A/N: Hello! I'm back with my latest story. This one is Romeo and Juliette inspired and is set in a fictional place in the north of England. As I am British myself this story will use British terminology and in particular when I mention that Peeta is a football player I mean a soccer player. I hope this doesn't confuse readers too much.

I hope you enjoy it and I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

Chapter 1

I stretch my arms out with a yawn before I run a hand through my unruly blonde curls. I rub the sleep out of my eyes as I walk through to the kitchen. The early morning sun streams through the large glass windows that look out over the river, bathing the room in light. My energetic black labrador, Barney, bounds his way over to me wagging his tail and with a roll of my bunched up socks in his mouth. I smile as I bend down to scratch his ears and wish him good morning. One morning hug from my dog and I forget about any sleepiness I have from the night before.

"Which of my socks have you found this time? If it another pair of my training socks I swear the boss is going to kill you. The dog ate my socks is becoming a pretty lame excuse," I say as I try to wrangle the socks off Barney.

Barney thinks it is a game and bites down on them even harder. I wrestle with him for a few moments on the floor before I eventually manage to yank them free but land on the ground with a soft bump in the process. Thankfully he had found a pair of my regular black socks and I will not have to explain to Haymitch that I have ruined yet another pair of blue training socks.

Barney pads his way over to me and sniffs around my face before nuzzling his wet nose against my cheek and sticking out his tongue to lick me.

"Okay, okay!" I say gently pushing Barney off me. "I get the hint. Let me get dressed before I take you for a walk."

Barney perks up at the word walk and trots off towards the door impatient to get going. I smile and shake my head at him as I get up. I swear that dog knows he has the best of me.

10 minutes later I have thrown on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and polo shirt and clipped on Barney's lead so we can make our way out of our riverside apartment and begin our walk along the river bank.

The rain finally seems to be disappearing in the north of England and it is the first time I have been able to walk Barney without a jacket. This early in the morning there are only a few other people out. A couple of runners run past us without a second glance but on the whole I can enjoy this rare warm morning in peace.

As Barney drops his nose to the ground to sniff out whatever bit of rubbish grabs his attention today and I enjoy the view of the early morning sun bouncing off the river making it sparkle like diamonds. My eyes drift briefly to the part of the city on the opposite side of the river but I have been taught not to let my gaze linger there for long.

The city of Panem expanded rapidly during the industrial revolution. The city is located just south of a large coal field and with the start of the revolution in the late 1700's the demand for coal increased tenfold. Panem was able to capitalise on this demand and the city prospered and grew to become one of the biggest and most important cities in the north of England. However a clear divide between the citizens of Panem arouse depending on which side of the river you lived on.

All the mine owners and factory bosses lived on the south side of the river. All the best housing and schools are located there. The miners were left to live on the north side of the river in cramped tenement buildings with crappy sewage systems. The merchants in the south look down on the miners in the north while the miners resent the big wigs in the south.

This hatred and resentment towards each other has only grown over the years and been amplified by the two football clubs that are the centre of each community. Panem City was founded by my great-great grandfather in the early 20th century and was the premier football club in the city. However the residents in the north declared that the club was too elitist and pompous for their liking and they decided to rebel against it by founding their own club, Panem United, in the 1920s.

Panem United was founded by the Everdeen family, a family of miners that had managed to break the duck and get rich through the invention of a safer coal mining technique. It is no secret that our 2 families hate each other and what they represent and the clubs have one of the oldest and most heated rivalries in English football.

I have been taught to hate the Everdeens and United ever since I was born. I have been taught that they are nothing but a bunch of thieving and conniving coal miners who act well above their station. Their underhand tactics and foul play during a football match does nothing to endear them to me.

So I flit my eyes back towards the merchant side of town and continue my morning walk with Barney without giving the north side and the Everdeens another thought. I need to be ready for the match tomorrow.

On the way back from the walk I stop off in a local café to grab a coffee before I head out for training. The barista smiles at me as he takes my order and I lean back against the counter so I can keep an eye on Barney tied up outside as I wait for it to be prepared.

"Good luck with the match tomorrow," the young man says to me as I wait. "Those coal bastards deserve what they have coming to them."

