by Holly Hart
"What do you think, Diana – you've got the eyes on the game. Who’s best placed to take the game by the scruff of the neck in the second half?" my jolly companion spoke into my ears.
"I have to say, Jack, it's been the most fascinating game I've watched since I got here. These two teams are both titans in their own right, and they've both stockpiled some of the best talent in Spain – and the whole of Europe, for that matter. It's going to take a moment of magic to separate them, though…"
My headphones crackled. "And from what you've seen of Alejandro—"
I corrected him absentmindedly. "Alex."
Jack took it in his stride. "Indeed, Alex – from what you've seen of him, is he the man who is going to break the deadlock?"
My mind hadn't stopped racing from the moment the terrible twins had confronted me on my way to the chair. This was it – I'd made it further and faster than I could ever have believed, even just a couple of months ago. Here I was, commentating on a game of soccer on live national television, when just three months ago I'd been doing puff pieces for WBC's local television syndicates. Could I really throw that away for a guy? The risk that someone – particularly two creeps like Ken and Frank – might find out about us seemed too great, especially now they had warned me they were watching.
They were wrong – laughably wrong – about who I was sleeping with. But I knew the kind of men they were. They wouldn’t stop until they figured out the truth. And if they found out…then God help me, because Grant Adams certainly wouldn’t. He’d given me one order – don’t sleep with Alex, and it had taken barely a couple of short weeks before I was lying on his mattress, covered in his sweat…and desperate for another round with his thick cock.
If Grant found out that I’d disobeyed him, I wouldn’t just lose my job – he’d make sure I never got one in national sports again. I wouldn’t be the first to cross him, and I knew what happened to girls who did…
I sure as hell didn’t want to end up on a sports desk in North Dakota, that’s for sure.
I knew what I had to do – I had to cut the affair off now, while things were still young and before our emotions could get any more tangled. I didn't trust the way my body responded, hell – the way I responded around Alex. He was like a drug that I couldn't refuse, and if I kept seeing him, I knew that it wouldn't be long before I was addicted.
The sound of my headphones broke through the emotion of my sudden realization. "Diana?"
My throat was choked up, and I bit back on a rising tide of sadness. I croaked, "Sorry, Jack, the line must have cut out."
"No problem – I was just asking, do you think our boy Alex is the man to break the deadlock?"
I answered honestly, from the heart. It was, for all intents and purposes, a loving breakup letter.
"Believe me, Jack – this kid is more impressive than you know. It's not just empty talk out the on the Internet that he might be the guy to lead the US Men's National Team to the World Cup Finals next summer in Brazil. He’s earned it with the way he's playing. If he can keep things up, then he'll be a shoo-in for the captaincy. Everything I've seen over here tells me that he can be the one to ride a moment of magic."
Below us, on the field, the referee blew the whistle to commence the second half. I watched as Alex streaked forward, sprinting like a bullet out of a gun directly for the goal. The Madrid players didn't seem set – hadn't settled into the game, and they seemed baffled by what was going on. They belatedly started reorganizing their defense, but by then it was already too late.
Alex raised his arm, signaling someone behind him for the ball.
Jack screamed down the headphones. "It's Rodrigo, he floats a lovely lofted ball into the young American Alex Rodriguez, and – OH MY GOD! That’s absolutely magical. The young striker has taken that on the volley and thundered it into the back of the net!"
Around us, Spanish and Latin American commentators added their own unique brand of commentary. "Gol! Gol! Gol! Gooool! Gooolassso!"
I slumped back into my seat, wondering whether I was making the right choice – and whether I’d even be able to pluck up the courage to pull the trigger on our relationship – as Jack returned to my ears. "Diana, they talk about the commentator's curse – but they're going to have the come up with something different to call you – you're that kid's lucky charm!"
That was the last thing I wanted to hear.
15
Alex
"Holy crap, Rodriguez – where in your locker were you keeping a goal like that?"
