“Are you serious?” You groan when the old clock radio on your nightstand wakes you at 4am with incessant screeching.
“Deadly serious.” Chibs reaches across to turn off the alarm. He smiles and kisses you, but stops you gently when you try to wrap your legs around him. “It’s half an hour to kick off.” He says.
It’s the day of the Celtics vs. Rangers game and the time difference between Scotland and Cali is ruining your day before the sun is even up.
“I’ll go make coffee.” You mumble, but Chibs isn’t listening.
He’s rummaging around in the back of the closet for his Bobby Lennox jersey. When you two moved in together, you made him keep it in a shoe box at the back of the closet. You’re not heartless, but part of Chibs’s match day superstition is to never, ever wash it. Ever.
He has owned the jersey since the 80s, when he was a much younger, much slimmer man. Chibs is wearing it when he joins you in the kitchen and you can’t hide a grin at the sight of the fabric stretched tightly over his torso and a bit of tummy hanging out under the hem.
“Coffee?” You offer him a cup. You brace yourself for the onslaught of odor from the repulsive garment. You really hate that thing.
When Chibs walks over to you, all you smell is his cologne.
“You smell nice.” You say gratefully.
“I want you to watch with me.” Chibs says and pulls you in for a kiss. When you embrace him, you feel something at his back. A package is tucked into the hem of his trousers.
“What’s this?” You ask and Chibs hands you a padded envelope with the Celtics logo stamped on the front.
“For you. All the way from Paradise.” Chibs smiles and watches as you open it.
You pull out a Celtics home jersey with your name on the back.
“I love it.” You take off the shirt you slept in and put on the jersey. The fabric is cool against your skin and Chibs licks his lips hungrily when he sees your hard nipples press through the shirt.
“Hold that thought.” You wink and push past him. Turn on the tv and on the way to the couch you grab your iPad. “So, who is playing again?”
“Don’t try me, lass, not today.” Chibs brings both your coffees with him when he joins you on the couch.
You have one eye on the tv, where three men are discussing formations and the other on your iPad where you googled the Celtics team roster. You’re happy to admit you’re not an expert, but you’ll make damn sure you won’t embarrass yourself.
Chibs puts his arm around you and pulls you closer. There’s the scent of coffee, the warmth of your man’s body next to yours and through the window you see the pink sky of sunrise. Everything is so pleasant, you almost forgive Chibs for getting you up at the ass crack of dawn.
You realize this is not going to be a relaxing morning, when the second the ref whistles for kick off, Chibs leans forward and yells:
“FUCKING DO ‘EM, LADS.”
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed that.
I tried to mix US and Brit soccer/football terms since the girl in the story lives in the US and learns about football from Chibs. If I made any terrible blunders, please let me know.