by Jewel Allen
Whoop-dee-doo.
“We’ll see you in an hour, boys,” Cherise called out as we made our way to our dorm. Cherise and I had our own apartments next to each other.
I followed her to hers, and she whirled around, looking surprised. “Aren’t you going to primp?”
“Whatever for?”
“Whatever for?” she mimicked, rolling her eyes. “I’m not blind, you know. You are attracted to that prince, so why not shower and present your best self? Who knows, maybe by the end of the night, you and he will fall in love.”
“Fat chance of having a prince fall in love with me in five weeks. Let alone in day one.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “No thanks. That’s the last thing I want.”
“It’s not like you have a choice.” She gripped my arm. “You’re fated to be with him.”
I pulled away from her grasp and shook my head. “You read far too many romance novels.”
“Actually, I haven’t had the patience nowadays. I love me some good Hallmark movies, though.”
“Same difference. Anyway. You know I don’t like dressing up.”
“Yes, do I know. Doesn’t it get old? Do you own a dress?”
“No, and I don’t think so.”
Cherise gave me a sidelong glance. “I bet you’re lying. Let’s look through your closet.” She made her way to my apartment, leaving me no choice but to follow.
“Ugh.” I didn’t like how she was bossing me around. “You know, you’re making a bigger deal of this than you should. The guy just arrived today, and already you’re matchmaking us? How about waiting a few weeks from now?”
“Hush. Let me see what’s in your closet.”
“Fine. I’ll jump in the shower.”
I did my usual quick shower from my sports days when I got it down to two minutes. When I came out with my hair and body wrapped in towels, Cherise had laid out two dresses on my bed.
I cringed. “I still have these relics from college?”
One was a mauve dress I wore to my college graduation. The other was a black dress I bought as a college senior when I was still dating a guy who worked for an investment firm. He’d invited me to a work party, and that was when I realized we definitely would not be a good fit.
“I’m not wearing either of those,” I declared.
“Be a good sport,” Cherise said, “and just try them on.”
“It’s been years since I have. I bet I won’t fit in them.”
“I’m going to hurry and shower. I’ll come back and do your hair…with whichever dress you decide to wear.”
“This feels like prom.” I shuddered.
“Well, you’re not in high school, and your date is a prince, so maybe this will turn out better.”
“Whoa. So now we’ve escalated from dancing partner to date? How about we just skip it all and have me wear a wedding dress?”
“There’s an idea!” Cherise winked and thankfully left.
Glad to be alone for a moment, I brushed the tangles out of my hair and considered either dress. No way was I going to get dolled up with makeup and all. That just wasn’t me.
I put on the mauve dress. Or rather, struggled into it. Whoa. I must have developed some serious muscles since. I couldn’t even fit into the sleeves.
The black dress would be laughable, I was sure.
I slipped it over my head. It was one of those nice Ann Taylor dresses. Well-cut and made. Designed to make any woman look beautiful.
I studied my distinct curves, snug in the fabric. At least there was a bit more wiggle room for the athletic build I’d gotten over the years. It would be too much for swing dancing, though. I would probably be fighting off men the whole time, giving off the wrong impression. And Diego. He would probably give me one of his sticky glances. I thought back to how closely he held me and how he smelled so good.
Cherise would definitely want me to wear this one.
I took off the dress and tossed it carelessly on the bed just as she knocked. “Well?” she called through the door.
“Well…nothing. I don’t want to wear either one.”
“Let me see,” Cherise cajoled.
“Cherise, I’m going to wear jeans and a shirt.”
“At least dress up to a blouse.”
I blew out my breath. “I don’t know if I have one.”
“Can I come in?”
I took my ratty bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door and shrugged it on, tying the belt into a knot. “Okay.”
Cherise came in, already dressed in a cute ensemble of lacy blouse and jean skirt. She was a big woman about my age, but she wasn’t scared about flaunting it. I envied her. Her confidence made her carry anything well. She glanced at the discarded dresses on my twin bed. “Mmm, that bad, huh?”