I was riding on an adrenaline high and I never wanted it to end. I knew that I'd just scored a goal that would make it onto every YouTube highlights reel for the next three months – the kind of goal that most players dreamed of scoring just once in their careers. I was a little bit more optimistic – I expected one every week – but even so, it felt good. It felt damn good.
I grinned back at Rodrigo. "I told you, buddy – you keep feeding me balls like that, we're going to get along just fine."
"Forget about the pass – anyone could have picked that out." Rodrigo grinned. "That finish was…"
I grinned. "Sublime?"
Rodrigo mock-bowed down in front of me. He was right – he didn't need to say anything. After all, how could you add to a goal of that majesty? Simple – you couldn't.
I sat down, suddenly exhausted, on the wooden bench next to my locker and looked around conspiratorially. "Want to know what else I've got hiding away in my locker?"
Rodrigo looked up from unlacing his cleats. "New trick?"
"Nah – nothing to do with soccer," I grinned, pulling a bottle of bourbon out of my locker, "but I think we deserve to reward ourselves – don't you?"
Rodrigo's eyes widened with worry. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed. "Put that away – you trying to get me fined?"
I rolled my eyes and shot him a disappointed glance. "Ah, come on – don't be like that." I laughed, unscrewing the cap and taking a hefty swig. "You think they're going to fine us after results like we got today? The fans would go nuts."
"Maybe for you," Rodrigo grunted, secretively grabbing the bottle. "They love you right now. I'm still just a squad player, remember that." He took a surreptitious look around the emptying locker room, checking that no one was watching, and brought the bottle to his mouth hidden by a white towel like a gym-going hobo.
I guffawed, slapping my thigh with amusement. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Trying not to get caught," he hissed. "Stop laughing – you're not helping!"
"Give me that." I chuckled, reaching over and grabbing the bottle from his shaking hands.
Suddenly, a different voice ended the conversation. "What the hell are you doing, cabrón?"
Oh, for fuck's sake. It was Ramon Garcia, the one man who could, no – would, spoil a day like today. It was just like him, I thought, to hang around looking for fun – just so he could put a stop to it.
"What do you want, Garcia?" I groaned. "I'm just trying to enjoy myself. Want a swig?" I asked, proffering him the bottle.
He grabbed it out of my hands and chucked it across the room into a trash can. If I wasn't so pissed off, I'd have been impressed – it was a damn good shot.
"Hey – what the hell?" I said, flabbergasted. "What did you do that for? That was a two-hundred-euro bottle of whiskey!"
He looked down at me dismissively, stabbing his index finger into my chest. "You call yourself a professional, Rodriguez?"
I didn't like the power dynamic of Garcia standing over me – especially when I knew I had an inch on him, so I stood up. On the surface, at least, I was still annoyed about the bottle, but I was quickly getting fired up about the way he was treating me. Hell – I'd just scored the winning goal against Barcelona's nemesis! If that didn't deserve a drink, then what did?
I looked down at him. This was better. "No," I glowered, "actually – I don't. You know who does? This football club, every time they pay me. Now, are you going to apologize for bre
aking my bottle?"
Garcia was so riled up I thought there was every chance he might lean forward and try something stupid. "Apologize?" he spat. "Do you know how many punks like you I've seen come through this locker room? You all think you're the next big thing, but you know what?"
I imagined he had every intention of telling me, no matter what I said, so I decided to humor him. "What?"
"You won't stay at a club like this with an attitude like yours. You'll shine bright for a while – but mark my words, unless you get your head out of your ass, you'll sink like a stone." He jabbed his finger in my chest one last time, cast me a withering look, then walked off, white towel wrapped around his tanned waist.
I sat back down with a disappointed sigh. "Damn, that was a good bottle of whiskey. You know how hard it is to get bourbon over here?"
Rodrigo looked at me, stupefied. "Man, you've sure got bigger balls than me. I'd have been shitting myself if Garcia came up to me like that."
I looked him. "You think he's right?"
