Love

The mirror in the hallway reflected a version of Mimi that felt almost like a stranger. The little black dress was tight, hugging every curve of her petite frame, and her long brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft, glossy waves. She adjusted the hem one last time, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves in her stomach. Tonight wasn't just any dinner; Jamal was finally introducing her to Michael Olise.

"You look incredible, Mimi. Seriously," Jamal said, appearing behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his large hands resting flat against her stomach. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume.

Mimi leaned back against his chest, her small hands covering his. "I’m just nervous. What if he doesn't like me? Or what if I’m too quiet? You know how I get around new people."

Jamal chuckled, the vibration rumbling through his chest. "Michael is just as quiet as you are. If anything, I’m worried you two will just sit there staring at each other in silence for two hours. It’ll be fine, I promise."

When the doorbell rang, Jamal gave her a reassuring squeeze before heading to the door. Michael stepped inside, looking casual but sharp. He had a reserved aura about him, a quiet coolness that Mimi instantly recognized because she possessed a similar shield.

"Michael, man, glad you could make it," Jamal said, giving his teammate a brotherly hug and a pat on the back.

"Thanks for having me, J," Michael replied, his voice low and steady. His eyes shifted to Mimi, who was standing by the kitchen island, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger.

"Michael, this is Mimi. Mimi, this is Michael," Jamal introduced, his voice brimming with pride.

Mimi stepped forward, offering a small, shy smile. "Hi, Michael. It’s really nice to meet you. Jamal talks about you all the time."

Michael’s expression softened, a slight, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Nice to meet you too. All good things, I hope?"

"Mostly," Mimi joked softly, her shyness receding just a fraction as she noticed Michael’s own hesitant posture.

The three of them moved to the dining area. As the night began, the dynamic was exactly what Jamal had predicted—at first. The conversation was polite and a bit sparse. However, as they sat down to the meal Jamal had meticulously ordered from their favorite bistro, the ice began to break.

It started with a comment about London. Mimi had mentioned how much she missed a specific bakery in the city, and Michael’s eyes lit up.

"I know the one," Michael said, leaning forward slightly. "They do those specific almond croissants, right? The ones that are always sold out by ten in the morning?"

Mimi nodded enthusiastically, her eyes brightening. "Yes! Exactly. I used to wake up early on Saturdays just to get there before the queue started. Jamal wouldn't know; he’s a morning person, but not a 'stand-in-line-for-bread' person."

Michael let out a soft laugh. "I get it. I’ve spent way too much time in that queue myself."

Jamal watched them, a small smile on his face. He was happy they were getting along. It was a relief, really. But as the minutes ticked by, the relief began to morph into something else—something he didn't quite recognize because he had never felt it before.

He watched the way Mimi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while listening to Michael talk about his favorite spots back home. He noticed how Michael, usually so stoic and brief with his words, was actually stringing together full sentences, his gaze focused entirely on Mimi.

They were both shy, yes, but they had found a common frequency. It was a quiet, gentle rapport that seemed to exclude the rest of the room.

"So, Mimi, Jamal told me you’re into photography?" Michael asked, ignoring his fork for a moment.

"I am," she replied, her voice gaining confidence. "Mostly film. There’s something about the wait, you know? Not knowing if the shot is perfect until it’s developed."

"I like that," Michael said thoughtfully. "It’s like the game. You put in the work, but you don't see the result until the whistle blows."

Mimi beamed. "That’s a beautiful way to put it."

Jamal felt a sudden, sharp pinch in his chest. It wasn't anger—he loved Michael like a brother—but it was a territorial instinct he hadn't known he possessed. He felt a sudden, urgent need to remind everyone in the room who Mimi belonged to.

Without really thinking about it, Jamal shifted his chair closer to Mimi’s. He reached out, draping his arm heavily over the back of her chair, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her shoulder.

"She’s actually brilliant at it," Jamal interjected, his voice a pitch deeper than usual. "Show him that one you took of the sunset in Ibiza, babe."

Mimi blinked, surprised by the sudden physical closeness. Jamal was usually affectionate, but this felt different—more deliberate. "Oh, I don't want to bore him with my phone photos, Jamal."

"You wouldn't be boring me," Michael said quietly, his eyes darting briefly to Jamal’s arm around her before returning to Mimi’s face.

Jamal didn't wait for her to agree. He reached over, taking her hand and pulling it onto his lap, interlacing their fingers tightly. He began to rub his thumb over her knuckles in a rhythmic, almost possessive motion.

"Tell him about the gallery project you’re working on," Jamal urged, his body leaning into hers so that their shoulders were pressed together.

Mimi glanced at Jamal, a look of slight confusion in her dark eyes. "Are you okay, J? You’re being very... cuddly."

