Crossing Hearts

by Rebecca Crowley

Eva flushed with embarrassment as Rio leaned into the window and asked the taxi driver if he spoke Spanish. Evidently they needed to have a discussion about racial assumptions in America, and whether or not—

  “Sí, señor. ¿Eres Rio Vidal?”

  “All day, every day.” Rio grinned as he held open the door to the backseat and motioned for her and Nico to get in. “And this is Nico Silva and Eva Torres.”

  “It’s an honor.” The driver shook Rio’s hand as he settled into the front seat. “I can’t wait to tell my family in Mexico that I’ve just shaken hands with the man who knocked us out of the South American Cup.”

  Rio put his hand on the door latch. “Should I get out now?” he joked. “You’re not going to kidnap me?”

  “Only if you promise to join Cruz Azul when your Skyline contract expires.”

  “I’ll speak to my agent.” Rio grinned.

  Nico relayed the directions to the salsa club where the Skyline players were meeting and the driver pulled into traffic. Eva watched the lights of Tucson glancing across the window, as nervous as she was excited to be along for the ride.

  Rio had behaved impeccably since their difficult conversation at Deon’s birthday dinner. Occasionally he shot her a perceptibly longing look, which she ignored, although her heart leapt every single time.

  And on her side? She’d never been so confused. Not that she should be—it was easy to tick off reasons not to give a fling with Rio more than a second’s thought. First and most obvious, it wasn’t part of her plan. Second and related, she could lose her job and the salary she relied on. Third and much more complicated, she was afraid.

  Her fear was the toughest to tackle because it was the least familiar. By nature she was not a fearful woman. On the contrary, she’d always been strong-willed and confident.

  She’d been a bold child, never hesitating to stand up against bullies despite always being one of the smallest in the class. When her mother disappeared she barely cried, firm in the belief that her mother would return as soon as she could and that she could take care of herself in the meantime. Then she’d stormed into adulthood, won scholarships for college, graduated with high honors, gained admission to a top grad program, and landed the coveted sports translation job she’d always wanted. Along the way she’d dated, lost her virginity, gotten drunk, made mistakes, gotten back on her feet, and hit her thirtieth birthday largely unscathed.

  Or so she thought.

  Over the last week, every time she looked at Rio she realized there was one big, glaring experience missing from her repertoire.

  She’d never been in love.

  Not that she was in love with Rio—far from it. Sure, he was charming and sexy, but at times his boyishness reminded her of the four-year age gap between them. He was a dreamer, an idealist, insisting he could train to exhaustion and avoid injury, assuming the best in everyone he met, facing every obstacle with buoyant optimism. He probably even believed in true love.

  His eyes were on the stars, her feet were firmly on the ground.

  So why did just the thought of kissing him fill her with terror?

  Because he’s the first man I’ve met that I could love. And the one least likely to love me in return.

  “Turn it up, I love this song,” Rio told the driver before twisting around in his seat. “Eva, can you tell me what this guy is saying? I can sing along to the whole song but I’ve never known what it means.”

  And now she had to translate a mid-nineties power ballad about love. Perfect.

  “The chorus is ‘always’, and he’s saying he’ll be in love with this girl—or guy, I guess—forever.”

  “And this part?” He nodded toward the radio.

  “I’ll be there ’til the stars don't shine, ’til the heavens burst, and the words don’t rhyme.”

  “Amazing. I knew this was a great song, I just didn’t know how great.”

  She exchanged bemused looks with Nico as Rio sang along to the English lyrics. His pitch was surprisingly good, although his pronunciation left something to be desired.

  “Forget this cheesy stuff, man.” The driver switched stations and turned up the reggaeton track that blasted through the speakers. “This is how we roll in Tucson.”

  Eva startled as Nico let out an excited whoop beside her and joined Rio in shout-singing the Spanish lyrics. Soon all three men were punching the air in time to the high-octane beat and she found herself bouncing along, gripping the edge of her seat as the taxi careened around the city streets.

