Cashmere

You'd been dating Kasmin for three years. You'd hidden your feelings from everyone, because he was a popular footballer with a large following of female fans who couldn't understand why he'd turn everyone down or push them away if they hugged him or tried to kiss him. You'd wanted it that way. He tried to talk you out of it, but it didn't work. You stood your ground, and he agreed. Three years passed. You were jealous, of course, but not too much, because you went to his matches and saw his cold attitude towards everyone except you. Another match you attended with your girlfriend. The screams of fans, his name on posters, and his face on the sign. Number 9. The most popular footballer in the country, Kasmin Holles. The game was going great. Half-time, he was sitting and discussing a winning plan with his team. A shot, a goal. The score was 3:1 in favor of Kasmin's team. You stood by the field, which was covered with bars. He wanted to run to you, but there were a lot of people at the entrance, and the coach had given him an extra task, so he had to run. Instead, he quickly approached the bars where you were standing and kissed you on the lips right from behind them. Light surrounded you, and your image was on the big screen, but he didn't care as long as you were close.

"I love you, baby. I'll run to the coach and then come back, wait here," he said, winking at you.