I smile at the boy's words. I have been playing professional football for Panem City for the last 5 years. At 22 I am youngest team captain in the Premier League. It is a family tradition of sorts for members of the Mellark family to play for the team. We are groomed to play from an early age and my older brother Rye is also in the team, while my other brother Bran is the team's doctor. Panem City love to keep it in the family.

I love the atmosphere around the city during a derby week. All week I have had members of the public and fans come up to me to wish the team good luck and discuss tactics for the game. The royal blue flags of the club fly from countless windows. And this game has added anticipation. United have already won the league cup and knocked us out in the FA cup semis. Going into the last match of the season both teams are tied on 89 points in the league. Whoever wins tomorrow's game will win the Premier League trophy. The whole city buzzes with anticipation and excitement.

"We've been hard at training all week to make sure that we beat them. We've been the better team for most of the season. I won't let them walk away with our trophy," I reply.

"There will be nothing better than to beat them on the last day and take home that league trophy," an elderly gentleman pipes up from behind me.

"I couldn't agree more. I don't want to be the team that has to think about losing to the other for the whole off season," I say.

There is a murmuring round the café as more and more people tune in to our conversation and want their opinion heard.

"I have a £100 bet with some coal scum at my work. I can't afford for us to lose," someone else says.

"Pride in the shirt!" another person declares kissing the badge on his royal blue City strip.

I smile and nod my head in agreement at all their responses. There is nothing better than football to bring a group of people together. In this moment I know we are all united with our hatred towards the United football team.

I have grown up surrounded by this type of talk and banter. I spent my Saturday's growing up watching City play and being immersed in all the chants. Even as I kid I felt the pride in being part of something big. One day a week half a city comes together to cry and celebrate together. Whatever the result there are people to share your pain or elation with.

"I'll see you boys Saturday," I declare as the barista hands me my coffee. "I want to hear you sing tomorrow."

The café all cheers in agreement as I smile and walk out the door. I can hear the debates about the game tomorrow spring up round the café as I leave. I smile again. We certainly have passionate fans.

I bend down to ruffle Barney's ears and free him from the lamppost he is tethered to. He jumps up at me happy to see me again and I have to watch that I don't spill coffee all down myself.

"Watch it boy," I warn him. "Not content with ruining my socks, you now want to ruin my shirts!"

Barney continues to jump in front of me as I gather his lead in my hand. As we are about to set off I hear a scuffle from across the street.

I look up to see a boy in his teens wearing a red United shirt and a slightly older man shoving the boy in the shoulder.

"Did you get lost you fucking prick?" the older man states. "This is City land. Scum like you belong on the other side to the river."

I sigh and shake my head at the sight. If you are stupid enough to come to this side of the river at least don't wear a United shirt. You are just asking to be stabbed.

Rather than trying to walk away the boy gets up in the man's face and starts making empty threats. I am just about to walk over to break it up when a couple of policemen come over to pry the two men apart. The boy struggles against the arms of the policeman.

"Fucking Mercs! Why don't you just all fuck yourselves with your golden dicks!" the boy shouts.

I bow and shake my head. The sectarianism in this city is bad. The police have doubled in the street leading up to this match. Scenes like this are a regular occurrence during a derby match week.

Red and blue will never get along.

I pull up for training in my blue Audi R8 with the roof down and the radio playing softly. A bright orange Lamborghini pulls up beside me blaring out the latest Calvin Harris dance track. I prop my sunglasses on top of my head as I get out the car and pick up my bag.

The owner of the Lamborghini jumps out of his car and bounds over to me, plucking the sunglasses off the top of my head and placing them on his own tanned and handsome face. With his sea green eyes and muscular physique he closely resembles a Greek god.

"Thanks Peet for letting me borrow your sunglasses. I left mine in Vegas last summer. Haven't had the need to buy new ones since," Finnick says cheekily.

I smile and shake my head at him.

"You earn over £150,000 a week. You do not need to keep stealing my stuff," I say as we begin walking to the changing rooms.

"But you have such good taste. That pink vest was a highlight," Finnick replies raising my sunglasses to give me a wink.

I sigh and shake my head again at him. The pink vest top may have been a mistake but Finnick is always stealing my stuff. Shirts, sunglasses, deodorant. He is just too damn lazy to do his own shopping. He would rather be out sky diving or go karting than waste any time trailing round shops.

