Page 10 of Winning Match
I shake my head. “It’s all good,” I mutter, letting him know there’s no real threat.
Now that I’ve invited Marlowe out for the night, the last thing I want is for her to have a run-in with paparazzi. Hiring two extra security guards while my regular bodyguard, Ramón, is on holiday, puts my mind at ease.
Luca nods before chuckling. He holds his arms out and glances around the space. Around us, partygoers dance and drink but it’s still early. The club won’t fill up for another hour at least and the party won’t end ’til sunrise. “Glad you could make it, fratello,” Luca says, his voice loud and jovial once more as he calls me brother in his native Italian. “Rubén’s finally letting you out of the house?”
I roll my eyes, used to my teammate’s ribbing. It’s no secret that my father, one of the greatest fútbol players of his generation, Rubén García, gives me a hard time. His expectations are nearly celestial, and I’ve spent my entire childhood and adolescence trying to achieve them. Hell, even now I’m grinding.
“I wouldn’t miss this,” I say, meaning it. Luca is one of my oldest teammates and closest friends. We came up through the fútbol academies together, along with Andrés Huntington, our half-Spanish, half-Australian goalie. I tug Marlowe closer and note Luca’s eyes widen as he notices her. “This is Marlowe.”
“Salve Marlowe! Welcome.” Luca grins, his eyes shifting from Marlowe to me and back again. I note the moment he understands why I called for backup security and his shoulders drop an inch in relief.
I keep my face blank, giving nothing away. Not the clawing attraction I feel toward the woman next to me when I usually only feel a pinprick. I conceal the extent to which I savored our dinner, enjoying her conversation, the emotions that traveled across her expression, and the open way she communicated.
By tomorrow, Marlowe will be gone. It’s in my best interest to enjoy the night for what it is—a one-off—and move on. It won’t help if my friends taunt and tease me about her just as the season begins.
“Happy birthday!” Marlowe grins enthusiastically.
At her genuine sweetness, Luca’s grin softens. “Grazie.” He places a hand over his chest. “It’s my thirtieth. I’m an old man.”
Marlowe laughs. “Hardly. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You as well. Are you in Valencia for long?” he wonders, his eyes snapping to mine.
Marlowe shakes her head, and I can’t help it, I squeeze her hand as if that alone could convince her to stay. “No, just until tomorrow. Maybe the day after at most.”
“Well, I’m glad you could make it tonight. Get a drink.” Luca points to the table service where a petite woman in a short skirt mixes beverages.
“There he is!” Andrés tosses an arm around my shoulders. “How’s lockdown been?”
“Fuck off,” I laugh, waving off the beer Andrés offers. I want to make sure Marlowe’s taken care of and comfortable before I have a drink. “Meet Marlowe.”
She smiles at Andrés. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”
“You too, sweetheart,” he replies, his Australian accent stronger than it was a second ago.
I roll my eyes. My fucking teammates never miss an opportunity to charm a woman.
“García!” A woman pops up at Andrés’s side and I shuffle back a step when I recognize her, wincing at the use of my last name. Marlowe’s expression doesn’t change.
“Bianca?” I kiss her cheeks in greeting. “I didn’t know you were visiting this summer.”
Beside me, Marlowe remains at ease. She doesn’t pull her hand away or tighten up. She doesn’t cause a scene or cry the way other women I’ve taken on dates have done if I speak to any female that isn’t them.
In fact, as Bianca turns from me to Marlowe, kissing both her cheeks and introducing herself, Marlowe smiles at her. Warmly.
It’s jarring, how much her lack of jealousy, her natural confidence, slams into me.
But after the antics I’ve dealt with over the past decade, Marlowe’s natural, normal reaction stands out as extraordinary.
“This is Luca’s sister,” I explain. “She lives in America.”
“New York,” Bianca supplies.
“Oh! I’m from Rhode Island,” Marlowe shares.
“I’ve never been,” Bianca admits. “But I hear it’s beautiful.”
“It is. Are you just visiting?” Marlowe asks and I hear the warmth in her tone—something more sincere than basic politeness.
