Oliver felt light headed. He wasn't sure if it was from kissing Ayla or from, well kissing Ayla. Dear Merlin that girl could drink. He had been able to taste the Fire whisky on her breath. He even felt a bit tipsy, it was a wonder the girl could stand let alone form coherent sentences. He grinned, she was almost adorable when she was drunk. He couldn't keep his mind off the way her face and lit up when he had told her they were going home. And the way she had blushed and swayed slightly after he kissed her cheek.
The second kiss shouldn't have happened though. He couldn't afford to be distracted by a witch this early on in his career. Even if that witch was funny, pretty, intelligent, knew shed loads about Quidditch and had a smile that made Oliver feel nervous, as if he had a very important match to play. He needed to concentrate. On Quidditch.
Besides it wasn't like he knew anything real about her. He didn't know her favourite flavour ice cream. Or colour. Or what Quidditch team she supported. But he had a sneaking suspicion it was Puddlemere. No for all he knew she could be one of those crazed stalker people the other guys on the team kept talking about. Right now Quidditch was the only woman in his life, and he loved her dearly.
Still Ayla was much prettier than a Quaffle. She was probably a damn sight more comfortable to sleep with too. No, bad thoughts get out of my head. Oliver shook his head, trying to dislodge the image he had of Ayla sleeping. In his bed. She was great to talk with too, especially about Quidditch. She wasn't one of those silly little girls who said it was 'just a game' and 'no big deal'. It was a big deal, it was a huge deal. Ayla knew it was a sport. A serious, time consuming sport. He was sure she'd understand. The kiss had been a mistake. A very nice and pleasant mistake, but a mistake all the same.
Besides he wasn't even sure if she felt the same. It wasn't like she had hit him, which probably meant something good, he thought, or possibly something bad depending on how you looked at it. It was possible that she liked him. Very possible he thought to himself. But it didn't matter he didn't have time for relationships. Plus there was always the possibility that she was so drunk she wouldn't remember a thing about tonight. Oliver wasn't sure how he felt about that. It might be helpful he thought, he crossed his fingers and hoped for the best. Whatever it was.
He looked up at the sky and found himself wondering what Ayla was doing right now. Probably passed out on the floor with the beast standing guard over her. If anything was going to happen between them that monster would be gone faster than a speeding Bludger. Not that anything would (or, he wondered, should that be could?) happen, he shook his head once more, trying to get the girl out of his head.
"Keep your mind on the game Ollie old boy." his voice broke the clear silence that hung around him.
She could be completely perfect but he'd still be willing to bet that she wouldn't understand the level of commitment his job deserved. He'd lost count at the number of times the other lads had complained about arguing with their wives and girlfriends, about the amount of training they did. It was unbelievable. He knew that most of the lads blamed him. Of course they did, he was the Captain after all. But if you want to get somewhere you need to put the work in. And none of them complained when the team won, which they always did. Oliver thought a few arguments were a small sacrifice to pay for being the best team in the league. Which they were, by far. And who didn't want to date one of the nation's best players? It was win-win really.
Still, it must be nice to have someone to go home to after a hard days training. Someone to fall asleep with on the sofa. Someone to take to those stupid society Balls, in order to avoid the scary stalker types, and his favourite comment of 'Oh alone again? Well never mind". Never mind what he wanted to know?
When he was finally at his front door he was exhausted. It had been a longer walk than he had expected. Still nothing wrong with a bit of exercise. Maybe he should get the rest of the team to run some laps? It may just benefit them, he thought, at least it'll get rid of they're Butterbeer guts anyway. Putting that thought to the back of his mind he pulled out his model of Puddlemere's training grounds. He wanted to sort out a few strategies for their next match. He wasn't sure who they'd be playing but there was nothing wrong with being prepared in Quidditch.
Maybe he'd invite Ayla to the next match? He drifted off into a daydream, where his team had just won and Ayla was gazing at him lovingly with admiration in her eyes. And he kissed her again. Maybe he was injured too, and she could take care of him? That would be nice.
No! Concentrate. He stifled a giant yawn and knew that it would be useless to carry on now, he should just go to sleep.
He fell into bed, scratching his leg. He briefly wondered whether kneazle bites were poisonous before he fell into a deep sleep. He woke a few hours later, having dreamt his leg was growing fur and he was turning into a were-kneazle. He reached down to rub his leg. It didn't fell any hairier than normal. Still, he'd best check with the team's medi-wizard tomorrow. Better to be safe than hairy. Plus he wasn't sure he'd be able to block and catch the Quaffle with claws. It might make things a bit difficult for him, assuming they'd let him carry on playing of course. Now that was a scary thought.
He fell back to sleep and resumed his dream about Ayla. However in this version not only had they won the match, but he had single handedly defeated Voldemort. Saved Harry Potter from a fate worse than death. And rescued a few babies from a burning building in the mean time. While all this happened Ayla stood off to the side lines, cheering him on while wearing a shirt that proclaimed her un-dying love for him. Which was nice.