"Sorry I didn't call you back last night. Had a little blonde uni student to take care of," he says nudging me in the ribs with his elbow. I roll my eyes at him. "Man I love derby week. The girls throw themselves at you to show their support. You need to get in some of that action mate."

"I'd rather not risk the herpes. I kind of like my dick the way it is," I state.

Finnick huffs.

"The uni students are all clean. They like to think they are all smart," he replies. "I'm taking you out this weekend to get you some. You know it is a bit drier in the off season. Better take advantage of being in the spotlight now!"

I sigh again. Finnick definitely uses his status as one of Panem City's star players to his advantage. Girls throw themselves at us all so they can have the chance of becoming the next Victoria Beckman. I am not going to lie and say that I have never taken advantage of my career to get with women. Just not quite as on a regular basis as Finnick. The tabloids love to report his endless circle of women.

I don't judge him for his lifestyle choice. Part of me knows he seeks the attention from women to make up for the lack of love he got as I kid.

I first met Finnick when we were both 10 years old and at an under 12's football tournament. He was playing for some local team and was the best person on the team by a mile. My father spotted him and demanded that he was signed up to City's youth programme straight away.

Finnick was shocked and ecstatic when he got the offer. We discovered he had been living in a foster home for the last 7 years after his mom was killed in a car crash and his dad left. My mum on hearing the story immediately announced he would move in with us and he became a surrogate brother to me and my 2 elder brothers.

As we are the same age and both love football our friendship soon flourished as we got up to various escapades together. We were both signed in the same season and have navigated the trials and tribulations of being a professional footballer together. There is no one else I trust more.

"Hurry up lovebirds! I don't pay you to make out!" Haymitch, our manager, calls at us.

The rest of the team chortle at the comment. They like to take the piss about the bromance Finn and I have. It doesn't help that we often bicker like an old married couple.

Finnick turns to me with a grin before we join the rest of the team. I tip my head in greeting to the other players when we arrive and there are a few murmurings in greeting as I sit down next to my brother, Rye. Haymitch clears his throat to demand our attention. The room falls silent as Haymitch commands the crammed space of the dressing room.

"The joking stops here lads. The game is tomorrow and I know none of you want to lose to those bastards. I need you all at your most focused. No beers. No girls…," Haymitch says looking pointedly at Finnick "and no bullshit with the United players. We have one job to do tomorrow and that is to play some god damn good football."

The rest of the team nod their heads in understanding. Haymitch has been at the club longer than I have been alive. He was born and raised in Panem and has dedicated his life to making this club successful. Many people think him a joke with his matted muddy blonde hair, scurfy beard and rough northern accent. And it is no secret that there is more than water in his hip flask but with his no bullshit manner and gruff attitude he is one of the most respected managers in English football.

The club had been floundering before he came but in the 25 years at the club he has won 15 league titles, 5 FA cups and 1 Champions league title. He is one of the most successful managers in the English Premier league history.

"Forget about what happened in the FA cup. Forget that they are league cup champions, "Haymitch adds. "We are better than them and we are going to be walking away with that trophy tomorrow."

The team all cheer and shout as we agree with his words. I can't lose to them.

The atmosphere in the changing room the next day is tense as we wait for the steward to tell us to line up. The room is pretty much silent. Rye sits to my right with his head bent forward, elbows on his knees and ear phones in as he gets into the zone for the game. Finnick stands in the corner doing keepy upies with a tennis ball. Other players sit muttering about today's game or absorbed in the match day programme. I can hear the noise from the fans above us as they prepare for our arrival.

The whole south side of the city has been flooded in royal blue today, the colour of our strip. Flags and scarves flap from windows and cars as a sea of blue people descend onto the ground. The United fans have had to be bused in from the across the river. The police are intent of keeping the fans apart. Already this week there have been several arrests as the two sets of fans have clashed.

The excitement is palpable in the air and I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes so I can try and absorb it all. I quash the last remaining nerves that swirl about my stomach as I take a deep breath. Today is our day. I can feel it in my bones. I feed off the noise above to first get me into a place of calm before eventually pumping myself up.

Haymitch gathers us all round for one last team talk.