  “We destroy this song in Montevideo,” Nico called over the music, prompting an agreeing hoot from the driver.

  “Not like we do in Santiago,” Rio countered, leaning around his seat. But instead of looking at his teammate his gaze locked with hers, and for a split second she felt all his excitement, his energy, the relentless positivity that made him such a joy to be near.

  Then he swiveled back to the front and she exhaled. They were only blocks away from the club. Time to leave Rio to his fantasy and rediscover the limits of her professional role.

  The salsa club was cavernous and the line leading up to the velvet-roped door snaked down the block. Clearly word had gotten around that the visiting Skyline players had booked the private room, because many of the waiting clubbers had their cell phones at the ready as soon as the taxi pulled up. Eva wanted nothing more than to dive onto the floor of the car and order the driver back to the hotel, but when Rio came around to open her door and offered his hand to help her up, she had no choice but to take it.

  She tried to hang back, hiding behind the two soccer players flashing trained smiles at the crowd. Rio had perfected the casual-cool look in dark jeans and a black T-shirt with a deep V-neck, and Nico looked every inch the dapper athlete in a slim-cut blazer. She knew she looked good in her tight-fitting red dress, but that didn’t mean she wanted her picture to be on all these different cell phones. She loitered near the taxi until Rio tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and tugged her into his side.

  “Esta es Eva, mi traductor hermosa,” he called to the crowd.

  My beautiful translator. She didn’t know whether to blush or cringe at Rio’s over-the-top effusiveness. Maybe he was used to this level of attention, but she wasn’t.

  She tried her best to smile at the fans and prayed the Internet wasn’t filling with constipated-looking photos of her. She could just imagine tomorrow’s gossip-page headline: The language of love? Chilean soccer star Rio Vidal steps out to a salsa club with his interpreter—but will she make all the right moves on him?

  “I will never live this down,” she muttered as they crossed the threshold into the darkly lit club and traded screaming onlookers for a sensual salsa beat.

  “You need to lighten up,” Nico remarked unhelpfully.

  “You were fine,” Rio added, his white-toothed grin luminous against the low lighting.

  She slipped her hand off his arm and pointed to the back wall. “The bouncer said the private room is this way.”

  They weaved through the raucous crowds lining the dance floor, which was packed with what looked to her novice eyes to be salsa experts. She could smell mojitos and licked her lips, trying and failing to resist the infectious party atmosphere.

  Technically she was here to work and translate for Rio as long as he required. But that didn’t preclude a cocktail or two, did it?

  They reached the private room, the bouncer opened the door, and her swelling sense of enthusiasm popped like a balloon.

  The Skyline players’ party was dead.

  Maybe it was the lower volume of the music inside, or the relative lack of wives and girlfriends who’d traveled to this away game, or overwhelming exhaustion among the players after a tough match in hot weather. Whatever it was, it was not a celebratory vibe.

  Rio’s disappointment was palpable as they found seats along a row of short, velvet-upholstered stools. Nico crossed the room to speak to Laurent and Rio turned to h
er.

  “I’d promised myself a drink tonight if I got an assist,” he said glumly. “Hardly seems worth it now.”

  “Everyone’s tired,” she told him apologetically.

  He raised a shoulder. “I know. I only played fifteen minutes, so.”

  She bit her lower lip, hating to see him so unhappy. She’d also been looking forward to a little more excitement, especially after their bass-heavy taxi ride and beat-pumping walk through the club. Though not a big clubber she loved going out with friends and drinking until the edges blurred.

  Fuck it. I’ve made so many mistakes with Rio—what’s one more?

  She nudged his shoulder. “Go on, I’ll have a drink with you.”

  His eyes lit up. “You’re sure?”

  “Just this once.”

  He was on his feet, crossing the room in three quick strides to speak to the waitress. After a second she realized he might need help to speak to her, but by the time she was halfway off her seat he was making his way back.

  “Luckily there are some words that are the same in Spanish and English.”

  She arched a brow. “Such as?”

  “Tequila.”

  She slapped her hand over her eyes. “Can’t we just have a beer?”

