Jealousy

The Munich heat was unrelenting, a thick blanket of humidity that turned the Allianz Arena into a shimmering cauldron of energy. Nini stood in the VIP stands, the roar of sixty-five thousand fans vibrating through the soles of her sneakers. Usually, she was the girl in the oversized Musiala jersey, the fabric drowning her petite frame as she blended into the sea of red and white. But today, the heat had prompted a change in strategy.

She leaned against the railing, feeling the sun on her skin. She had chosen a crisp, white blouse—cropped short enough to reveal the soft curve of her stomach and the subtle piercing in her navel. The V-neckline was daring but elegant, framing the delicate lines of her collarbones and the small, confident curve of her chest. Paired with tight, low-rise jeans that hugged her hips, she looked less like a soccer fan and more like a summer daydream.

Nini wasn't oblivious to the stares, but she didn't shrink from them either. She had spent years learning to love her body, and today, she felt radiant.

When the whistle blew and the game shifted into high gear, she forgot about the outfit entirely. Her eyes were locked on Jamal. She watched the way he moved—fluid, rhythmic, like he was dancing through the opposition’s defense. Every time he touched the ball, her heart did a little stutter-step.

In the 74th minute, Jamal received a pass on the edge of the box. With a flick of his ankle that defied physics, he ghosted past two defenders and slotted the ball into the bottom left corner.

The stadium erupted.

Nini leapt into the air, her hands flying to her hair as she screamed in delight. Her curls bounced wildly around her face, and for a fleeting second, the cropped hem of her blouse rode up even further as she reached for the sky. She was a picture of pure, unadulterated joy.

She didn't notice the shutters clicking from the press pit below. She didn't notice the man standing two seats over, his eyes momentarily diverted from the pitch to the sliver of golden skin at her waist, his expression one of pure, caught-in-the-headlights admiration.

By the time the final whistle blew and Bayern had secured a 3-0 victory, Nini was exhausted, sweaty, and completely unaware that she was currently trending on three different social media platforms.

---

The drive home was quiet. Jamal was usually buzzing after a win, but the post-match recovery session had left him drained. It wasn't until he was showered, fed, and collapsed onto his oversized grey sofa that he finally picked up his phone.

His notifications were a mess. That wasn't unusual, but the nature of them was. Usually, it was highlight reels of his goals or tactical breakdowns. Tonight, his tagged photos were flooded with something else entirely.

"What is...?" he muttered, scrolling with a frown.

He stopped dead.

The first photo was a high-resolution shot of the stands. It was Nini. She looked breathtaking. Her head was thrown back in a laugh, her brown curls caught in a halo of sunlight. The white blouse stood out starkly against the red seats behind her. The caption read: Who is the mystery girl at the Allianz today? The summer heat just got ten times hotter.

Jamal felt a strange tighten in his chest—a mix of pride and a sudden, sharp prickle of possessiveness.

He swiped to the next image. This one was the kicker. It was the moment she had celebrated his goal. The camera had caught her in mid-air, her stomach exposed, her face glowing with pride for him. But the focus of the internet wasn't just on her joy; it was on the guy standing next to her. The man was staring at Nini’s waist with an expression that could only be described as mesmerized.

The comments section was a war zone.

“Can we blame him? Look at her!” one user wrote.

“She’s officially the national team’s new sweetheart. Jamal, you lucky man, we know she’s yours.”

“The way he’s looking at her... I’d be doing the same thing. Absolute smoke show.”

Jamal tossed his phone onto the cushion next to him, rubbing his face with his hands. He loved that Nini was confident. He loved that she felt beautiful. But seeing thousands of strangers dissecting the curve of her waist and the way her blouse fit made his blood simmer.

The front door clicked open. Nini walked in, kicking off her sneakers and sighing in relief. She was still wearing the white blouse, though she’d thrown a light cardigan over it for the drive.

"Hey, superstar," she chirped, walking over to the sofa and leaning over the back to kiss his cheek. "Amazing game. That goal was world-class."

Jamal looked up at her, his dark eyes swirling with emotions she couldn't quite read. "Thanks, Nini."

She frowned, sensing the tension. "Everything okay? You look like you’re overthinking a missed pass, and you didn't even miss any today."

Jamal reached for his phone and turned the screen toward her. "You haven't checked your socials, have you?"

Nini took the phone, her eyes widening as she scrolled. She saw the photo of her jumping—the way her blouse had lifted, the way the light hit her skin. Then she saw the photo of the guy staring at her. She let out a soft, surprised laugh.

"Oh wow," she whispered. "I didn't even see him looking."

"Everyone else did," Jamal said, his voice a bit deeper than usual. He stood up, closing the distance between them. He was much taller than her, and even in his relaxed joggers, he cut an intimidating figure. "The whole internet is calling you their 'favorite hot girl,' Nini."

Nini looked up at him, a playful glint in her eyes. She liked it when he got like this—a little protective, a little intense. It was a side of Jamal the public rarely saw. "Are you jealous, Bambi?"

Jamal let out a huff, crossing his arms. "I’m not jealous. I just... I don't like the way that guy was looking at you. Like you were a trophy or something."

Nini stepped around the sofa, sliding her arms around his waist. She pressed her face against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. "Jamal, I was wearing that because I felt good. And I was cheering because I was proud of you. That guy could have been staring all day, but I only had eyes for the number 42 on the pitch."

Jamal sighed, his tension bleeding away as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him. His hands rested right on the small of her back, his fingers grazing the skin that had been the subject of so many comments tonight.

"I know," he murmured into her hair. "It’s just... you looked incredible today. I didn't even get to tell you because I was focused on the game. When I saw you in the stands, I almost lost my footing."

Nini pulled back, a smirk playing on her lips. "Really? The great Jamal Musiala distracted by a little white blouse?"

"It wasn't just the blouse," he admitted, his gaze dropping to her lips. "It was you. You looked so confident. So happy."

He picked up his phone again, scrolling past the viral shots until he found a third photo that hadn't circulated as much as the others. It was a candid shot of Nini during the quiet moments of the match. She was looking down at the field, a soft, tender smile on her face, her hand resting over her heart.

"This one is my favorite," Jamal whispered, showing her the screen. "Because I know you’re looking at me there."

Nini felt a flush creep up her neck that had nothing to do with the Munich heat. "I was. I always am."

Jamal tossed the phone away again, this time not caring where it landed. He picked her up by the waist, lifting her easily as if she weighed nothing at all. Nini let out a squeak of surprise, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

"Jamal!"

"If the internet wants to talk about my girl, they can talk," he said, his eyes dark and focused. "But they don't get to see this part."

He carried her toward the kitchen, setting her down on the marble countertop. The cool stone was a sharp contrast to the warmth of his hands. He stepped between her knees, his palms flat against the counter on either side of her.

"You went viral, Nini," he said softly, his face inches from hers. "People are calling you a goddess. A fashion icon. The 'it' girl."

"And what do you call me?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Jamal leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck, right where a stray curl rested. "Mine," he whispered. "I call you mine."

Nini reached out, her fingers tangling in his short hair, pulling him closer. The viral pictures, the comments, the millions of eyes—it all faded into the background. In this apartment, away from the flashing lights and the roaring crowds, there was only the two of them.

"Good," she breathed against his lips. "Because I don't think I’d fit into anyone else's jersey quite as well."

Jamal laughed, the sound vibrating through her chest, before he leaned in to reclaim the attention that, for one afternoon, the rest of the world had tried to steal. The internet might have discovered Nini today, but Jamal had known she was a star from the very beginning. And he had no intention of letting her orbit anyone but him.