"We know their style of play. They are going to try and bully us off the park but we are smarter than that. We have more style and verve. We don't want to be left all summer thinking about how we should have beaten them," he says.

Haymitch turns to look to me and encourage me to say a few words. I may be one of the youngest members of the team but I have always been good with words and have used it this season to inspire and pump up the team.

"We want it more than them. Take the feeling of when we lost in the FA cup semi and use that to our advantage. No team will get the better of us twice," I say. I then look up at the ceiling and towards the noise above us.

"Hear that noise?" I say pointing to the ceiling. The rest of the team nod. "That is the noise of a bunch of people that believe in us. Believe we are the best. Football unites this part of the city. I am not about to be the one to let them down. We are going to win today."

I survey the round of nodding heads in the dressing room. Many have a determined look in their eye. Not many words are needed to gear us up to beat United. The hatred between the clubs is enough but I know in this moment my words are appreciated. I believe in this team of players.

Not long after the steward comes through to tell us to line up. I take a deep breath as I shake out the tightness in my joints and lead the team out into the tunnel. I put on my game face. I don't smile or wave. I only concentrate on the game at hand. The TV camera sticks itself in front of my face as we line up in the tunnel. I clench my jaw in fierce determination.

We line up next to the United team and their captain, Gale Everdeen, smirks at me as we do so. He has one of those really punchable faces. With his dark hair, olive skin and smug grin there are fewer people who irk me more on sight.

"Ready to lose again?" he asks smugly.

Gale is the only son of the Everdeen family and his hatred towards our family runs deepest. I take a deep breath but do not turn round to look at him. He wants a response out of me.

Sensing that he is not going to get a rise out of me he turns his attentions to my brother who stands behind me.

"I hope you have been practising your headers Mellark. We always appreciate the gifts that you give us," Gale sneers.

I clench my fists to stop myself from turning round and hitting him. In the semi that we lost to them Rye had accidently headed an own goal into our net as he tried to defend a corner kick. He was mortified and had been inconsolable the week after. They wore masks of his face in the north of Panem as the United fans taunted him for helping them win.

"Focus on your own game Everdeen. We all know you are only good at fucking prostitutes," Rye replies coolly.

Gale Everdeen is famous for his short temper. A couple of months ago one of the tabloids reported how he spent £2000 on prostitutes after the team's league cup victory. This jab from Rye is enough to make Everdeen snap.

"Trying saying that again! I can beat the living daylights out of you Hobbit!" Gale shouts as he lunges towards Rye.

It's no secret that the Mellark men are what you might call vertically challenged. Gale Everdeen has a near foot over us and has been calling Rye and I hobbits since we all played 5 a side football aged 8.

Rye takes a step towards Gale ready for a fight. My brother is too easily goaded. I spring into action before anything can take off. I am very aware the TV cameras are rolling and catching everything.

Finnick grabs hold of Rye to restrain him and I step in front of Gale to put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"We're here to play football, not wrestle. Keep your head on," I say sternly.

Gale narrows his grey eyes at me before shrugging out of my grip and moving back into line.

"We'll settle this on the pitch," he states his eyes narrowed towards Rye.

Rye tries to squirm out of Finnick's grip and try and get an early hit on Gale. I put a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"He's not fucking worth it. You're better than him," I say.

Rye lets out a loud huff but relaxes in Finnick's arms before Finnick lets him go. Finnick gives me an eye roll after and I can only sigh and shake my head. The game hasn't even started.

Soon the speakers are working and announcing the teams out. United go first but not without a few shoulder bumps on the way out. Gale shoots Rye and I a nasty look as he leaves.

We follow soon after. The whole team walks out purposefully and unemotionally. We are all focused on the task at hand. The roar of the crowd is deafening as we emerge from the tunnel. Fireworks and fireballs go off as we enter and we emerge through a pile of smoke. Blue and white confetti explodes down on top of us and settles on the pitch.

We have home advantage and are met with a blanket of royal blue in the stands. A massive inflatable replica of the league trophy is bounced round the stadium. A huge banner with "We Believe" hangs across one of the stands behind the goal. There is only a tiny pocket of the red of the United supporters as they get booed down every time they try to start up a chant. I let myself have a small smile at the sight. There is not a greater feeling than walking out onto your home ground when there is a trophy to be won.

