Page 68 of Winning Match
When I attend his home games, I study his statistics, drink in every second of play, and learn the terminology and strategy.
We follow up with the police about the break-in at Bianca’s and my apartment every morning. And from Paloma, I learn that Rubén and Ale are doing their own investigation as well. Anything, Ale vowed, to keep you safe.
We’ve blended our lives together in a way that goes beyond friendship. Our attraction hasn’t died because of our decision to be just friends. If anything, it’s grown.
And as I watch a man and woman make out—touch and caress and grind together—on the television screen, I admit how badly I want the physical with Alejandro. I want everything with him.
And deep down, I know that it won’t be fake. It won’t be temporary or fleeting or a fling.
It will be my new standard—the measure for every man who comes after him.
19
Ale
Another week passes and I am in a hell of my own making.
Living with Marlowe is like being on La Isla de las Tentaciones except I don’t need the solteros, the singles, to tempt me. I’m tempted out of my mind every second I spend in my own flat.
I find her hair ties next to the bathroom sink and on the kitchen counter. The scent of her perfume clings to the throw blanket that rests in the corner of the living room couch. Her water bottle—a massive tumbler with a straw—sits on top of a romance paperback on the coffee table.
The morning I spot lacy underwear and bras hanging from a drying rack on the back balcony, my vision blurs.
Marlowe is intertwined in all aspects of my life—except one. And I desperately want to change that.
Even when I try to add distance between us to clear my mind from thoughts of her, it’s impossible. When I speak to my family, they ask about her. When I meet with my team, they tease me about her.
And when I enter my flat after a tough away game or grueling practice, she’s beaming at me from the couch, ready to watch our favorite reality television show and plunge me deeper into my misery.
At night, I hear the rustle of her bedsheets and wonder why her sleep is restless. In the morning, the dark circles under her eyes make me scowl with frustration. I’m so caught up on Marlowe that I’m reprimanded by Coach twice in one practice. For as much as the tabloids hail my committed relationship with the queen of all girlfriends, my mental focus is slipping.
I’m distracted. And sexually frustrated beyond belief.
In the past, there was a remedy for this. But now, there’s only my Marli. Is that a line I’m willing to cross? A rule I’m willing to break?
“Where’d you go?” Luca asks, a knowing smirk on his mouth as he lifts an electrolyte drink to his lips.
I sigh and glance out over the fútbol field. Our practice is finished but I’m planning to stick around to work out at the gym. I need to burn off this agitation that snakes just below the surface of my skin. I have too much energy and nowhere to put it.
“Sorry,” I mutter, knowing I spaced out. I take a swig from my water bottle.
“Non importa,” Luca says in Italian as he peers at me. “I was just asking what you’re doing for Marlowe’s birthday.”
I choke on the water, coughing as Luca pounds on my back.
He grins broadly, knowing he caught me off guard.
“Wh-what?” I sputter. Mierda. “When is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“Wednesday?” I repeat, frowning. “That’s the day she pitches to José Costa.”
“Sí,” Luca agrees. “Bianca wants to throw her a party, but I said I’d check with you first. In case you planned something…” He trails off, lifting a questioning eyebrow.
I shake my head, disappointed in myself. How the hell did I not know my girlfriend’s birthday?
Maybe because she’s not really your girlfriend.