The indecision on Rodrigo's face said more than he ever could. "I—"
I interrupted him. "Come on, speak to me like a man. Don't worry, people have been telling me things I don't want to hear my entire life. I've never fallen out with one of them."
Even with my blessing, Rodrigo stammered a bit before finally mustering up the courage to spit out what he had to say. "Well, he's got a point, doesn't he?"
I looked at Rodrigo seriously. "You think I don't train hard?"
"Well…" he stammered, "no, but—"
"You see me out there. I train as hard as anyone. But the way I play – I have to be able to have fun. Maybe Garcia sees me having fun and takes it the wrong way. I can't help that. But you know what?"
"What?"
"It's having fun that makes me so good. The moment I stop trusting my instincts, I become just like the rest of them – predictable."
"Yeah, but Alex, be serious. You rile him up – you know you do."
I sighed. "Okay, you've got a point there – but what does it matter?"
It was Rodrigo's turn to sigh this time. "Man, do I really have to spell it out for you, Alex? Look at it from Ramon's point of view," he said, switching to my nemesis's first name. "You’ve been signed to replace him, not now – but one day."
"Soon, I hope," I grunted maliciously.
He shot me an irritated look. "Now, a season from now – what does it matter? You've got a decade on him – you'll be around for a long time. But Ramon? He won't. And what does he see?"
I saw where Rodrigo was going with this, even if I didn't want to admit it to him. "I don’t know…" I mumbled.
"I think you do." He grinned. "He sees you messing about and he thinks you're mocking him. How do you reckon that makes him feel?"
"I don't!"
Rodrigo shot me a disbelieving look.
"Okay," I conceded, "maybe once or twice…"
"Exactly." Rodrigo sighed. "Look – Alex, I can't control you. I'm not sure anyone can. But you want my advice?"
"Sure."
"Stop stepping on Ramon's toes and try and learn from him. He's slower than he was, but he’s still got a lot to teach. Why make your own mistakes when you can learn from his?"
I pulled my jersey over my head, pondering what Rodrigo had just said. I probably wouldn't have listened if anyone else had said it. If the coach said it, I'd have laughed in his face and asked him why Ramon couldn't look after himself. But coming from Rodrigo – my friend, and a man I trusted, it meant something. Whether it was enough to change my mind, though, I wasn't sure.
"I'll think about it," I allowed. "Come on – let's hit the showers."
My cock bulged out from beneath the fibers of the white towel that was doing its best to hide my modesty. The showers were communal – which had surprised me, for a club this big, but I'd got used to it pretty quickly. Anyway, I had the biggest cock of anyone in the squad, so there was no embarrassment there. Not for me, anyway.
"Coming out to the bars tonight?" Rodrigo asked, clearly trying to move the topic of conversation back to safer ground.
I squirted some shampoo from the dispenser on the wall into my hand and lathered it into my hair. "No can do."
"How come?" Rodrigo asked, intrigued. I could see why – I rarely turned down an opportunity for a drink.
"I'm…hoping to see someone," I answered honestly. The truth was, I had no idea whether Diana was available, but there was only one person I wanted to celebrate the night with – her. Going out with the squad would be a pale substitute at best.
"Is it a girl?" Rodrigo grinned. Apparently, something on my face gave it away. "It is, isn't it!" he shouted, looking entirely too pleased for himself. "So, tell me about her."
"There's nothing to tell," I mumbled uncharacteristically. "And anyway, I didn't say there was a girl."
"Look at you," Rodrigo chuckled, "you're tongue-tied. I didn't even know that could happen to Alex Rodriguez… And don't worry – you didn't need to say a thing, I can see it all over you. She must be special, this girl."
I sighed, staring grumpily at Rodrigo. "Alright, there's a girl."
He grinned broadly. "And she means something to you, doesn't she?"
"Why do you say that?" I said, dissembling – hoping to distract Rodrigo. For some reason, I felt entirely uncomfortable having this conversation with him. I'd happily talk about my conquests in the locker room, hell – you could write a book about them. But this was different somehow.