  “If I’m going to cheat and have one alcoholic drink, I need to make it count. Why, don’t you like tequila?”

  “I love tequila.”

  He grinned. “So what’s the problem?”

  “Like I said, I love tequila.”

  His grin broadened. “We’ll sip, not shoot. Like we’re in Mexico.”

  When the tequila arrived it was one-hundred-percent blue agave, three-years-aged, and breathtakingly expensive. There was something sinfully attractive about the way Rio counted high-worth bills out of the wad he’d taken from his pocket, and she indulged a frisson of desire as they clinked their glasses together.

  “To victory,” she offered.

  “To beauty,” he countered.

  They sipped, their gazes locked over the rims of their glasses.

  The tequila slid down her throat like liquid gold and she lowered her glass, determined to savor it.

  “I may be small, but out of all my friends, I hold my liquor the best.” Her comment was pointed, intended to put paid to any notions he might have about plying her with alcohol.

  “You can probably drink me under the table, then. Twelve years of full-time training means my tolerance is practically nonexistent.”

  “I’m surprised you’re such a teetotaler,” she replied. “Hector drank a lot.”

  “Hector is a lot slower than I am.”

  “True.” She took another sip of tequila, nodding her head in time to the tune playing over the sound system. “Is salsa music popular in Chile?”

  “Reasonably popular, I guess. Most of the nightclubs would play reggaeton, though.”

  She inclined her head. “Is there a type of music native to Chile? Like salsa is from Cuba, and mariachis are from Mexico?”

  “We have cueca. It sucks.”

  She laughed, which prompted an answering smile from Rio. “Never heard of it.”

  “Trust me, it’s not cool.”

  She drew breath to ask him another question but Brian arrived with his girlfriend on his arm, and she was brought back down to earth with an unpleasant thud.

  As usual, Brian began his conversation with Rio in simplistic, broken Spanish, then depleted his limited vocabulary and switched to English. Dutifully she switched into interpreter mode, ignoring Brian’s girlfriend’s wandering eyes and ensuring the tone of her translations concealed her skepticism at Brian’s sudden friendliness toward his midfield rival.

  “And I realized that if I’m going to be subbed out of a game, I want it to be so you can come on,” he asserted with such excessive sincerity Eva struggled not to roll her eyes.

  She translated his statement for Rio, who smiled warmly at his teammate as he said, “He’s so full of shit.”

  She did a double-take. “I can’t tell him that.”

  “Tell him whatever you want. It’s the truth.”

  “Rio’s glad he could, uh, contribute to the team. You know, with an assist. So Skyline drew with Tucson.”

  Brian nodded sagely. “You tell Rio we’re glad to have him, not just at Skyline but in America.”

  Brian stuck out his hand and shook Rio’s, adding a fist bump and a fraternal nod.

  Brian’s girlfriend—whose name Eva didn’t even know, she realized—smiled broadly at Rio and then turned to her.

  “Tell Rio I also think he did a really, really good job today.”

  Eva relayed her sentiment as neutrally as she could, and Rio flashed his trademark grin at both of them.

  “Thank you very much,” he said in English, which came out sounding like sank you ferry mush.

  Brian’s girlfriend clapped her hands together in delight while Brian raised his palm for a high five.

  “Awesome,” he lauded his teammate. “You’ll be fluent in no time.”

  The couple lingered a bit longer, then Nico motioned Rio over. Eva started to follow him but he held up his palm to stop her.

  “Nico can help me for a while. Why don’t you go talk to some of the other women? You shouldn’t have to feel like you’re stuck beside me all night.”

  “Oh, okay.” Her heart dropped into her toes as she watched Rio walk away, already laughing with Nico.

  Had she just been brushed off?

  She stood still for a moment, digesting the situation, paralyzed by indecision.

  If Rio didn’t need her here to translate, she should probably leave. Strictly speaking she was contracted by Skyline to provide translation services where needed, and hanging around while the players socialized seemed sort of inappropriate.

