I can’t help but stare, I shouldn’t, but I do. You’re funnily bad at football and you’re really trying your hardest on the pitch, I think you only look good while doing it is because you’re so gorgeous.

I’ve been watching you for awhile, just sneaking a few glances at you while you’re training on the other side of the field as I’m walking to the changing rooms or just when you’re sitting around on benches. I’ve joined you a few times because everyone knows that I can’t keep my mouth shut when you get me going.

I’ve talked your ear off a few times. Who new that I could say so much? ‘Cause I didn’t. I think I’m really trying to impress you and I don’t even realise it, even though you’re worser at football than I am.

I spot you on the pitch walking around a little too cluelessly to even be on the pitch at this point but it’s actually adorable. I subtly walk over, not wanting you or anyone else to notice that I’m just trying to get close to you again. Someone on my team scores a goal while I’m making my way over to you and I’m watching as everyone celebrates. I clearly wasn’t watching where I was going and neither were you, we bump into each other and I look down at you with a smile.

“Sorry, love.” I apologise with a friendly smirk. “You alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I make sure to check up on you, just to keep the conversation flowing a little longer than it should be.