“We were wondering if you wanted to get a drink with us before the game,” Claudia said, a satisfied look on her face as she eyed us.
Mateo put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You really trust Vera? We’re all Spaniards. She could put drugs in our drinks and rig the game.”
“Or take advantage of us,” Ricardo put in, winking at me.
“Hey,” I said, acting like it wasn’t a huge detail that Mateo’s hand was on me. “Even if I did drug you, there’s no way the Anglos would win. You’d still have the rest of your team, and one Spanish football player is worth a million Anglo ones.”
They seemed to be happy with that answer. Over the past few weeks I’d learned the quickest way to a Spaniard’s heart is by feeding their football ego.
The four of us walked down the winding streets back to the main square. Along the way we ran into a few people from our program, but everyone seemed spread out, by themselves, or in groups like we were. We found a tapas bar with some outside seating and settled down, Claudia and Ricardo on one side of the metal table, Mateo and I on the other. Well, until Mateo got up to go buy us all drinks.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” I said, taking out my purse and rummaging for my wallet. It was weird needing it after being catered to for so long.
“Vera, shut your face,” Claudia said, leaning across the table and putting her hand on my arm to still me. She smiled. “He has money, let him.”
I looked up at Mateo but he had already started walking to the bar. The only thing that looked “rich” about him at the moment was the cut and fit of his brown blazer, which probably cost hundreds if not thousands of dollars. Otherwise, his vintage rock t-shirt and worn jeans and boots gave him the sexy casual, everyman look. Of course, everyone at the table knew that Mateo wasn’t like the rest of them.
I raised a brow and looked back at Claudia. “Wait, did you just tell me to shut my face?”
She laughed and raised her hands in the air. “You taught me that phrase! I only learn from the best.” She brought out her cigarette and jerked her chin at Ricardo. “Hey, you go help Mateo bring the drinks back.”
He rolled his eyes and got up, knowing when he wasn’t wanted. She lit her cigarette, blowing smoke away from us and then turned back to me with shining eyes. “I’m so glad you made up.”
“I’m not really sure we were fighting…”
“You were fighting,” she said confidently. “A day where you don’t see Mateo and Vera together means you are fighting.”
“Is that so?”
She nodded. “I told you they get very territorial.”
I pursed my lips. “I still don’t know what that has to do with anything.”
“Mateo,” she said knowingly, “is like most Spanish men. They are very passionate, very possessive. When they see you as theirs, they will make that known. Mateo is just better at hiding it than most. Maybe being a sports celebrity has helped with that. But I will tell you this.” She leaned in a bit closer. “When he was playing for Atletico, he was known for his temper. Hot-blooded, he is.”
I grumbled, not sure if I believed all that. Sure, I had seen a glimpse of him all “hot-blooded” when he was angry during our first business phone call together, but that seemed like nothing. Besides, how could you go from having a temper to acting all cool and collected like he usually did? If it was that easy to change your personality and who you are, maybe I would have done that a long time ago.
Before Claudia could elaborate anymore, Mateo and Ricardo came back with the beers and placed the perfectly poured ale on the table. Mateo then tossed down a plastic menu.
“In case you are hungry,” he said.
I picked it up and looked it over. There were English translations beneath the words in Spanish.
“What the hell is a nome-made mam and chess sandwich?” I asked as I read it over.
Claudia started giggling. “Sometimes our translation isn’t the best. Everyone should take the Las Palabras program.”
Mateo pressed a groomed finger to the menu. “Perhaps you should order the chorizo to hell? Or the sepia to the iron with ali smelt.” His eyes slid to my puzzled, somewhat disgusted face, and he grinned. “Flame-grilled chorizo or grilled cuttlefish with garlic mayonnaise. I have no idea what nome-made mam and chess is.”
I stared back at him, enjoying the little moment between us. It was hard for me to imagine him being all passionate and hot-blooded…or was it? When I imagined us in bed together, he wasn’t cool and collected then. He was extraordinarily physical and frenzied with lust. Perhaps I always figured there was a bit of an animal underneath the suit.