  On the other hand, British trainer Ross and the team’s medic, Tony, often popped up at social events with their respective other halves in tow. They’d both worked for Skyline about the same length of time she had so it wasn’t a question of seniority.

  And, she supposed, when she worked for Hector there were times she couldn’t wait for his rude dismissal so she could get as far away from him as possible.

  “Eva!” Olivia—looking picture-perfect in a black cocktail dress, with her hair in a chignon—gestured her over from across the room. That settled her dilemma, at least for the next few minutes.

  “I didn’t see you come in,” Olivia said too brightly, rising to meet Eva a few feet ahead of the table. Eva didn’t know the two women seated behind her. The third was Brian’s girlfriend.

  “I hate this wives-and-girlfriends crap,” the medical student muttered for Eva’s ears only. “I need to speak to someone with a brain before I kill myself.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t even realize you’d made the trip out here or I would’ve tried to rescue you sooner.”

  “I have cousins in Tucson so I thought I’d tag along. Now I remember why I avoid long trips for away games.”

  “I can’t remember Brian’s girlfriend’s name,” Eva confided. “And who are those other two?”

  “A couple of randoms some of the second-team players picked up in the club. I’m keeping an eye on them to make sure they aren’t working for one of the newspapers or gossip sites.” Her smile returned as she led Eva to the table and raised the volume of her voice. “And of course you already know Leah, Brian’s girlfriend.”

  “Of course,” Eva echoed, taking a seat.

  “Where’s Rio?” Leah asked.

  “Over there, with Nico.” Eva nodded toward the two midfielders.

  “Is he single?” Blond Random peered over Eva’s head.

  Olivia shot her a sharp glance, but she knew better than to give a straight answer. “I’m not sure, we haven’t discussed it. You could ask him, I suppose. Do you speak Spanish?”

  “I speak French,” Brunette Random offered. Eva lifted one shoulder in an oh-well gesture.


  “Cool.” Olivia turned decisively toward Eva. “Deon and I have to get you and Rio around for dinner one of these days.”

  “Definitely,” Eva replied, assuming she meant they would invite Rio for dinner and she would be there as a necessary accessory.

  “You’re Rio’s interpreter, right?” Blond Random clarified.

  Eva nodded, and Brunette Random added, “So you basically get paid to hang out with a super-hot professional athlete all day. That is amazing.”

  “It has its ups and downs.”

  Blond Random sat up straighter. “Oh my God, I need to have your job. Maybe I’ll learn Portuguese. There are a lot of Brazilian players, right?”

  “It’s a little more complicated than just knowing the language,” Eva offered almost apologetically, trying not to sound arrogant. “You have to know a lot about the sport itself and what its technical terms are called in each language. It’s also good to get a grounding in the athlete’s home culture so you can help them adapt to different nuances and ways of doing things.”

  “Like what?” Leah asked.

  Eva considered her response. “Different eating habits would be one, I guess. I learned that in Chile, lunch is the main meal of the day and people only have a small dinner after eight o’clock.” She smiled. “But Rio eats constantly so that doesn’t really apply.”

  “I guess you knew a lot about soccer before you arrived at Skyline,” Olivia remarked. “I grew up with Deon so I understood the basics, but it seems like a lot of people have to learn everything from scratch.”

  “I’ve always loved soccer. I wanted to play myself until I realized I had zero coordination.”

  Brunette Random tilted her head thoughtfully. “I like soccer players more than I like soccer, I think. But I like both more than I like football.”

  Olivia widened her eyes at Eva over the rim of her wineglass. It should’ve been conspiratorial, but it made Eva uncomfortable. She and Olivia weren’t equals, not really. Olivia was the star striker’s fiancée, for all intents and purposes the queen of the Skyline hive. Eva was just a humble worker bee, buzzing a busy orbit around Hector or Rio or whoever needed her next.

  She looked at the tequila left in her glass and made a long-overdue decision to leave. She was out of place here, useless and inappropriate without Rio, like the spare part for her old vacuum she found two days after selling it online.