Page 11 of Winning Match
Are all her friends really in the octogenarian club? Does she not hang out with anyone in her own age group?
“I hope not,” Bianca says with gusto. “I arrived last week and forgot how much I love it here.” She shrugs. “I’m kind of in between jobs right now so I’m going to try my luck here. I saw a gorgeous apartment this morning and have some gigs for side jobs lined up next week.”
“Neither of which are necessary!” Luca calls out, having overheard the conversation.
We all ignore him.
“I’m sure something will work out. That’s brave, making a big move on your own.” Marlowe touches Bianca’s arm sweetly. “I’m not sure what’s next for me either,” she murmurs.
Bianca blows out a breath, her bangs lifting from her forehead. “Come. You’re empty-handed and I could use a drink.” She tugs on Marlowe’s arm and Marlowe follows her, slipping away from me.
The heat of her hand in mine dissipates and I don’t want to examine why I miss it.
“And here I thought you were flying under the radar.” Andrés whistles. “Instead, you’ve been shacking up with?—”
“I just met her today,” I cut him off.
Andrés’s eyebrows arch. “Seriously?”
I nod.
“And you brought her here?” he questions. It’s not in my nature to bring women around the team.
I keep my personal and professional lives separate and pray to the Virgin Mary that they don’t intersect.
At my silence, Andrés chuckles. “This is why your car got keyed. And man, that shit blew up on the socials.”
“It’s just a car,” I mutter, not admitting that the damage gutted me. I spent months comparing models and packages. Not because of the price, but because of preference. Because I have a hard time committing, but when I do, I’m all in. “And how is this similar to Lucia fucking up my ride?”
Andrés is still grinning, shaking his head, as he looks to where Marlowe and Bianca stand. Their heads are bent together, Marlowe nodding and laughing as Bianca recounts a story with gusto, her hands moving as quickly as her mouth.
“You’re headstrong,” Andrés tosses out. “You always think you can control the narrative. You meet a woman you want, you go for it.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. If you weren’t trying to become the top futbolista in the world. If you didn’t want to be named as team captain. You can’t have your entire personal life be in a state of constant chaos and expect your professional life to balance it out. You have to be all in or nothing.”
I glare at him, annoyed that he’s making sense. “So, the only two options are to act like a saint, be a family man, and become League Valencia’s captain, or enjoy life as a single bachelor and commit to being a team player instead of a team leader?”
Andrés nods and slaps my back. “Exactly.”
“There must be a third option.”
“I don’t make the rules, mate. But we’re nearly thirty; Luca’s already there. At this stage in the game, it’s easier, smoother, to be fully committed or no-strings-attached.”
I grunt in response. “What about you?”
He lifts his hands defensively. “I prescribe to the sex-only, no-strings club. But I’m not trying to fill Rubén García’s cleats.”
I scoff.
Andrés gentles his tone. “You want every woman you interact with to meet you where you’re at—easygoing, fun, one night only. You’re too damn big for that, mate. Women see you, they want more. Whether that’s a payday or an introduction to a modeling agency or a summer on a yacht, it’s more than one night only. You charm them hard and make them believe that possibility exists. Then, you’re gone with the sunrise, leaving a bag of churros con chocolate behind for breakfast.” He clucks his tongue. “That shit sends mixed signals. And that’s why you’re all over the tabloids with a fucked-up Lambo,” he laments. But I hear the words he doesn’t say. That’s why your leadership was called into question. That’s why Carlos Lopez—and not you—is our team captain for the upcoming season.
I don’t voice that thought though. Instead, I swipe a bottle of beer from a nearby bucket and pop the top, taking a long swig. The tangy taste centers me and when I look up, I note Bianca and Marlowe toasting with cranberry vodkas.
“This should be interesting,” Andrés remarks, following my line of vision.
Leaning against the wall, I cross my feet at the ankles and study the beauty I met tonight.
