Toni met Steve during the week, even mothered him in his worry over her, but now it’s time for her and Steve to get back to the routine of being friends. Except with Toni as a woman.

They’re meeting early in the morning to watch a football match in the same bar they always watch football matches in. Whether it’s weird for her, or Steve, or the same it as it always was is a different matter. Toni certainly isn't making predictions of what might happen.

--------------------

I don’t know how long I’ve been doing this. Being me. Being Toni. It’s been a week, I guess, and not even a full week with a couple of days at work, but looking around my bedroom the evidence I’m not old Tony any more seems to be mounting.

There’s dresses thrown over a chair, pantihose bundled on the floor, there’s even a bra resting on a seat. And it’s not a bra from a girl I’ve had over. It’s my bra! Why am I doing this? But I’m thinking that to myself as I lay out my clothes for the day. Laying out a denim dress. Which is the answer, I suppose. I want to do this. People know me as Toni. Jess and Sally only know Toni. I kissed Jackson during the week. I’m meeting up with Tim today and he sneaked a kiss last night, after walking me home. I’ve kissed more boys in one week than women in the past year. And that woman was Sally kissing Toni, which did nothing for either of us.

I guess I just have to accept this. Apart from one panic moment I’ve been good. It makes sense, not that I’ve really pulled apart my thoughts. I have so much going on I don’t have time to stop and think. I’ve gone from going out one night a week, a quiet night at that, to constantly having things to do.

Is that it? Am I just occupied now? If I got really into pottery making would I feel the same? I should probably talk to someone about everything. But again, I don’t have the time.

I shower, and shave pretty much everywhere, while trying to slow my thoughts down. It doesn’t really work, I’m just looking forward. It’s early in the day, still dark outside, and I’m meeting Steve to watch a soccer game as soon as the bar opens, then I’m getting my nails done, then I’m meeting Tim, maybe. If he shows up. If I don’t chicken out.

I make myself a coffee and sit myself down in my new fluffy bathrobe. I’m not wearing makeup, my hair isn’t done, and sure, I have no body hair, really, but under the robe I’m still all boy. I just don’t feel it. I don’t know what I feel. What does it feel like to feel like a boy? Or a girl? There’s moments I don’t feel anything about myself, I’m just operating as normal, and that’s most of the time. And then there are moments where everything feels so alive. And then there are times I’m terrified but it doesn’t seem like I have any real choice but to push through them.

I message Steve a “You awake?” And he’s back to me quickly with “Yeah, leaving soon. Everything OK?”

I don’t know why I messaged him. I know he’ll be at the bar. He said he was going no matter what. I just want to touch someone, figuratively. To reach out and be acknowledged. “Yeah, fine. See you soon.”

I do my makeup in my bathroom mirror, then tease my hair into shape. This whole morning sort of feels out-of-body. Like I’m watching me, or even watching someone else go through their routine. I try and shake the thought from my head and go back into the bedroom looking at the clothes I laid out. I’m still feeling separated from myself. For some reason I pull out the sexy, black thong Steve got me the night this all started and put it on. Maybe feeling hot will get me more into myself? Then it’s on with the opaque pantihose, my new denim dress, short-ish sleeves, dark stitching and belt snugged in around the middle. I’m into my new Doc Marten Mary Janes which I honestly can’t believe I’ve found and then I’m filling out my purse and putting on my coat to leave.

Walking down the street I still feel disconnected from myself but it’s not a physical thing. I feel the cold wind whip around my legs, and I tug my coat in on me. I can feel the bite on my exposed hands. There’s very few people around this early on a weekend, and I’m kind of away from myself as I walk down the lit street. Really it’s that I feel more disconnected, mentally, like my thoughts aren’t quite mine or they’re distant.

I walk into the soccer bar in a stupor. A bar where it’s not that quiet for just after 7am. There’s plenty of people in jerseys and plenty of people drinking. I glance around trying to find Steve and become aware I’m pretty much the only woman in here. Well, sort-of woman. But there’s still time before the game.

Peter is standing at the bar and I go over to him. “Hey,” I say.