Both teams get in position and wait for the whistle to blow. I spot Gale in his left back position and narrow my eyes at him. He gives me a smug grin. As I look back towards the goal I vow to wipe that smug grin off his face.

The game is played at a fierce and intense pace. United are a power team and try to push us off the ball and bulldoze their way through but we keep tight and doggedly refuse to let them past. The crowd is as loud as I have ever heard them and the decibels in the stadium increase after every near miss or bad tackle.

As typical for a derby match both teams are tense and there are several small altercations between the players in the first half. 2 yellow cards are handed out before the end of the first half and we go in nil-nil at the break.

There is no let up in intensity in the second half as they come at us again and again while we try to dance our way round them. The crowd grows agitated as the game wears on. As they have the better goal difference a draw is not enough for us. We draw and they win the title.

Finnick comes close to scoring after I give him a well timed chip into the box but his header goes wide. I sigh in frustration as I watch their goalkeeper kick the ball down the park and their centre forward picks the ball up and dribbles the ball into the box. Our left back Cato Radwanski chases after him and corners him at the edge of the box. Their centre forward tries to dart round Cato but trips over his own feet and goes sprawling to the ground.

Cato didn't touch him but the United team immediately crowd round the ref to appeal for a penalty. Gale gets right up in the ref's face demanding action. I scrunch my eyebrows at their display and walk over to the ref to plead Cato's case.

"He didn't touch him. He fell over his own feet!" I exclaim as I gesture to the over dramatic United player rolling on the ground.

Gale doesn't like my involvement and glares down at me while gently bumping my shoulder out the way.

"It's a clear penalty Mellark. You're team is a bunch of dirty cheats," he sneers.

I turn to him with anger. His team is the one with 3 yellow cards.

"Don't touch me," I say gently pushing his shoulder. "Back off the ref. He can make his own decisions."

Gale lunges forward at me and the ref has to step between us and blow his whistle harshly.

Knowing a fight will do the team no favours I step away but not without glaring at Gale.

The ref takes one more look between us before blowing his whistle and pointing to the spot. A penalty has been rewarded. Gale smiles at me triumphantly while I turn to raise my arms in indignation at the ref. The referee just shakes his head at me and gestures for their player to take the spot kick.

The crowd goes mental at the decision and begin shouting abuse at the ref. Empty plastic bottles are thrown in his direction and the whistles and jeers grow in intensity as United kick the ball and send it rippling into the back of the neck.

The crowd all scream at the injustice of it all.

We try our hardest to get back in the game but United are happy to sit back and watch us come at them. The crowd get angrier but the team struggles to get over the injustice of the penalty and we make stupid mistakes, conceding the ball easily and shooting from too far out.

The last play of the game sees my cross miss Finnick's head and soar over him and into the stands. The whistle goes and the crowd groans in frustration. I let the hurt and humiliation wash over me as I watch the ball soar into the stands. The United players jump about in ecstasy and Gale throws me a satisfied smirk.

I bring up the bottom of my shirt to hide my head in it.

We failed.

I take a few deep breaths with my head still stuck in my shirt to try and compose myself. I feel like my heart has dropped out of my bottom and I try and deny that it really is all over for another season. This can't be how it ends.

I finally look up from my shirt to survey my heart broken team. Many sit dejectedly on the ground with their heads in their hands. Cato stands sobbing into Rye's shoulder. I do not know what to say to them. We lost and have to wait over 2 months until we can play again. This defeat is all any of us are going to be able to think about over the summer.

Finnick comes over to me and places a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. I give him a weak smile but even that seems too much of an effort.

"Those bastards didn't deserve to win. That was never a penalty," he says.

I sigh heavily.

"History books won't show that. It'll only show their names on the trophy," I state dejectedly.

Finnick bobs his head before he goes off to comfort some of the other players. I look up towards the director's box and catch sight of my parents faces. They both look back at me with the disappointment clear in their eyes. They will have some harsh words for me later.

Finnick manages to convince me to drown my sorrows with him in a popular bar in the city. The place is full of dejected City fans and girls all desperate to snag a footballer. Finnick and I sit nursing our beers at a table in the corner trying to hide from our disappointed fans. I pick at the label on my bottle as Finnick rants about the injustice of the match.