"Look at you." He chuckled. "It’s written all over your face. You're practically shying away from answering me!"
"There's nothing to say," I grunted, toweling the excess water and my muscular chest.
"I beg to differ," Rodrigo said, heading back to the locker room. "So tell me, where did you meet her?"
I looked around, making sure the room was empty but for the two of us. "Shut up!" I hissed.
He flicked me with the end of a discarded towel. "I've never seen you like this, my friend. She must be special."
"She is," I agreed absent-mindedly. "Shit…"
Rodrigo grinned broadly. "Oh ho! You're not planning on telling me anything about her, are you?"
I shook my head.
"I tell you what, Alex, you don't strike me as the kind of guy who settles down very often. This girl must be something else."
I looked up at a bank of television screens tuned to the world's sports channels on the other side of the room. They had everything from ESPN, Eurosport, and Sky Sports News to WBC Sports. And on the TV on the bottom right corner, relegated to the lesser spot reserved for the North American channels, was Diana's face narrating a clip of me in training. She looked gorgeous.
I looked away quickly, anxiously concerned that Rodrigo might have noticed what I was doing. After all, apparently he was some kind of mind reader. Luckily, his Sherlockian skills appeared to have deserted him – or perhaps he was toweling his hair dry.
I sighed. He was like a dog with a bone, and I knew he wouldn't give up without me throwing him a scrap. "Believe me, she is."
He clicked his fingers happily. "So, what's the plan?"
I considered his question for a couple of seconds, admitting to myself that I didn't have an answer. "Maybe you can help me with that," I conceded.
"What do you mean?"
I grinned cheekily. "You strike me as the kind of guy who falls head over heels for girls all the time."
He blushed. "What if I do?"
I sat down to slip on my sneakers. "Let's just say it's not something I've got a lot of practice with."
"Oh," he said slowly. "You mean?"
"Oh," I repeated meaningfully. "That's right, I've never had a girlfriend."
"You're not?"
"A virgin?" I said, finishing the end of his sentence. I shot him a disbelieving look. "No, you idiot. Look at me, for god's sake. You think I have trouble finding women?"
"I guess not."
"The thing is," I admitted,
"I've never actually dated a girl before. I've done hookups, one night stands and plenty of friends with benefits type arrangements, but I've never actually had a girlfriend. Never liked being tied down, you know?"
"Shit," Rodrigo whistled, "this girl really must be something."
"Obviously," I grinned, "if she's managed to tie me down like this. But she's… I dunno – reticent, maybe? I've never had a girl called out to me before – usually they just throw themselves at me, you know?"
Rodrigo had a faraway look in his eyes. "Oh, I know," he said slowly, "like the redhead on the rooftop. She'd have eaten out of your hand, if you'd asked her."
"Exactly. How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"You know," I said, hating every second of it, "chase a girl. Make her feel, what's the right word?"
"Wanted?"
I seized upon it. "Exactly," I said enthusiastically, "wanted."
"You're a Barcelona player," he said incredulously. "Just put her in a private box for the game and go up after the final whistle. Trust me, she'll be wetter than you can imagine."
I shook my head, smiling at the irony of the suggestion. "Trust me," I laughed, "that won't work. Not on this girl, anyway."
Rodrigo threw up his hands in amazement. "What else can I say? Wine and chocolates, then. That usually works, doesn't it?"
I nodded thoughtfully. "Wine and chocolates, eh?" I clapped my friend on the shoulder. "Thanks Rodrigo."
16
Diana
"Come on," Tim said, darting out of nowhere and scaring the living daylights out of me. "We're going out celebrating!"
"Jesus Christ, Tim – you could’ve given me a heart attack!" I said, desperately attempting to regain control over my breathing.
He plucked the notebook from under my arm and tossed it into his company pickup truck. "You'll get over it." He grinned. "Come on, hop into the truck – let's go."