“I just think I would be too overdressed. Like I’m trying too hard.”
Cherise pursed her lips, pretty with pink lip gloss. “Let’s do your hair, and then we’ll decide, okay?”
“Okay.” I resigned myself to her fussing.
It had been a while since I primped for a “date,” and grudgingly, I admitted to myself that this was kind of fun. I worked hard during the week. To let my hair down, literally, felt different. Special.
My thoughts drifted to Diego. I wondered what he would be wearing tonight. Maybe he would wear one of those princely outfits with gold tassels and a sword in a hilt.
“What’s so funny?” Cherise asked over the blow-dryer.
“Nothing,” I shouted over the loud whirr as I tried to wipe away my smile.
What would it be like to date a prince? Probably a lot of headaches, having to dodge the bodyguard posse and the paparazzi. His family was probably snooty and self-absorbed, just like any other celebrity family. And surely he was a playboy.
But it might also be kind of exciting. Balls and a special box next to the sidelines at La Liga games. Horseback riding on manicured grounds. Private jets.
Good thing I wouldn’t need to deal with this.
Cherise raised my now-dry hair and started teasing a portion.
“No big hair!” I protested.
“Oh, you’re no fun. What about waves? Is that kosher?”
“Sure. Just not too…girly.”
Cherise arched a brow. “What’s wrong with girly?”
“Cherise, goodness sakes. We’re going swing dancing and not to some formal ball.”
“It takes a lot of work to look like you didn’t put in a lot of effort.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” I was getting impatient. Cherise was fussing over me when all I wanted to do was shove my hair into a ponytail.
“Of course, you’ll want to wear makeup too,” Cherise persisted.
“No makeup.”
“Sorry. I grew up the only girl in a family of five boys. Can you blame me for getting into girly stuff? Just lipstick, then?”
“Lip gloss.”
“Goodie,” Cherise squealed. “Okay, what are we wearing?”
“I’m done?”
“Just a little dab of gloss.” Cherise put some on my lips, stepping back and studying me as though I were her masterpiece. The poor deluded girl. “Voila!”
All right, I did look pretty. But I wasn’t about to gush because she might insist on doing it regularly. “Nice, thank you.”
“I would say so.” She turned to the dresses. “Can I at least see you in the black dress? I have a hunch you’ll look like a knockout.”
“Fine!” I marched over and grabbed the dress.
“Don’t muss your hair!” she warned as I snuck in the bathroom and shut the door.
I glanced at the little clock I had on the counter. It was going to be time to meet the guys, and they’d be waiting and wondering. My hands got clammy with the thought of being all “dolled up” for the new guy. I put the dress on, zipped it up in the back, and studied my reflection. Cherise would have a heyday.
“Gemma!” Her eyes bulged when I did the big reveal. “You’re beautiful. You shou
ld definitely wear this!”
I followed her glance to the full-size mirror on the back of my door. What was the harm of looking like a healthy model who doesn’t starve herself?
“I don’t want to look like a femme fatale,” I thought out loud. “That’s not the image I want to come across to…guys.” I almost said Diego, but it wasn’t like he was my only concern.
“Maybe you could come down and greet the guys in this dress and say, ‘Whoops, I changed my mind.’ Then do the switcheroo.”
I scrunched my nose. “A whole lot of work for nothing.”
“Give Diego a taste of what’s to come.”
“He’s got to take me as I am. Not that anything will come of this.”
Again, Cherise pursed her lips like she didn’t believe me. A part of me was kind of intrigued by the possibility.
“Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll compromise. I’ll wear my girliest blouse and jeans but leave your hair and makeup work.”
“Deal.” She held up her phone. “But before you get out of that…”
I narrowed my eyes. “You won’t post that on social media, will you?”
“Why ever not?”