"Did you see their press conference afterwards? Heath Everdeen applauding the referee for his brave decision. Gale Everdeen bullied him into that decision," Finnick states disgustedly.

I let out a heavy sigh before answering.

"I don't want to talk about the game. I just want to forget it happened and work on trying to beat them next year," I say.

"I'll drink to that," Finnick says raising his bottle.

I smile weakly at his gesture before he turns to scan the room for the talent tonight.

"I'll definitely be pulling the sympathy card tonight. A good fuck is always the best way to get over a bad defeat," Finnick says.

"A good fuck is your answer to every problem," I say with a small smile.

Finnick laughs.

"A mantra every man should live by," Finnick says tipping his bottle towards me.

Just then a busty red head saunters past him is a pair of skimpy leather shorts. Finnick watches her bum as she walks away. I smile and shake my head at his obvious ogling.

Finnick lets out a contented sigh and turns back to me with a grin.

"As much as I know what an impressive dick you have hidden behind those trousers I think I fancy someone else's company tonight," Finnick says cheekily.

"So you are just going to leave your depressed captain alone then?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

Finnick's grin grows wider.

"Yep. Pay for my drink while you are at it," he says.

I roll my eyes as I take another sip of my beer.

"Go on then," I reply. "I don't need your ugly face around when I pull tonight anyway."

Finnick smiles again before saying his goodbyes and darting off after the red head.

I shake my head as I watch him leave to put the moves on the girl. The way her eyes light up when he introduces himself tells me she knows exactly who Finnick is and will be more than happy to oblige his wishes tonight

I sit back and watch the people in the bar as I finish my beer. Finnick's idea of using sex as a distraction for today's disappointment does sound appealing. Anything to stop my brain from repeating images of today's game and reliving the agony. But none of the girls in here pique my interest. They are all the same. Big hair. Big boobs and a fake tan that is closer to orange than sun kissed. A few have been eyeballing me since I arrived but I am not interested in meeting yet another wannabe WAG.

I am just about to get up and leave when I see her. She stands out from all the other girls for merely being the only one in the room who doesn't have fake eyelashes and a short skirt. She stands by the bar trying to catch the bartender's attention in a mid length capped sleeved dress with high neckline. Her legs are long and toned and look great in the simple pair of black heels she has on. Her dark hair cascades down her back in natural waves and her rosebud lips shine with just the hint of rosy lip gloss.

She is beautiful.

I down the dregs of my beer before going over to greet her. She doesn't seem to notice me at first as I sidle up next to her and casually lean against the bar. Her eyes flit briefly in my direction as the bartender hands her the cocktail but she quickly looks away. I put on my most winning smile as I reach over to hand the bartender some notes just as she reaches into her bag for her purse.

"Let me pay for that. It's the least I can do for a pretty girl," I say.

The girl rolls her eyes at me and through the dim light in the club I realise that her eyes are a rare shade of silver.

"I was told never to accept drinks off strange men," she replies taking her purse out.

I smile wider and lean in closer.

"Well let me introduce myself. My name is Peeta Mellark," I say sticking out my hand. "Now I'm not a stranger you can accept the drink.

The girl rolls her eyes again but does put her purse away. I smile wider in my mini victory.

"Please don't patronise me. Everyone knows who you are. Every girl in here is looking this way in hope you will go over to them and make them a bimbo WAG with an OK! Magazine wedding deal," she says.

I raise my eyebrows at her. She more honest than every other girl I have met in here before. It is clear she has very different ambitions to the girls that ogle and stick their chests out in front of me.

"A football fan I see," I say. "You should take it as a compliment then that I picked you to come over to talk to. I only talk to the really pretty ones."

She snorts and the sound is so unlady like I think I fall for her right then. Sensing she is enjoying this male bravado more than she is letting on I carry on.

"I haven't seen you here before. Are you new around here?" I ask moving closer to her again. I catch the hint of sandalwood radiating off her skin. It only transfixes me more.

She raises her eyebrows.

"Really? You are going to use that line on me?" she asks in almost disbelief.

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly.

