’s nothing. I’m with you, aren’t I?"

"That’s not the point! The point is you’re leaving the door cracked open for her!"

The argument spiraled from there. It was a messy, frustrating loop of Michael insisting he was just being "chill" and Mimi insisting that his lack of boundaries was disrespectful. By the time they climbed into bed, the silence between them was heavy and cold. They slept on opposite edges of the king-sized mattress, a vast desert of resentment between them.

The next morning, Michael left for training before Mimi was even fully awake. He left a dry "See you later" that hung in the air like a lead weight.

Mimi sat up, tossed the duvet aside, and caught her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her cheeks were naturally flushed pink from sleep, making her look like a delicate porcelain doll. A mischievous, slightly petty thought began to take root in her mind.

If Michael wanted to be "chill" about people from the past hanging around, then he wouldn't mind if she dropped by the training ground looking her absolute best, would he?

She spent an hour getting ready. She pulled on a tiny white baby tee that stopped just above her navel, the soft fabric clinging to her curves. Then came the shorts—a pair of tight, dark denim micro-shorts that hugged her hips and accentuated the curve of her legs. She brushed her hair until it shone and applied just enough lip gloss to make her pout look intentional.

When she arrived at the training complex, the sun was high and the first team was mid-drill. She hopped out of her car, her small frame practically glowing against the green of the pitches. She didn't head for the stands; she walked right up to the perimeter fence, leaning against the metal rail with an air of casual indifference.

It didn't take long for the rhythm of the practice to falter.

A group of players doing shuttle runs slowed down. One of the younger midfielders nudged his teammate, pointing toward the sideline.

"Who’s that?" someone whispered loud enough for the wind to carry.

"Is that Michael’s girl?" another asked, sounding far too impressed.

Mimi leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, knowing exactly how the movement made her shorts ride up just a fraction more. She caught Michael’s eye from across the field. He had stopped dead in his tracks, a football idling at his feet. His expression shifted from confusion to realization, and then to a simmering, possessive heat.

"Mimi?" he called out, his voice carrying across the grass.

She just waved a tiny, dainty hand, a sweet smile plastered on her face. "Don't mind me! Just enjoying the view. It’s a public space, right? Very chill."

A few of his teammates started wandering over during the water break. They were grinning, charmed by the tiny, doll-like woman who looked like she’d stepped off a magazine cover.

"Morning," one of the defenders said, wiping sweat from his brow. "You here to scout some new talent, or just making Michael look bad by comparison?"

Mimi giggled, the sound light and musical. "Oh, Michael’s doing a great job of looking bad all on his own today. I just thought the boys might need some encouragement."

Michael was there in seconds, placing himself firmly between Mimi and his teammates. He looked down at her, his jaw tight. He took in the baby tee, the way the sunlight hit her pink cheeks, and the sheer amount of leg she was showing.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"I missed you," she lied effortlessly, her eyes wide and innocent. "And since we didn't really finish our conversation last night, I thought I’d come say hi. You don't mind, do you? Since you're so big on people just 'showing up' to see you."

Michael closed his eyes for a second, a frustrated groan caught in his throat. He could feel the eyes of the entire squad on his back. He knew exactly what she was doing. She was a tiny, brilliant strategist.

"You're wearing almost nothing," he hissed, though his hand instinctively reached out to rest on her waist, pulling her an inch closer to the fence.

"I’m comfortable," she chirped. "The guys seem to like it. They’re much friendlier than you were this morning."

"Mimi, stop it," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. He hated that he found her pettiness attractive. He hated even more that every man on the pitch was currently memorizing the way those shorts fit her.

"Michael! Get back to the drill!" the coach shouted from the center circle.

Michael leaned in, his face inches from hers through the gaps in the fence. "Go to the car. Wait for me. We’re leaving in twenty minutes."

"I don't know," Mimi teased, tilting her head. "I think I might stay and see if anyone wants to grab lunch. That tall guy with the tattoos seemed nice."

Michael’s eyes darkened. "Mimi. Car. Now."

She gave him one last dazzling smile, turned on her heel, and walked away. She made sure to put a little extra swing in her hips, hearing a faint whistle from somewhere on the pitch that was abruptly cut off by Michael shouting something in French.

Twenty-five minutes later, the passenger door of her car swung open. Michael climbed in, still in his training gear, radiating heat and a very specific kind of agitation. He didn't speak at first. He just reached over, grabbed her phone from the center console, and handed it to her.

"Unlock it," he said.

Mimi raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Unlock it and go to my contact list. Or give me yours."

She did as she was told, feeling the shift in the air. Michael took his own phone out of his pocket. He tapped the screen aggressively for a moment before holding it up so she could see.

He scrolled to his ex’s name. He hit 'Block.' Then he hit 'Delete.'

"There," he said, his voice rough. "She’s gone. No more 'being polite.' No more 'chill.' Are you happy now, you little menace?"

Mimi looked at the screen, then up at him. The anger from the night before evaporated, replaced by the smug satisfaction of a mission accomplished. She leaned over, pressing her nose against his shoulder.

"I suppose that’s a start," she whispered.

Michael dropped his phone and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her small body across the center console and onto his lap. The space was cramped, but he didn't care. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in.

"You drove me crazy out there," he groaned against her skin. "I couldn't focus on a single ball. All I could see was you talking to the guys in those damn shorts."

"Good," Mimi said, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. "Maybe next time you’ll remember that I’m the only one who gets to show up unannounced."

Michael pulled back just enough to look at her. Her pink cheeks were flushed even deeper now, her eyes bright with triumph. She looked adorable, funny, and entirely too dangerous for his peace of mind.

"I got the message, Mimi. Loud and clear." He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. "Now let’s go home. I need to make sure you remember exactly who you belong to before you decide to go 'scouting' again."

Mimi laughed, a bright, victorious sound, as Michael started the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving the ghosts of his past—and the wandering eyes of his teammates—far behind them.