Page 26 of Winning Match
Callie laughs lightly, letting me know she doesn’t buy my bullshit, but she doesn’t call me on it. “Who is she?”
“An American,” I clip out. I want Callie to tell me the full impact of the media attention spinning around about my night with Marlowe before I offer details.
“All right,” Callie says slowly, correctly reading my reluctance to share information about Marlowe. “You know this is easier if you just tell me the truth, García. It will be helpful for when I loop PR in.”
“The truth is that I met her last night.” I heave out a sigh and drop my head back. “How bad is it?”
“At the moment? Not bad at all. Every outlet is reporting that you had a fun, consensual night out with a beautiful woman, who is your new girlfriend. You joined some of your closest friends and teammates to celebrate Luca DiBlanco’s birthday. Nothing that will ruin your image. In fact, early feedback indicates positive ratings.”
“Positive?”
“It shows commitment. It’s?—”
“What team management wants from me,” I supply.
“What Ricardo Nuñez wants from you.” Callie drops the team owner’s name.
“What my father expects from me,” I continue.
She sighs. “Yes. There’s time to control the narrative and spin this any way you want. It all depends on who she is to you.”
“A mystery.” I snort, dropping my head back.
“Tell it to me straight, García,” Callie presses. “I can assure you, whatever you share will not be shocking. It won’t even be the most dramatic thing I’ve heard this morning.”
I laugh because I know Callie is telling the truth. While she’s now committed to retired American football player Gage Gutierrez, I know her proximity to elite athletes places her at the center of spinning media shitstorms on the regular.
“The truth is she’s an American woman whose credit card was declined at a bar. I picked up her tab and left. But then…then, I went back and took her to dinner and invited her to the club for Luca’s birthday.”
“Because you like her?” Callie’s tone is hopeful.
“Because she doesn’t know who I am and I…”
“Liked being with a woman who was attracted to you,” Callie finishes simply.
I grunt, not wanting to acknowledge how ridiculous that sounds. Most male athletes preen for the attention women heap upon us—no matter how undeserved it is. And here I am, at the height of my career, desperate to walk around incognito in my hometown.
“And now?”
“She’s showering while I sit in her hotel suite and wonder what the hell I’m going to say when she walks out of the bathroom,” I spill my guts.
“Does she know who you are?”
“Not yet.”
“Has she seen the feeds?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is this thing a thing?”
“Too soon to tell.”
Callie snorts. “Well, you should figure that out as quickly as possible.”
“Yeah,” I agree, tossing up a prayer to the Virgin Mary for buying me some time, and drop my head back.
“Her identity will be confirmed within hours, García. What happens next depends on who she is to you. This could get messy for her?—”
