see you later // Pablo Gavi

Chapter 103

~ Author's Note ~

You guys watch the matches today?

How did Valencia do against Sevilla??? I didn't watch it and I don't feel like looking it up. Whoever actually tells me gets reader brownie points.

Also, censored swearing.

𝑪𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒄𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎?

"𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋?" I ask him over dinner later on in the day.

"Uh... maybe? I was gonna throw it away; I just forgot."

"Just like you did with my number?" I grin.

"Yeah, I guess so," he shrugs. "I was made for you, though. Fate made sure it worked out. You're mine, Ember. So I don't see anything wrong with throwing away with girl's."

"Sure, sure," I nod with a smile.

"Why'd you ask?"

I think a few seconds, trying to find the answer somewhere in my brain, before finally saying, "I think I want it."

He looks surprised at this. "How come?"

I shrug. "I feel bad. She just won't get a response. I don't want you to respond, obviously. I don't want you texting other girls. Duh. But I think it might be nice to respond to her. Explain I'm the girl that was with you. Your 'friend'. You know? I don't know, though..."

"Well, if you want to, sure. I don't see a problem with that." He starts digging in his pockets, before finally pulling out a crumpled piece of paper, unfolding it, looking at it for a few seconds, before smiling, shaking his head, and handing it to me. "There you go," he says, shaking his head, before continuing to eat.

I unfold the piece of paper, too, and look at it. Above the number, there's a little note. It reads in nice swirly handwriting, I think you seem really cool and hot and you're a real cute. Here's my number: XXX-XXX-XXXX. I know you probably wont text me, but it's worth a shot. <3 I love u Gavi!

"Oh, isn't that kind of sweet, though?"

He shrugs, putting more food in his mouth. "I guess. All girl fans are like that. And I'd never do something like that, because you're mine, and only mine. That'd be pretty awful if I started checking out and texting some other random girl fan. I think it's fine if you want to text her, though. But it's not right for me to text her back, because I've got you. Obviously she's asking for more than friendship here, but even if she wasn't, that'd still be awfully disloyal of me to text her. I mean, that's not right. I wouldn't like you to be taking numbers from other guys, would I? Even if they promised nothing more than friendship."

"Yeah," I shrug with a nod. "I guess that makes sense."

He nods as well. "I would hope it does. Anyway, what do you want to do now that we're done eating?"

I shove the paper in my pocket, looking at his pretty eyes for a few seconds, before saying, without thinking- more like blurting very suddenly, "We should work out."

His whole face seems to light up at this idea, and he says very quickly, "Sure! Let's go to my gym!" He leaps up off the chair, and he can be so cute sometimes. Suddenly he stops, saying, "Wait, you don't have workout clothes with you though."

I shrug, taking off my shirt. "I've got a sports bra on. I could just wear a pair of your sweatpants real tight on my waist, if there's drawstrings.

He stares a few seconds at me, and I roll my eyes, crossing my arms, tilting my hip. "Hey, buddy, you hear me? Sweatpants with drawstrings! I'll meet you in the workout room!"

"Sure, right," he responds, springing back into action as he heads to go do that.

I hum to myself happily as I go to the workout room. The real reason why I very suddenly blurted that we should workout is obviously not because I thought it'd be oh-so-romantic to run on treadmills together. No. And it's not because I'm particularly in the mood for it, either. But there is something I am in the mood for, and that's why I offered to do that- and that's seeing my boyfriend shirtless, sweat running down him, red in the face, because that's just hot.

In multiple senses, I guess.

I'm about to let my fantasies carry me further off of the face of the earth, when Pablo opens the door, tossing me a pair of sweatpants. He's wearing a long-sleeve sweat absorbing shirt, white exercise shorts, and green sneakers. He's about to get on the treadmill, but I say, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you think you're doing in that, love?" After I slip off my pants, putting the sweatpants on and tying the drawstring in a bow.

He looks at me in concerned confusion, saying, "Wait, what?"

I walk over to him, pulling the ends of his shirt off, saying very bluntly, "Take this off."

"Oh? Why is that?" he asks as a smirk forms on his face. This little prideful s***head.

"Because there's no point in working out if you don't take that off, love. It's no fun if I don't get to see your muscles. Stop giving me that smug look! It's only fair. I mean, I'm not wearing a shirt, am I?"

"Good point," he rolls his eyes, and tears it off in probably the most sexy way humanly possibly, grabbing the opposite sides of the bottom and throws it off over his head. "Better, weirdo?"

"Better," I say, and we both get running on the treadmills. Every time I start staring at him, he catches me, and every time he starts staring at me, I catch him. Every time, this ends in him chuckling and me giggling.

We run for a while, and I gaze upon his muscles as they move under his skin, his sweaty hair on his forehead, the bulging muscles in his legs as he runs, the redness in his face, the sweat as it runs down his neck, the veins that every so often pop in his forehead. These signs only start happening way after I've stopped running out of exhaustion, and have moved on to lifting. The endurance of how long he runs is insane. And the endurance of how long it takes him to get tired as he runs is only the endurance of a great footballer like him.

He finally gets off the treadmill, and is about to go to stretching out his muscles more, but I say, "Not so fast, handsome. C'mere."