“Hello, Toni. Are we indulging with the Full English this morning?”

I smile thinking of how great the burger I had here was the last time. “I will be. Not straight away, a little later. Have you seen Steve?”

Peter points towards the back of the bar, at the bench opposite the main wall of TVs where Steve is sitting in front of a low, round, polished wooden table with a beer on top of it. “Do you want a drink?” he asks.

“A shandy?” I say, knowing it’s been added to their drinks list after I asked for something low alcohol the other day.

“Do you want to use your free shandy with your breakfast for this one? Or will you save that?”

“I’ll save it, thanks,” I say, as Peter tops up the beer with the Sprite from the dispenser.

He hands over the large glass, “So? Who do you want to win? Liverpool or Everton?”

“I just want a good game,” I say, laughing. “Honestly. I don’t really follow anyone, I just like a good game.”

“That’s far too diplomatic for a soccer game. You might as well have said as long as they all have fun and no-one gets hurt. I should take your drink back. Fire you up a bit.”

I scowl at him. “If you do that I’ll turn into a proper hooligan and throw a chair through your window!”

“That’s the spirit!” Peter bellows, then he rotates the glass around in front of me so the logo is facing me. “I’m glad you’re back. And I want you in here more often, if that’s not too presumptuous.”

“It depends on how good the breakfast is. But yes...” I say, then I pick up the glass and make a face at him, while he looks faux hurt, before I go towards the back to join up with Steve.

I’m walking towards him when he stands, and kind of twists his arms. I look at him confusedly but he just sits back down again. “Sorry,” he says.

“What?” I ask, knowing that wasn’t him being weird with me, it was just him being generally, all around weird.

“I didn’t know if I should give you hug. We didn’t... You know? When you were...”

“Well a hug would be strange after that comment,” I say.

Steve rubs at his forehead. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he says.

“Do what?” I ask.

“I mean, you’re a girl now. And I dragged you out to watch football.”

“And?”

“Do girls watch football?” he asks.

“You’re a fucking moron, Steve,” I say. “I knew you were a bit dim before, but you’re reaching new depths here.”

“Sorry...” he says. “I’m just...”

“For fuck sake, Steve. It’s too early for this. I haven’t even taken a drink yet.”

He tilts my glass of shandy on the table. “What is it? It looks odd.”

“Try it.”

“What is it?”

“A shandy. I asked for low alcohol beer, they didn’t have any so Aaron came up with this.”

He twists the glass around on the table. “You haven’t actually said what it is.”

“Just fucking taste it, Steve. It’s nice. Stop being a fourteen year old.”

He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip. “It is nice.”

“See. Sprite and beer. And I won’t be rolling around the floor by the end of the match. Now can I drink my drink?” I ask.

“Sorry,” Steve says, and I feel a growl escaping my throat as his words register with me. He really is acting like a teenager, isn’t he?

I decide to take this back towards normal territory, where Steve isn’t being a giant idiot, at least until the game begins and he starts roaring at TVs. “How have you been since the other day?” I ask.

“I took Friday off. Too much partying, you know.”

“You weren’t partying,” I say, knowing full well he was in here complaining to Peter about me and my new situation.

“What makes you think that?” he asks.

“Peter told me you were in here, crying in your beer, and stronger I assume. About me.”

“You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” Steve asks.

“Well? Am I wrong?”

“How have you been?” Steve asks.

“The week was good. I got to work from home a bit. I went out. I got a few kisses. I’m meeting someone later today. This morning was a bit weird, though.”

“Kisses? Good for you!” Steve says, and he seems to have genuinely brightened up at that. “Who’s the lucky lady? Or ladies?”

“The lucky lady was me, Steve. And the men I kissed were very sexy and attractive. And I’m meeting Tim again later today.”

“OK. Wow! I didn’t know...” he says. “So you think men are attractive?”

“I’m not sure but kissing them is a lot of fun.”

“As long as it’s only kissing,” Steve says.

“Don’t be rude, Steve! What I do with the men in my life is up to me.” Not that I’ve actually done anything, not really. I suppose I did let my hands take over with Jackson.

“So you have thought about it?” Steve asks, wide eyed.