I put my hands on my hips and scowled.
“I won’t without your permission. I like looking at makeovers, so I need proof of mine. Anyhoo. Go change. I’ll text Mike to keep the guys at bay.”
I went to my closet to do part two of this torture. “Where’s Ali, by the way?”
“She decided to stay home.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “How did she get a pass?”
“I think it’s her time of the month and she just wanted to lie down.”
I wished I had the same excuse. I rifled through all my tops and grabbed a grungy concert shirt.
“Nope.” Cherise pushed me with her bum and took over. “How about this? This looks nice.”
I’d forgotten I had this blouse. It was royal-blue, in soft chiffon, with a ruffle collar leading up to its V-neck. It had been one of my go-to blouses for dressing up or down, depending on what I wore with it.
“It flatters your coloring,” Cherise declared. “Dressy without being stuck-up.”
So off I went again to change for the nth time. I was losing track. When I came out, Cherise clapped her hands and declared me done. “Go on. Mike just texted me that they’re waiting in the living room.”
“They’re inside?” I followed her to exit my room.
“I left the front door open.” She winked. “I figured you would be taking longer.”
Chapter Nine
Diego
I arrived shortly after Mike did. He gave me an insolent once-over. I resisted the urge to check out my long-sleeved polo shirt, folded at the sleeves, and jeans—a pair I seldom wore in Mondragón due to Mother’s particularity about what the royal family wore in public. I chose to wear an older, more supple pair of boots in keeping with going Western.
I had hoped to see the ladies right off instead of dealing with this mirthless fellow by himself. I thought back to holding Gemma in my arms for our “practice” dance. Her cute awkwardness, her obvious awareness of me being close. And then, just as I thought her defenses were melting, she pushed me away.
A delicious contradiction. I smiled to myself then stiffened when I caught Mike eyeing me coolly.
“So,” I said in an attempt to break the ice, “how long have you been teaching here?”
His cold eyes chilled me. “Since it opened.”
“And how long has that been?”
He jutted his chin. “Coming on five years.”
“Ah. And did Gemma join after you did?”
His expression stilled. “She’s kind of a private person. You’ll have to ask her that yourself.”
“I guess I’ll have to make sure I dance with her a lot tonight so I can.”
As I expected, he didn’t like that, not one little bit. I suspected, like me, he found Miss Gemma attractive.
A door opened, breaking up our little impasse. I stood, and Mike scrambled to his feet like he was just realizing that’s what gentlemen did.
Cherise, bless her exuberant self, came out with her cheerful smile. Gemma was not too far behind.
I could not take my eyes off her.
She wasn’t dressed in anything fancy. Just jeans, like me. I was thankful I guessed correctly at the dress code. That blue top flattered her tanned complexion and draped nicely on her toned torso. Her lips were lush with a nice hint of gloss. She gave me a hesitant look, like she was nervous about what I thought. I let my eyes do the speaking.
Classy. Beautiful. I bet even my Mother, as particular as she could get, would approve.
She bit her lip and looked down at her cowboy boots.
I had been exhausted after shagging balls for little players all day, but now I felt a surge of energy. I didn’t even care so much about Western dancing, though I was happy to try it out. I just wanted an excuse to hold this enchanting creature in my arms.
“Ready?” Cherise asked as she led the way out.
I held open the door, and Cherise thanked me, after which Gemma passed with a sweet thank you too, and I caught a whiff of a lovely floral scent. With her hair down, almost to the middle of her back, I was tempted to run my fingers through it. Or maybe tug at it like a silly boy having a crush on a girl and trying to get her attention. I resisted the urge to do either.
Mike cut me off, and I let him. I expected no less rudeness of him.
It was already almost 7:30 p.m., yet the sun was still up, just like in Europe in the summer months. Cherise and Gemma stood by a white truck. Mike jangled a set of keys and opened the front passenger door, glancing pointedly at Gemma, but Cherise elbowed her way to it instead. I tried not to smile at Mike’s exasperated expression.