"Normally I don't have to work this hard. Most girls have dropped their underwear as soon as I have said my name," I reply with a cheeky grin.

"How charming," she replies deadpan as she takes a sip of her drink. I watch her lips wrap around the straw and can't help but imagine what they would feel like wrapped around something else. I have to think of thoughts of my grandma to keep myself calm.

"That's nothing. My friend over there sends himself a bottle of champagne pretending it's from a fan so he can show the girl how famous he is," I say leaning in close and tipping my head in Finnick's direction.

The red head he is pursuing is now sitting in his lap and not so subtly feeling him up in the bar.

The girl turns to me with a look of disgust and I just smile and shrug my shoulders before leaning back against the bar.

"So are you going to answer my question? Are you from around here?" I ask more sincerely.

The change in tone in my voice surprises her and she looks a bit taken a back. She studies me for a moment before answering.

"I was born and raised here, but have been at uni for the last four years. I just came back this week," she says before taking another sip of her drink.

I nod my head impressed.

"Uni. That's cool. Where did you study?" I ask.

"I just completed my masters in maths at Oxford," she states proudly.

"Damn it. I knew I should have hit on the blonde with big boobs. I had to hit on the only girl in here with more than 2 brain cells," I say with a grin.

This makes her chuckle and she takes a sip of her drink to try and hide it. I can see that I am breaking her down.

"Seriously though. Oxford is impressive. And maths that's some tricky shit. Congratulations," I say.

She blushes a little when she hears my genuine compliment. This girl continues to fascinate me. I don't meet many university graduates from Oxford. I want to know as much as I can about this girl.

She studies me for a moment before speaking.

"I can see why university would impress you. There can't be many people that finished school in your line of work," she says teasingly.

"I'll have you know I have 8 GSCEs. And I got a B in maths," I say puffing out my chest in mock pride.

Footballers are not known for the brains. Most come out of school with very few qualifications.

"And they let you play football with those qualifications?" she teases.

It is my turn to let out a laugh before I lean in close to her again so are noses are only inches apart. She doesn't flinch from my stare.

"It's hard work but as long as I pretend Pi is something you eat they let me play," I say with a cheeky smile.

She grins again.

"That must be so hard for you," she says sarcastically.

I shrug my shoulders before leaning back against the bar.

"I study Joey Essex religiously to act as inspiration," I say jokingly.

She leans her head back and laughs. The sound of it sends shivers up my spine. I realise I would make a million crappy jokes to hear that sound again. I can't stop the smile from spreading across my face.

But then another girl about her age comes over with wavy auburn hair. The girl doesn't notice me as she comes up to the girl I have been talking to for the last few minutes.

"I think I just lost brain cells in that toilet. I had to stand there while listening to girls seriously debate if 3 pairs of eyelashes is too many. This is definitely the honey pot for WAG wannabes," this new girl says.

The dark haired girl nods her head in agreement.

"I was just thinking the same thing. I think we should head for The Hob. It's too cheap for girls like that," she says finishing her drink and picking up her bag.

I panic as I realise that the girls are planning to leave and I don't have her number. I jump forward to grab her before she leaves. I catch hold of her forearm and a frisson of energy surges through my body. My touch startles the girl and she looks up at me strangely.

"Can I have your number?" I ask. "Maybe I can meet up with you later?"

Her friend looks at me confused and turns to the dark haired girl with a questioning look. The girl looks back at me a look of regret as she clutches the strap of her bag tighter.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she states a little sadly.

I am little confused. We were getting on great a few moments ago. I thought we had made a connection.

"Oh come on. We met. We flirted. We engaged in witty banter. The next step is for you to give me your number or at the very least your name," I say leaning in closer to her with a cheeky grin. I don't want to let this girl go.

The girl smiles at me sadly before looking down.

"My name is the problem," she states.

"It can't be that bad. My brother dated a girl named Wiress. No joke," I reply determined to get this girl to go out with me.

I need to get to know this girl.

She looks up with her sad grey eyes. She stares at me for a few moments her eyes scanning my face. Her lips are slightly parted and shine a little from whatever gloss she has on. I think about leaning in and kissing her right then and there. I don't care about her friend.

But then she opens her mouth to speak.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen," she replies.

Oh shit.