“Shouldn’t you be asking me out or buying me a drink before you’re coming out with those questions? Tim and Jackson were much better at flirting.”

“We’re not flirting!!” Steve gasps, looking like his eyes could fall out of his head.

“Oh please, you couldn’t resist me if I tried,” I say.

Steve takes a long drink from his beer, before nodding to himself, then going back for another go on his glass. “OK, that was different but this can work.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I was worried you and I would change. Things were always comfortable with us.”

“I was boring, you mean?”

“No! You were not boring. But you were funny, and calm, and seemingly unflappable, which annoyed me. You didn’t care about much. But things were easy with you, and I don’t want to lose that. And those few seconds of conversation were easy, if a little different.”

“You’re afraid of losing me?” I ask, slightly confused.

“Yeah! Of course. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and this is all so new from you. Such a big change. There could be other changes? I don’t know...”

It goes quiet, as more people are filling out the bar, and I realise I hadn’t thought about that. I have changed, fairly hugely, I suppose. I don’t know if I am different, but, like, objectively... To anyone looking in... “I didn’t think about that,” I say. “I don’t feel different. I’m still just me.”

Steve grimaces a little and speaks up. “But you are different, and I don’t just mean your name or your clothes, or kissing men. You’re more confident. You’re taking control of things. You’re even a bit sassy, which is something I can’t believe I’m saying. Why wouldn’t other things change?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say. I’m still doing things I did before. It has only been a week of Toni.

“You said you felt weird this morning, was that about coming here?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve wanted to talk to someone about that, actually,” I say, thinking about how everything was so confused this morning.

“So talk.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Why not?”

“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know. I felt disconnected from myself. Like I was watching myself.”

“An out of body thing?”

I think about that, and it was something I was thinking earlier but it’s not quite right. “Kind of?” I say. “It was like I was on autopilot. You know when you’re driving, and you’re zoned out going down the highway. You’re still aware of things. You’re paying attention to the road and possible dangers, but you’re kind of distant. You’re not really there but you’re ready to be if you have to be.”

“Yeah. Autopilot,” Steve says. “You’re just doing things naturally with nothing worrying you. You have to get somewhere, and if there’s no-one driving like a maniac around you, or there’s no heavy traffic you don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to think about anything. You can’t really do anything else, so if you have nothing to worry about your mind goes blank”

I’m not quite sure I get what he’s saying. “So I am on autopilot? When my mind goes blank?”

“It’s a good thing. Have you never felt that way?”

I squint a little at him. “Not like this I haven’t,” I say.

“Was it bad?”

“No...” It was just weird.

“Were you thinking about anything? Was there anything annoying you?”

“I mean I couldn’t figure out how I was feeling.”

“Apart from that. What were you doing?”

I think back to my morning, I showered and got dressed feeling like I did. I walked here feeling like I did. “I was just getting ready then walking here.”

“And you were distant and your mind was far away, not thinking about anything.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“You felt at peace. Not to get Buddhist on things but people need that. It’s natural. You’ve really never felt that way?”

“No...” I say, shaking my head. “Actually it wasn’t all morning. It was after I texted you. Well, after you texted back.”

“That’s sweet,” Steve says. “You’re cute.”

“What?” I ask.

“You wanted to see if our date was going ahead. And when it was you felt calm.”

“It’s not a date, you moron. We’re just watching soccer.”

“You couldn’t resist me if I tried,” Steve says.

“Oh, you’re awful! Using my own words against me!” I laugh at him and take a sip of my shandy.

“I mean, you are kinda cute,” he says. “For someone who’s been a girl a week.”

“I’m cute?” I ask.

“Yeah, kinda pretty. No comment on attraction or anything, I think of you as a little sibling. It’d be weird. But for a guy who doesn’t object to the trans thing I could see why they’d like you.”

I feel my insides tighten, or, I don’t know, get warmer? Get a little wriggly, maybe, at all this. “Is this how you get women?” I ask.

Steve nods. “Yep.”

“Well I should feel privileged you’re turning it on for me.”

“Could you resist me?” he asks.

“No. Of course I couldn’t resist you. And my panties are soaking now so how about a quickie in the toilet?”

“See. This is fun now. This is you being more confident. And why I wanted to apologise,” he says, as he reaches to his side and brings up a bag from a sports retailer. “I felt like shit for reacting like I did, and then you looked after me the other evening, and forced me to eat, and made me go home and get some sleep.”

“It was a really good burger, wasn’t it?”

“I had no idea!” Steve says.

“I’m getting the Full English for breakfast in a minute.”

“Let me continue you ditzy little blonde!” he says, and I wonder what I’d look like as a blonde. Or if I had a proper hairstyle. “As I was saying, I wanted to apologise, and I didn’t know if you’d come but knew if you did I had to say sorry, properly, and support you. And I knew it was the Liverpool v Everton game we’d be watching so I got you this,” he says as he takes something in red material out of the bag. “It’s the women’s Liverpool home jersey, in what should be your size.”

I’m shocked at this, Steve being thoughtful, but I kind of remember there were always times he’d pull off something like this. “Thank you, Steve! You shouldn’t have! I’m just happy things are normal now.”

“Yeah, it’s not just that,” he says. “The store workers spotted a sucker. A very tired and hungover sucker.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“I asked the woman there about the female jerseys, and I happened to let slip it was an apology gift. She kind of questioned me. Was a jersey an apology gift for me, or for the woman? Like, were you sporty, and would you maybe prefer some workout clothes, and...” He pulls another two bags up from beside him. “So yeah, they spotted a complete sucker,” he says as he slides up the seat a little and places the two bags he’s grabbed and the first one he had between us.

“What’s this? What did you do, Steve?”

“Just look,” he says.

In the bags, completely full bags, are leggings, yoga pants, running shorts, athletic tops, athletic hoodies, more, there’s even a couple of sports bras. There’s a swimsuit! Sandal like flip flops for around changing rooms and pools, and what looks like a towel.

“Why did you do this? You utter, complete idiot?” I say.

“The jersey is an apology, the rest is punishment for me getting into the state I did. Like I said, that store worker saw me coming. She took advantage of my delicate condition, really.”

“You have to take these back, Steve. I can’t keep these.”

“I’m not taking them back. The receipt is in there and I paid cash, so if you want to take them back you’re getting that cash into your hand, or a gift card, and I will refuse to take either of those things off you. So keep the workout gear.”

“I really can’t, Steve. This is way too much. I’ll keep the jersey but this is hundreds of dollars worth of clothes. It’s not fair on you,” I say. “This is really good quality stuff.”

Steve pulls a flier out from where it was resting at the bottom of one of the bags. “I thought you’d say that so how about we make a deal?”

“That quickie in the bathroom thing was a joke,” I say.

“I would hope so! No, look at this,” he says, handing me a flier of an enclosed urban astroturfed area with floodlights above it. “There’s a few of these groups, running 5-aside, 6-aside and 7-aside football. Once you’re ready will you sign up to one with me? And we can play football. It’s something I’ve wanted to do, and these are mixed gender, so it shouldn’t be an issue. All casual and for fun.”

I think about it for a few seconds before speaking up. “Yes? OK,” I say. “But we’re both rubbish at soccer though, you know that.”

“We can be rubbish together. It might be fun. And after you dragged me home the other night it occurred to me I want to stay close to you, and this could be a way.”

I draw a deep breath and think about it again for a few seconds. “OK. Deal. But I want to give you a hug now.”

“I’d quite like a hug. Might make some of the women in here take an interest in me.”

I laugh. “That’s bullshit. You just want a hug.”

“True,” he says.

I wrap my arms around him and give him the strongest hug I can manage. Then as I pull away he seems more peaceful than before. Like he’s watching something far away. At which I point I notice he is. He’s watching the game. I didn’t even realise it had started.

“OK. I’m ordering breakfast. And I’m getting you your breakfast, as a thank you. OK?”

“They do wings and sweet potato fries don’t they? At this hour?”

I growl at him again. “You know full well they do. It’s what you get every time we’re here.”

I walk up to the bar counter, where most people are turned to face a TV, and wait to catch Peter’s attention. Eventually he looks at me. “Breakfast?” I ask.

“Shoot,” Peter says.

“Yeah, the Full English, some wings, whatever kind really, Steve will eat anything, and some sweet potato fries. I’ll take the shandy and one of Steve’s beers now as well, please.”

He puts the order into the till then as he’s making my drinks asks me, “How has Steve been?”

“Better, I suppose. He’s still done some dumb things,” I say.

“Like what?” Peter asks, look of disapproval on his face.

“Well, it seems like he’s bought me half an athletics store as some kind of apology. Which he didn’t need to do. He just needs to stop being a moron.”

“Half an athletics store?” Peter asks.

“Yeah, he says he was suckered, but I think he just wants to make sure I’ll still be into sports and that. He’s talking about us playing 5-aside soccer.”

Peter nods. “Would you be interested in that? The soccer?”

“I mean, sure. I’m terrible at kicking a ball though. There was no-one really playing when we were kids, and if they did play they were always way better than us after starting with proper teams when they were six years old.”

“Yeah... I’m not saying you’re old, but some of the guys here are. Of course some turn into thugs on the pitch, lovable thugs, but thugs nonetheless, but most of them are decrepit. It’s mostly about getting the heart rate up and making an attempt at being fit. If you’re really thinking about this then give me a few days? Don’t sign up to any leagues or anything yet.”

“Yeah, we hadn’t planned. I’m so busy these days I don’t know how I make time for it.”

Peter places the glasses in front of me. “That’s pretty common. Either you’re so busy, whether it’s with kids or life in general, or you’re doing nothing so doing anything seems difficult. Like I said, give me a few days. And watch the group chat. Steve is better than the last time he was in here, right, though?”

“He is. A bit judgy, but he’s also kind of flirting with me. It’s weird. I think he took it strangely that I’m kind of seeing guys now.”

Peter looks a little confused at that. Like even he’s surprised that I’m trying to date men. But that’s not actually it, I realise. “You told him that on Wednesday.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, Brandon? Or Jackson or something? Both of you need to pull it together if you can’t even remember three days ago. So be sure to eat all of your breakfast. Including the mushrooms. Get some nutrition in you. Have you been eating?”

“Badly,” I say.

Peter shakes his head. “That’s not good. It’ll come back to haunt you as you age. Now, I love the breakfasts here, and the burgers and the fries and wings, but if you start eating right, healthily, I mean, at your age, things will get a lot easier as you’re older. You don’t want to turn thirty and realise you can’t demolish a plate of pork and carbs with no consequences, rather immediate consequence.”

“What about beer?” I ask, knowing this is a man running a bar with a kitchen who’s suddenly pushing health.

He laughs. “Oh! Beer is fine. It’s a liquid. Nothing wrong with liquids. They keep you hydrated.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, giving him a look as I take the glasses back to the table.

Then it’s just watching the match, complaining about bad ref decisions, about VAR messing up video calls, and generally thinking Liverpool should really be doing better than they are doing.

As our food arrives I say to Steve, “Maybe you jinxed Liverpool by getting me the jersey? Maybe I’m the curse?” And I see my plate is absolutely crammed with food.

There’s bacon, sausage, black pudding, two fried eggs, beans, mushrooms, fries, toast on the side in a basket and there’s even some fried tomatoes.

Steve looks at my plate with what looks like lust on his face. “Damn, that looks good. And like a coronary. But no, you’ve not jinxed anything. You’re probably the luckiest person I know at the moment.”

“Me? Lucky? Why?” I ask. My life has been turmoil this past week.

“Dude, you’re figuring yourself out. Some people never manage that. And you’re more confident. You said you kissed two dudes this week. You’re getting more dick than I’m getting tits to look at. And there’s two tits to every one dick.”

This takes me aback. “I am not getting dick!” I screech.

“Yeah, sure thing. You’ll be getting pounded before halloween comes. I know girls like you. You’re all little hotties.”

“Where the fuck is this coming from, Steve?” I ask, this has all taken a rapid turn towards Steve being an ignoramus.

