One Good Man

He opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again. “I can’t talk about myself anymore. Truly. It’s so boring.”

“It’s not boring…”

“Let’s do something fun,” he said. “Have you ever touched a soccer ball before?”

I shot him a look. “I wasn’t raised in a cave.”

He laughed and handed me the black and white sphere. “Here. G

ive it a try.”

“Give what a try?”

“Bouncing it on your knee.”

“Why? So you can get a look up my skirt?”

“Obviously.”

I crossed my arms and he laughed.

“Come on. Just try. So you can put in your article you had hands-on experience.”

“I’m going to need that, since you’re done answering questions.”

He laughed. “Go on. The ball should hit your thigh, just above your kneecap.”

I blew air out my cheeks. “Alright, but just once.”

I took off my camera and set it in the grass next to my bag, then took a few steps back. I held the ball in front of me.

“Nice and easy,” Adrien said.

I nodded, let the ball drop, drove my knee up…and the ball flew straight at Adrien’s face. The whack of it hitting him stopped my heart. His hands flew to his nose and I let out a cry to see blood seep from his fingers.

“Mon Dieu!” I raced forward, pulling his hands away. “Oh, putain de Dieu, did I break it? I broke it. I broke your nose!”

“I’m fine,” Adrien said, tilting his head back. “I don’t think it’s broken…”

Blood dripped onto the white of his shirt, bright and stark, and my heart crashed in my chest at the sight.

“No, this is bad.” I bent to grab a handkerchief from my bag on the ground, and, craning on my toes, I held it gently to his nose. My other hand cradled the back of his head. “Come on. There’s an infirmary near here?”

Adrien chuckled, a muffled sound beneath my handkerchief. “I’m fine, really…”

“We have to be sure,” I said, walking him awkwardly toward the stadium exit. “You might have bone fragments in your brain or something…”

“I highly doubt that.”

I shook my head. “I knew playing around was a bad idea. If you had just let me interview you like a normal person…”

“So this is my fault?” he asked with a chuckle, letting me guide him toward the street.

“Oui,” I said. “I told you, I never touched a soccer ball in my life.”

“You told me you ‘weren’t raised in a cave.’”

“I…No more talking,” I stammered. “You’ll make it worse.”