He cocked his head to the side and eyed me quizzically. “What are you staring at? Do I have something on my face?”
“Only your nose,” I said before turning away and having a sip of beer.
He rubbed his nose and made an adorably sad face.
Because we just had a bit of time before the game, we were only able to stay at the bar for one beer. But man, I wanted to just keep sitting and drinking, the sweet sunshine spilling over the tops of the red-roofed buildings and bathing us in it. Being with Claudia and Ricardo made it feel like we were on a double date with close friends. I felt like I was dating Mateo. We were just able to sit back and relax and laugh and enjoy each other’s company in a different way than we were used to.
But, as seemed to be the theme of things, there just wasn’t enough time.
We started off for the Acantilado school and eventually found it past some crumbling buildings outside of town, despite Jerry’s terrible directions. We were the last to arrive, and I was kind of buzzed thanks to not eating a mam and chess sandwich when I should have. Jerry was waving at us to “hurry our arses.”
“Have a good game,” I said to Mateo and Ricardo as Claudia walked off to the sidelines.
Mateo grabbed my hand, and I watched in shock as he raised it up to his mouth and quickly kissed it. He smiled against my knuckles. “I will try not to kill you,” he said devilishly. Then he turned and jogged across the field with Ricardo.
“Vera!” Wayne yelled. “Come on!”
Damn it! Couldn’t anyone just leave me in peace? That was the closest Mateo’s lips had ever come to my own and I needed a moment. Of course, I didn’t get a moment. More people started yelling.
I growled and ran off toward my stupid team.
After I quickly got changed into my shorts, and though I didn’t have a sports bra with me—obviously—I put on my most supportive bra and several tank tops just so I didn’t have to have the same conversation with Lauren again. I’m sure she was just waiting to shoot her mouth off about how inappropriate it was that he kissed my hand.
The field was the type of soccer field we had at home, which should have put me at ease but didn’t, because of course I didn’t play soccer. After a quick huddle with Wayne, which consisted of, “Vera, go for the ball. If he looks like he’s going left, go left,” and, “Sammy, when the ball comes to you, just get out of the way and let Ed take it,” I was sent to my goalpost.
Ugh. Standing there, with the huge distance between the posts, I knew this was going to be an impossible game, and even faking it, I was probably going to end up with shredded knees and turf up my nose. To make matters worse, spectators emerged out of nowhere and started lining up at the sides of the field. Suddenly it seemed like our game had turned into Acantilado’s hot-ticket event. Even Mateo had somehow changed into what looked like an actual soccer uniform: white shorts and a white jersey. I had to admit that was another good look for him. I wasn’t one to notice men’s legs, but his were dark bronze like the rest of him and sculpted with beautifully strong muscles.
Jerry managed to get a whistle and blew it to signal our start. The first period, playing for the regulated forty-five minutes, went by as well as you’d think it would. Mateo and the Spaniards (which kind of sounds like a band name) dominated the ball, and the Anglos tried their hardest to stop them. Unfortunately,
that didn’t mean much and Mateo would always get the ball down toward me. In Atletico I guess his job would have been to defend but because he was the best ball player here, he was the one who did everything.
Because I had to save face, every time he kicked, I went for it. Every time I missed. Anyone would have made me miss but he was good. He was on fire, on wings, on air. He was all confidence and bravado and physical fitness. He made it look easy. And maybe it was easy. But I didn’t for a moment think that he didn’t see me as a rival opponent. He went after the goals like he needed them to survive, and I did the best I could until the whistle blew signaling the period was over just as I was flying through the air after another ball.
I lay there for a moment, face in the grass and my boobs just aching. The last shot nearly took my face off—I guess I should have been happy that it was still intact.
“Are you okay?” I heard Mateo’s accented voice ask softly from above me.
I waved him away with my hand and grunted into the grass.
I felt his palm on my lower back, pressing lightly. Sweaty. Wonderful. “You did really well, Estrella,” he said. “You impress me every day.”
I turned my head to the side and looked at his handsome face, the beads of perspiration dropping off his brow and nose, and into the grass. “Thanks.”
“Come on,” he said, picking up my hand and pulling me up until I was on my feet. He looked down at my grass-stained knees in concern. “You should have worn pads.”
“Apparently, I also should have worn a sports bra,” I said dryly. “I’ll live.”
He gave my hand a squeeze before he jogged down the field, his step springy, always such an athlete.
There wasn’t much time between periods. I was able to get a bottle of water into me and a deli sandwich that Sammy had pilfered from somewhere. Her blonde hair was sticking out like a mad scientist and she was sweating up a storm. Even though Wayne had warned her to let Ed take the ball if it came to her, she never listened and would try her hardest to kick the ball to someone. Usually though, it ended up being someone on the other team, and more often than not, it was Angel, which made me think she had some outrageous crush on the innocent nerd. I wondered if the whole “Sammy said she’d show me hers” thing actually happened after all.
I mused that over while I finished the sandwich (not bad, but needed more mam and chess), and then it was back to the second period. By now it seemed like the whole elementary school had just let out, so now there were oodles of children watching us, children who, no doubt, could play a better game than us Anglos.
We weren’t far into the second period—the Spaniards obviously winning—when the impossible happened.
Tragedy struck.
Shit went down.
No bueno all over the place.
I couldn’t really tell what happened from my distant keep, but from what it looked like, Mateo was storming towards Ed. Ed had the ball. Ed did a sudden fake out to the left, then a fake out to the right. Mateo followed in the same way, except when Ed went right, something in Mateo’s left leg went out.
He went down to the ground with a terrible cry, a scream of agony, clutching his knee.
That was it for me. I started sprinting across the field, running as fast I could toward Mateo, grass torn up in my wake. I slid to a stop near him and dropped to my knees by his side, while everyone else stood around in a circle, looking on with shocked faces.
“Someone call a doctor!” I shrieked at them, not really sure what was wrong or if that was necessary, but Mateo was in pain and that’s all I cared about.
I turned my attention back to him and the way he was holding himself. He was on the ground, his hands wrapped around the front of his knee and the back, his face contorted in pain. It cut me deep to see him like that, to feel the agony rolling off of him. I wanted to do everything for him and I couldn’t do anything.
Chapter 13
What happened next was a loud cry of expletives I couldn’t even translate. Mateo totally lost it. He was bent over on the ground, cursing, yelling, crying out like a volcano of rage was coming out of him. His face was red, his skin sweaty, his expression one of anger and pain…and I felt like anger was winning.
It wasn’t long before a heavyset woman bustled over to us, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight braid. She seemed to be a nurse from the school. Jerry came down beside me, saying shit so fast that I didn’t really understand. It was only then that I realized he spoke Spanish. Of course he would have to, but his skill and fluidity surprised me.
I felt Claudia pulling me up from Mateo’s side, as I probably should have been. It wasn’t a tragic event—Mateo would be okay, it was just a bad knee, a bad move, an easy fix. Wasn’t it?
I was only up into a crouch when Mateo suddenly reached across and grabbed my calf.
“Please,” he said, raw desperation in his eyes, his voice choked. “Stay.”
I stared down at him, feeling my heart twist, and nodded. Claudia let me go and Jerry told everyone to pack up and go with Peter back to the resort. I could hear Lauren say, “Well who won the game?” as if it was something she could contest.
Jerry turned to Mateo and patted his shoulder. “Spaniards won the game. Don’t worry Mateo, you’ll get your dinner.”
Mateo did not give two shits. He was glaring at Jerry and grinding his teeth in pain, every so often muttering another curse word.
“What happened?” I asked Jerry, not wanting to put the pressure on Mateo to talk. The blonde-haired nurse had gone, presumably to get first aid supplies.
“He had a bad tear to his ACL when he was with Atletico,” Jerry said. “I suppose it’s the same thing. Too much strain reaggravated it. Same leg too, if I remember correctly. I just hope it’s not severe.” He looked at Mateo, who had his eyes closed. “Even with a small tear, the pain can be bad.”
“You know a lot about his injury,” I noted.
He smiled goofily. “I’m Irish,” he said, as if that explained it. “We love football, though I cheer for Liverpool. I played pick-up games on the weekends and followed the leagues very closely. Mateo was one of the best on his team. I guess I was so enraptured with watching him play, I wasn’t being a very good ref. He was playing hard, a little too hard.”
“Vete a la mierda,” Mateo swore at him, glaring again. “I was playing like I should have, like I do.” He practically spat the words out. He closed his eyes and growled then started yelling again.
“What is he saying?” I said to Jerry.
A wash of pity came over his eyes. “He’s angry. And he hates himself. The rest is very creative swearing.”
It felt like ages but eventually the nurse came back, bringing with her another man, maybe a gym teacher. They got down beside him and I had to get out of the way. Mateo looked at me with pleading eyes but I just nodded to let him know that I wasn’t going anywhere. I stood beside Jerry and watched as they made Mateo sit up and started asking him questions and doing things to his knee, giving him some pills to swallow with water. This went on for some time until they wrapped his knee, which was slowly starting to look darker and swollen, with a compression bandage and got out the ice packs. Then, with Jerry’s help, they lifted Mateo up to his feet. He wasn’t able to stand on his left leg for more than a few seconds before he winced, so they ushered him over to the parking lot where Peter had come back with the van.
There seemed to be a bit of confusion or disagreement about what would happen next. The blonde-haired woman kept saying something and Mateo kept saying, “No, no, no” and shaking his head, waving her away with his hand. Finally, she pushed a vial of pills into Jerry’s hand and rolled her eyes. Then she and the other man went back to pack up their supplies.
“What’s going on?” I asked Jerry as Peter helped Mateo into the backseat.
Jerry glanced at them over his shoulder. “He says he refuses to go to the hospital in Salamanca. He said he’d call his physician in Madrid and get a referral for a private appointm
ent sometime this week.”
“An appointment in Madrid?” I asked, my heart dropping like an elevator. Was he leaving?
He shook his head. “No, in Salamanca. It isn’t too far. I told him Peter or I will take him. Athletes can be picky about getting a diagnosis or treatment of their injuries. Also, he’s Mateo Casalles. If he went to the emergency room, I guess that could become public news. Kind of humiliating for him, injuring it the way he did…with us.”
I frowned. I guessed he was right. Getting injured again, while playing with Anglos on a kid’s soccer field probably wasn’t doing wonders for his ego, at least not in the right way. Still, as long as he wasn’t leaving. How funny it was that I had gone from wanting him to leave to not being able to fathom it. I was suddenly so grateful he had extended his stay here an extra week.
Jerry climbed in the back with Mateo and I got in the passenger seat, though I really wanted to be back there, cradling his head in my lap. Luckily it was only a mile or two back to the resort, and soon we were helping him out of the van in front of a crowd of worried Anglos and Spaniards.
“Can you and Peter take him to his room? I’ve got to get some structure back to the day,” Jerry said to me under his breath amid the concerned mumblings. “The minions need their leader.”
Man, he was such a dork.
But of course I told him I would, especially since I was planning on it anyway. Mateo wanted me to stay and I was going to stay until he told me to go.
Jerry put the pills in my hand, and then turned to deal with his “minions” while I acted like a crutch under Mateo’s right arm and Peter went under his left. I’d never been so physically close to him before, right under his arm like that. Even after half a soccer match, he still smelled really good, that ocean scent but muskier, like his own sweat was intoxicating. Too bad it couldn’t have been under better circumstances.
Keep This Promise Page 65