"Just missed you," Jamal murmured, though they had been together all afternoon. He leaned in and kissed her temple, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

Michael cleared his throat, picking up his glass of water. He wasn't blind. He had seen Jamal on the pitch—calm, composed, almost impossible to rattle. Seeing him like this, practically marking his territory over a conversation about croissants and film cameras, was eye-opening.

"The gallery project sounds interesting," Michael said, trying to steer the conversation back to a neutral ground. "Is it a solo show?"

Mimi tried to focus on the question, but Jamal’s hand had moved from her knuckles to her thigh, his palm resting firmly on the black fabric of her dress. He wasn't being inappropriate, but the sheer weight of his hand was a constant, distracting reminder of his presence.

"Um, no," Mimi stammered slightly, her cheeks flushing. "It’s a group exhibition. Focused on urban landscapes."

"Nice," Michael nodded. He looked at Jamal, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You’ve got a talented one here, Jamal."

"I know what I’ve got," Jamal said. It wasn't a snap, but there was an edge to it that made Mimi turn her head to look at him fully.

She saw the way his jaw was set, the way his eyes were fixed on Michael with an intensity that didn't match the casual dinner setting. It dawned on her then. Jamal Musiala, the boy who was always cool under pressure, was jealous.

A small, secret smile tugged at Mimi's lips. She found it incredibly endearing, even if it was a bit overwhelming. She decided to lean into it, shifting her weight so she was pressed even closer against him.

"Anyway," Mimi said, looking back at Michael, "Jamal is actually my favorite subject to photograph. Even if he complains about the lighting the whole time."

"I don't complain," Jamal protested, though his grip on her hand softened slightly.

"You do," she teased, reaching up with her free hand to boop his nose. "You’re a diva."

Michael laughed, a genuine sound this time. "I can believe that. You should see him in the locker room when his hair isn't sitting right."

"Hey!" Jamal laughed, the tension in his shoulders finally beginning to dissipate.

As the dessert was served, Jamal didn't let go. He kept one hand firmly anchored on Mimi’s waist, his thumb tracing small circles against her side. When she laughed at something Michael said, Jamal would pull her just a fraction closer, or whisper something private in her ear, forcing her to turn away from their guest for a moment.

Michael took it all in stride, though he started checking his watch a bit more frequently. He knew when he was the third wheel, even if he had been invited.

"I should probably head out," Michael said eventually, standing up. "Early training tomorrow."

"Yeah, of course," Jamal said, standing up as well, though he kept his hand firmly clasped in Mimi’s as they walked Michael to the door.

"It was really nice meeting you, Mimi," Michael said, offering a polite nod. "I’m sure I’ll see you around the club."

"You too, Michael. Get home safe," she replied warmly.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the silence of the apartment felt heavy. Jamal didn't move. He stood there, holding Mimi’s hand, staring at the wood of the door.

Mimi turned in his arms, wrapping her hands around his neck. "So," she whispered, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You and Michael are pretty close, huh?"

Jamal looked down at her, his expression a mix of sheepishness and residual intensity. "He’s a good guy."

"He is," Mimi agreed. "He’s very easy to talk to. We have a lot in common."

Jamal’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he pulled her flush against him, his arms locking around her waist. "Is that so?"

Mimi giggled, the sound bright in the quiet hallway. "Jamal, were you jealous?"

"No," he said immediately. Then, after a beat, he sighed, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. "Maybe. A little bit."

"A little bit?" Mimi teased. "You were practically sitting in my lap. I think Michael thought you were going to start growling at him."

Jamal groaned, the sound muffled against her skin. "I don't know what happened. I just... I saw you two talking, and you were smiling that way you do when you’re really interested in something, and he was looking at you like... like he realized how amazing you are."

Mimi’s heart melted. She ran her fingers through the short curls at the nape of his neck. "Jamal, he’s your friend. And I was just being polite because I wanted him to like me for your sake."

"I know," Jamal whispered. He lifted his head, his dark eyes searching hers. "I’ve never felt like that before. It’s annoying."

"It’s cute," she countered.

"It’s not cute. I’m a professional athlete. I’m supposed to be composed."

"Well, you weren't," she said, leaning up to kiss his jaw. "You were very clingy. And very obvious."

Jamal huffed, but he didn't let go. Instead, he picked her up, her feet dangling off the floor as he carried her toward the living room sofa. He sat down, kept her tucked firmly in his lap, and buried his face in her hair.

"You're not going back to London for croissants," he murmured into her neck.

Mimi laughed, hugging him tight. "I don't need to. I have everything I want right here. Even if he is a bit of a territorial diva."

Jamal didn't argue. He just tightened his hold, finally relaxed now that the world was once again reduced to just the two of them. He had faced the best defenders in the world without breaking a sweat, but it turned out that a quiet conversation between his girlfriend and his teammate was the one thing that could truly throw him off his game.

"I'm not a diva," he muttered one last time, though the way he nuzzled into her suggested otherwise.

Mimi just smiled, closing her eyes and leaning into his warmth. She knew the truth, and she wouldn't have it any other way.