I held the back passenger door open for Gemma, and she slid in with a little “Thanks.” I got in on the other side, and we were off, shadowed in another car by Brigid and crew.
I summoned the courage to start our conversation. “You look lovely.”
She fiddled with her pant leg and leaned even farther away from me. “Thank you.” She was civil but frosty, looking out her window.
Outside the context of the soccer field, I wasn’t sure how to treat her. She was my “boss,” but here in this truck, double dating with a grumpy rival at the wheel and a cheerful ally in the passenger seat, Gemma was just a beautiful woman.
I was thankful Cherise had engaged Mike in a conversation as well so they didn’t overhear my pathetic attempts at engaging Gemma. “How long have you been working at the training center?”
She turned to me. “Three years.”
“You’re great with the children.”
“The children are awesome. They make my job so much easier.” She winced. “Makes everything else worth it.”
“Everything else?”
She glanced down at her hands and looked out the window. I didn’t think she would answer.
“You know,” she said, looking back my direction, “the drama and work politics. Stuff like that.”
“You seem to get along with your coworkers.”
“You better believe it,” Cherise chimed in from the front.
Gemma smiled. “Yeah, Cherise, you’re the best.”
To my satisfaction, she didn’t single out Morose Mike.
“I don’t mean my co-trainers,” she said like she was trying to explain something to a child. “How about let’s talk about something else?”
“Before coming down to meet with you, I googled your sports clips,” I admitted.
She frowned. “Bored, were you?”
“Curious, mostly. You’re a great player.”
She smirked. “Correction. Were.”
“Anyway. You were fast on your feet and played intelligently. I bet you loved it.”
She regarded me solemnly. “Sure. I miss it.”
“I get it. I’m only on day one of my exile, and I miss it already.”
“What,
the adulation of your rabid fans?” Her eyes glimmered.
“No, not that.” I shuddered. “Remember, the fans got me in this fix in the first place.”
“That would be nice.” She scoffed. “To actually have fans. We had a few on our circuit, but nothing like you guys do.”
“Not like we play any better than you.”
Her eyes flashed. “You better believe it.”
I liked her spunk. She would be fun to have a little one-on-one scrimmage with. I opened my mouth to suggest it but then decided it would be too forward of me. When she was a defensive player and I was a goalie.
“What?” she asked, those dark eyes watching me.
“Just thinking of something funny.”
“Here we are!” Cherise announced.
I peered out the truck window at the restaurant with a rundown façade. But as soon as we got out, I could smell why cars crammed the parking lot. The aroma of something greasy and delicious filled the air.
We were seated in a booth with guys on one side and girls on the other. I liked being able to look into Gemma’s face, though she said little, avoiding my gaze. Cherise mostly carried the conversation, asking me questions.
The burger and fries were delicious. Gemma swirled ketchup and mayonnaise together in this concoction she called fry sauce. “Try it,” she said.
So I did. “Wow.” I savored that taste. “That is really good. I’ll have to share this with the rest of my country when I get back. This is smashing.”
Gemma’s lips tugged into a little smile that made my head buzz. She dipped a French fry in her sauce and put it in her lovely mouth, which I found very fascinating.
“Ahem, Diego,” Cherise said, breaking my trance.
“Sorry, what was that?” I tore my eyes away from Gemma.
Cherise gave me a knowing smile. “I was asking about your family. Do you have brothers? Sisters?”
“I have five brothers. I’m the youngest.”
“Ooh.” Cherise’s eyes flashed. “Are any of them bachelors?”
“Just me and the second oldest.”
“Since you’re probably spoken for,” she glanced meaningfully at Gemma, “tell me about your brother.”
“Mateo? He’s off saving the world, I guess. Except he’s on the outs with our mother. They didn’t see eye to eye. So he isn’t exactly home.”
