Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“I can show you,” I murmur, my voice lower now, rougher. “If you like.”
Her pulse hammers beneath my fingers, her breathing shallow.
I watch as her pretty pink tongue slips out to wet her lips, and that does something to me.
I swear she’s about to close the distance - her fingers tightening slightly against my wrist, her body leaning in just the smallest fraction - when suddenly, something shifts.
A flicker of awareness flashes across her face, like she’s just remembered herself.
Just remembered what this is.
She blinks, and then pulls away.
Her hands press against my chest, not forceful, but firm enough to put space between us; and just like that, the moment is gone.
Daphne exhales sharply, as if trying to physically push the moment away along with me. I watch as she squares her shoulders, tilts her chin up, and fixes me with the kind of look that tells me I’m about to get a dressing down.
Heaven knows how much I love it when she does that.
“Listen to me, Rossi,” she says, her voice tight, controlled. “I might have to tolerate you. I might have to work with you. But don’t mistake that for anything more.”
“Tolerate me? That’s a bit harsh,” I smirk.
She ignores me, which is disappointing.
I love getting under her skin.
“And just so we’re crystal clear, I do not have a crush on you. I don’t even like you. In fact, I find you incredibly annoying -”
“Annoying?” I interrupt, feigning offense.
“Yes. You’re smug, you’re arrogant, you have an ego the size of this entire stadium.”
“Careful, giornalista,” I murmur. “You’re starting to sound obsessed.”
She splutters as her hands clench into fists at her sides.
“You. Are. Unbearable.”
I tilt my head as my eyes flicker over her pretty face.
“You know, you seem to notice a lot about me. My ego, my attitude, my habits. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s almost like you pay very, very close attention.”
“I’m paid to be here,” she tells me. “I’m paid to tolerate you - to notice you, to pay attention.”
I grin, loving every second of this.
“Are you sure you don’t have a little crush, bella?” I tease.
“Absolutely positive.”
“That’s a shame. Because I think about you a lot.”
I let my gaze drag lazily down her body before flicking back up to meet hers.
“And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the feeling is mutual.”
Her breath hitches slightly before she catches herself.
“No,” she says firmly, stabbing a finger at my chest. “You are not charming, Rossi. I know your type - you think the world revolves around you. That you can just smirk and flirt and everyone will fall at your feet. But I’m not impressed.”
“Not even a little?”
“Not. Even. A little."
I chuckle, crossing my arms.
“Alright, giornalista. If you say so.”
“I do say so,” she snaps, sounding close to childish as she pushes away from the wall. “And I mean it, Rossi - I am only around, only noticing, because I have to.”
And with that, she turns on her heel, storming off down the hall without so much as a glimpse back at me.
I watch her go, smirking to myself as she disappears around the corner.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
It’s going to be a very, very interesting few weeks.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Daphne
If there is a hell, I am living in it.
For the past two weeks, I have been forced to spend more time around Matteo Rossi than any one person should ever have to endure.
And the worst part?
People are loving it.
The viewers are eating it up.
Every single infuriating interaction, every snarky back-and-forth - I can barely look at social media without stumbling upon clips from our interviews, captioned with things like "these two have chemistry and they HATE it" or "this is just flirting disguised as an interview".
People don’t seem to realise that Matteo is not flirting.
He’s tormenting me. There’s a difference.
I’ve even seen a compilation video, of all things - a whole minute and a half of Matteo being an absolute menace, set to some stupidly romantic pop song.
And the comments.
Oh, god, the comments -
You can see Daphne’s soul physically leaves her body every time he speaks.
Matteo’s got that ‘annoying boy who pulls your pigtails on the playground’ energy.
She wants to throw hands but she also kinda wants to kiss him.
I am mortified.
The worst part is that I remember every ridiculous thing he’s said to me.
Like the time I asked him about what it is that keeps him motivated, and he responded with - and I quote:
"I wake up and I remember… I’m Matteo Rossi. That’s usually enough motivation."
Or when I asked about his pre-match rituals and he had the audacity to say -
"I wink at myself in the mirror. Works every time."
Or - my personal favourite - when I tried to have a serious discussion about leadership in the squad, and he just grinned and said: