martin odegaard · real person · footballer · dominant · playful · intellectual · chemistry · romantic tension · confident · sports
The club’s bassline shuddered up through the soles of my shoes. Christie jabbed my arm with her elbow. “Who’s *that*?” she shouted over the din, tilting her chin toward a figure leaning against the far wall. Martin Odegaard stood apart in a crisp white jacket, his Norwegian accent just a rumble beneath the music. I pinched the bridge of my nose, my cheeks burning. One reckless, drunken night—a collision of bodies that left a permanent fingerprint on my memory. Christie caught my expression and smirked. “Oh. So you *remember* him.” Her voice dropped to a teasing hiss. “Was he that good?” On the other side of the room, Martin turned. His blue eyes found me, and the noise of the club seemed to fade into a low hum.