“Not working?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t know. I wanted to try out dude talk with you, I suppose. Like we’d do when we were all, you know...”

“I’ve never talked like that,” I protest. “Like, literally never.”

“I don’t know...” Steve says.

“Come on, just eat your food, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he says, as he picks up a wing and tears into it with his teeth.

I begin on my Full English, starting with the sausage, which is nice. In fact the whole thing is nice, maybe not the beans though. They’re too sweet, like sugar has been poured into the sauce.

After a few minutes the server comes down to us. “Do you need more toast?” he asks me.

“Oh, no. Please. I don’t think I’ll even be able to finish this,” I say.

“Yeah?” Steve says. “Can I help?”

I push the plate towards him and say, “Dig in,” when he wraps and an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in in a squeeze. Then he’s destroying what’s left of my food.

“These beans are good,” he says. “Why didn’t you eat them?”

“They’re pure sugar!” I say.

“Yeah. Like I said, they’re good. Really good.”

“And now you’re fed are you less grumpy? And less weird?” I ask as the second half kicks off, with it still being a goalless tie.

“I don’t know, what would we normally talk about?” he asks.

“We’d just watch the game,” I say. And it’s true. We’d eat, and have a few beers, and watch the game, and I’d go home after and look at funny websites and waste my weekend. “I don’t know, Steve. Is this hard for you?”

“No!” Steve says, but I’m not sure I believe him. “I mean you’re different.”

“In what way?” I ask.

Steve turns around from his straight on view of the TV. “Dude, you’re a girl. That’s pretty different.”

“I’m not really. For all your talk of getting pounded that’s not really possible. I’m not an actual girl,” I say, and I’m thinking to myself Unfortunately.

Steve laughs. “I’m not going to explain that one to you.”

“What?” I ask, confused.

“You’re so innocent,” he says with a laugh.

And I’m still confused. Then it dawns on me. I’ve joked about it, and teased Steve with it, but I haven’t actually considered it. “Ew! Jesus, Steve. No! I can’t believe I’m talking to you about that. You’re not talking to me about that.”

“Your boyfriend will want to do it. You’re not going to be chaste the whole time.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” I say. I’ve just kissed a few, and yeah, thought about some things. But I haven’t actually done anything.

“You actually don’t know how cute you are now,” Steve says.

I’m not cute! Then I say it aloud. “I’m not cute! Steve!!”

“Oh wow, now you’re getting pouty! You’re fucking adorable. Every predator within a hundred yards has his defilement sensors going off.” Steve is enjoying this too much. He’s completely stopped watching the match and is looking at me, broad smile on his face and laughter in his eyes. “Go on, stomp your feet.”

And the bar erupts in a cheer. We both look up at the TV and Liverpool have finally scored. “Come on!” Steve yells. Then he turns back to me after the replays. “You know, be careful,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“You probably don’t get this, seeing as you were never really a dude, but some of us can be really, well... Eh... I don’t know...”

“What are you saying, Steve?” I ask.

“Not everyone will be kind to you. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I nod, not really knowing what to say to that but some words somehow slip out. “OK, then look after me.”

“You wouldn’t mind that?” he says. “Me protecting you?”

“Would you want to?” I ask. “Would it not be weird?”

This time Steve does fully tear his attention away from the screen. “I’m terrified for you. I know what guys can be like. I know what some would do to you. And this is my fault. I put you in a dress. I have to look after you. It’s my responsibility. That’s kind of part of why I got you the sports clothes as well. Just normal stuff. Because you’re normal. And I wanted to dress you slutty last weekend. I didn’t know what you were. Who you were.”

“It’s not your responsibility, but I don’t mind you looking out for me,” I say, realising this has taken a turn towards the serious.

“I would go to prison for life if someone hurt you, Toni. I mean that. I really do. If they’re alive after I get through with them they’d be lucky.”

“I don’t need that, Steve. I don’t need you getting aggro.” And the thought of Steve being a rampaging barbarian destroying anyone who even looks at me flashes through my mind.

“No. You’ve already agreed to this. And anyway, you can do this for me. I’ll feel better if you let me look after you. This isn’t all about you.”

