Page 60 of Winning Match
It’s something I don’t want to think about. Especially not right now when League Valencia has a win to celebrate.
I drop back to the ground and grin at my girl. “You ready to party?”
“I can’t wait!”
I tilt my head toward the hallway I need to pass through to debrief with Coach, hit the showers, and dress. “Meet me after?” I look to Papá, who nods.
“I’ll show you the way, Marlowe,” he offers.
“Great.” She smiles at him. “Gracias, Mr. García.”
I note the mutual respect that passes between them. It’s weird as hell and yet gratitude spreads through my chest.
“Call me Rubén,” he remarks casually.
Mamá’s eyebrows nearly fly off her forehead and Abuela clasps her hands together as if she’s witnessing history in the making.
“Hit the showers, García,” Marlowe gives me a hard time. But she’s smiling, looking as happy as I feel.
“See you in a bit.” I lift my hand to the crowd in farewell.
The fans cry out with cheers, and the drums pick back up, the sound deafening. I ride the swell of the crescendo, the maddening joy, back to the locker room where my team claps loudly, slapping me on the back for scoring three of our four goals.
Coach gives me a nod of approval, Carlos smacks my shoulder, and I plop down on the bench in front of my locker. Pulling in a deep breath, I soak up this moment. This memory.
After the way last season ended, after my car being keyed and Papá losing it over my reputation in the press, I finally feel like I’m back on solid ground. And I savor the victory.
After a quick interview with the press, I stride out of the locker room, my eyes darting over the gathered group for Marlowe. She’s in front of me in an instant, throwing her arms around my neck. I dip down to kiss her.
“Am I doing this right?” she whispers in my ear, and I know she means playing her role more than her smoldering kiss.
But tonight, I don’t want us to play our parts. Tonight, I want to celebrate with my girlfriend on my arm and my team at our sides. I kiss her again, adding pressure. When I pull back, my eyes are serious as they hold hers. “You’re perfect, Marlowe. Every bit of you is pure perfection.”
She shakes her head as if she doesn’t believe me but nestles closer into my side as I throw an arm around her shoulders. “We’re heading to Corcho to celebrate.”
Marlowe snorts and I glance down to note that her lips are pressed together, as if holding back laughter.
“Qué?” I ask. “What is it?”
“You’re what?” Luca bellows behind me.
I glance over my shoulder to see him glaring at his sister.
“Bianca got a job there serving cocktails,” Marlowe supplies helpfully. “It was supposed to be a secret until she told Luca.”
“Díos mio,” Andrés mutters beside her.
And I understand my friends’ concern. Corcho is a friendly sports bar that’s known for getting rowdy and sometimes uncontrollable when big matches are on. The men often start brawls and, on several occasions, have gotten way too handsy with the pretty women who mix and serve drinks.
But for once in my life, it’s not a problem that involves me. I shoot Luca an understanding look and tap Andrés on the shoulder.
“Need a ride?” I offer.
He shakes his head. “No, but I’ll see you guys there.”
Holding Marlowe closer, I lead her toward the lot where my car is parked. I stow my bag in the trunk and turn to look at her. “Want to walk? It’s only fifteen minutes from here and parking will be impossible.”
Marlowe shakes her head, glancing at the sky. “I can’t believe it’s nearly ten p.m. and we’re just getting started.” Her eyes find mine and she grins. “I think I like Valencia.”