I think about that for a few seconds, not knowing what it’d actually mean. Not in reality. “OK. You can look out for me. But now I have to use the bathroom and you can’t look out for me in there.”

And soon I’m in one of the three women’s stalls sitting down to pee. I hear someone else in here and my heart rate raises. I try to assure myself that Peter said this was all OK. It’s his bar, and he seems fine with me.

I fix up my dress and leave the stall and there’s a woman looking in the mirror as she stands in front of a sink.

I go to wash my hands. She looks at me in the reflection and says, “I’m so happy for you!”

“What?” I ask, aware of my man voice in here, of all places.

“I’ve seen you in the bar a few times before. It’s good to see you being you. Are you happier?”

“Yeah. I am,” I say, a little confused.

“It’s a good sign for here as well. It means people feel safe here,” she says as she dries her hands with a paper towel. “You look amazing.” Then she’s gone. And I don’t know what happened.

I sit back down, next to Steve, still confused. “You’re not staying for the next game, are you?” he asks.

“No. I’m meeting Jess and Sally.”

“Good,” he says.

“What!? Do you not want me here?” I ask, still confused from my bathroom encounter but now getting indignant at Steve.

“When you were in the toilet I realised we’ve talked more than we normally do. And I haven’t been able to pay as much attention to the match. While you were doing lady things—”

“Peeing, Steve.”

“Yeah, lady things, I realised I could actually focus on the game.”

This has come as a bit of a shock, but I suppose we have talked more than usual. “It’s a good thing I’m leaving then.”

“Yeah, I love you, but you just talk and talk...”

“You love me?” I ask, with a smile.

“Like a sister!” Steve says.

I take out my phone and check to see if there’s any messages from Jess and Sally, or anyone else. There’s not, but there is something in the bar’s group chat. Peter has been talking to some people and it seems he’s thinking about setting up another 6-aside tournament, or league or something. There’s people in here interested, at least me and Steve, I guess, and he’s seeing if anyone else would be. And whether people would want a multi-week thing running on a week night, or a full day long tournament on the weekend.

From the reaction he’s gotten, already, at just 9am, it seems people are interested, and he’s run events like this before.

I turn to Steve. “That football thing you said, it might be happening sooner than you think.”

“How do you mean?” he asks.

“Peter was talking about running a tournament or league, or something, from the bar.”

Steve pulls me in in a one armed hug and grasps onto me. “Oh yes!” he says. “We’ll be banging in goals like nobodies business!”

As he’s holding me in in exuberance, I don’t know why, but I lean in closer to him. I kind of relax into him. Then his arm stays around me. For the rest of the match. Where we don’t talk but I feel him holding me. It feels good. And weirdly I’m a little turned on. Am I turned on by my best friend? Would I?!

I chase that thought from my mind and just think it’s because I’m close to him. It’s nothing weird, and I’m allowed enjoy this. He is a guy. And he said he’d protect me. And that’s kind of how I feel in his arms.

As the final whistle blows he releases me and turns to smile at me. “That was a good game,” he says. “At least after the first half.”

“Yeah, I had fun. And I’m stuffed. I won’t need to eat again today.”

“I didn’t mean that about it being good that you’re leaving. If you want to stay all day with me I’m one hundred percent fine with it. And Alan is coming later.”

A thought runs through my mind about how I’d be happy staying here with him. Even just in his arms, all day long. “No. I’ve got a nail appointment. I should leave soon.”

“No claws, please,” Steve says. “And don’t forget your stuff. It did cost me a fortune.”

“You shouldn’t have, really.”

“But I did. And now we’re going to be playing soccer.”

I stand and adjust my clothes, tugging out the wrinkles. “You can finish my shandy if you want,” I say.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“And how about we actually do that hug this time? I enjoyed my morning.”

Steve stands and there’s a look of kindness in his eyes, a look of compassion almost. He takes me in a bear hug, almost lifting me off my feet. “This was good,” he says into my ear. “We can do this.”

And then I’m walking out of the bar towards my nail appointment, knowing things are different with Steve but it could be OK. We can do this.