The Younger Man: A Novel

by Halle, Karina

  “Just tell me, por favor, do you think he’ll play the El Clásico? Give me a percentage. Forty percent? Fifty percent? Sixty-five per cent? Anything.”

  It’s odd to see Mateo pleading. He’s usually so suave and in control. I mean, usually. During the game is another thing. And when I look over at Vera, I see she’s giving me the same puppy dog eyes. Everything that matters to him, matters to her.

  I sigh. “I won’t give you a percentage. But I will give you a maybe.”

  “You think there’s a chance?”

  I nod slowly, sucking in my upper lip before I say, “Yes, I think there is a chance.”

  Mateo exhales in relief and leans back in his seat. I exchange a look with Manuel, like whooo boy.

  “So what made you want to become a physical therapist?” Vera asks me, trying to change the subject away from anything stressful.

  I twist around in my seat to face her. She’s so gosh darn pretty, even in the dark car with the lights of the city flashing past us. Tonight her ombre hair is swept up into a high top knot, she’s wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt turned into a dress, and she’s smudged the sparkliest purple eye shadow on, so much so that when she went to hug me and kiss my cheek, she left me in a cloud of glitter.

  “It’s going to sound kind of lame,” I say, “but I always wanted to heal people. I always played sports, and when someone was hurt, I was always the first person at their side, trying to fix them. The weird thing was, I seemed to work magic on them.”

  “You have magic hands?” Vera deadpans.

  “No,” I say with a laugh. “It was a coincidence. It just felt like it. But it gave me the confidence to go into sports medicine, even though I was always so terrible at math and science. I barely passed those courses, but when it came to the human body, I couldn’t get enough. In another life I feel like I was an engineer or something, and this is another look at engineering.”

  Vera nods. “Okay. That’s honest. I like that.” She glances at Mateo to see his reaction but he’s playing with his watch and staring out the window.

  “Mateo, baby, please,” she says, sliding her hand along his leg, her voice taking on this husky Scarlett Johansson-esque tone. “Lighten up. Put it behind you for Alejo’s birthday.”

  He grunts in response and I continue to watch her rub his thigh, higher and higher, until I feel awkward.

  I face forward and my mind can’t help but drift to the two of them. She’s so much younger than him and they make it work. But why not? She’s sexy, he’s sexy. He’s got the younger woman instead of someone his age.

  Someone my age.

  He’ll grow older, but she’ll be a hot little number for years and years to come.

  But if you look at me and Alejo…

  I know I look good for my age, I know I can pass for younger, I know that forty is the new thirty. But after a few years, I will age, and I refuse to up the Botox to catch up. I want to age as gracefully as possible, but what does that mean to Alejo? What will that look like in his eyes?

  Oh my god. Why are you even worrying about this?

  That voice is back and it has a point.

  A few rounds of hot sex and I’m already planning for a future?

  Get a fucking grip, you crazy old cougar. This won’t last forever. Enjoy it for now but don’t forget to move on.

  I hate that voice, as right as she is. But at least it’s a good reminder to live in the present.

  And tonight, that’s exactly what I plan on doing.

  The surprise party was my idea. I just thought with the way the team was playing and how excluded Alejo must feel from it all, not being able to practice every day and take part in the games, that it would be good to have his team around him for the party in a safe environment.

  Since his mother doesn’t like me though, I passed that part on to Mateo, so he could coordinate with her. Then I had Luciano take Alejo out for birthday drinks. They’re at some club downtown right now, getting proficiently hammered. In an hour from now, Luciano and Alejo will take a cab back to his place and then we’re all going to jump out.

  Once we arrive at his place though, we see some challenges.

  Real Madrid might have eleven players on the field, but it has twenty-four players in general, and that’s a lot of people to hide, even in a house as big as Alejo’s. We spend a good amount of time trying to get everyone sequestered away, especially since their Belgian goalie is six-foot-six and can’t properly fit behind the couch.

  I’m hiding in the closet with Vera, right where you walk in the front door. From here I can hear Alejo’s mother yammering on and on about something in Spanish while everyone else is shushing her.

  I giggle and lean into Vera. We had a few shots of some almond liqueur with the team when we first got in and I’m feeling a little tipsy. “His mother hates me,” I tell her.

  I can see her eyes through the slats in the closet. “Why would she hate you?”

  “I showed up once to bring Alejo to Valdebebas and I think she thought I was some crazy fan. She tried to take my jacket off, and I don’t know why.”

  “If it makes you feel better, she’s suspicious of me, too. The few times I’ve met her I’ve always gotten the stink eye. But I often get weird looks, so I’m used to it. I don’t let it bother me. I used to…”

  “So how did you and Mateo meet again?” I ask her. “At an English program, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “How soon after his divorce?”

  She blinks at me, and if I’m not mistaken I see a glimmer of something like fear or shame in her eyes. “Ummm,” she says, rubbing her lips together. “We met when he was still married.”

  A bitter taste forms in my mouth. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t our finest…we fell in love and maybe it didn’t happen at the best time or maybe it happened at the right time. I don’t know. I don’t know how it could have had any other outcome though.”

  I grow silent, mulling that over. It’s not like I’m mad at Vera. I barely know her, and I don’t disapprove per se. It just kind of hurts, in ways I can’t defend or explain. I guess because of Stewart. The way he cheated on me with someone younger. Vera was the other, younger woman.

  An awkward silence falls between us before she clears her throat. “I heard about what your ex did and I know this makes things kind of weird. But just so you know, if it makes a difference at all, after we fell in love, I went back to Canada and he got divorced. We didn’t prolong it. He came clean and things got messy, but we didn’t…we didn’t keep having an affair behind her back. Their marriage was already broken.”

  “My marriage was already broken too,” I say softly. “But the difference is, I don’t think Stewart ever gave a shit about being hated or being a villain. He’s not Mateo, is what I’m saying.” I sigh. “And I certainly don’t knock you for falling in love. You can’t help who you fall in love with. Obviously you were meant to be together.”

  “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to look at me differently,” she says, putting her hand on my arm briefly. “I like you and I want to be your friend, and I just hoped you might understand.”

  “I understand. I don’t condone it, but I understand.”

  A hush comes over us again as the voices from the living room continue at a murmur. Hopefully, Alejo shows up soon or this group of drunken footballers is going to get rowdy and spoil the whole show.

  “So, are you seeing anyone?” Vera asks me, innocently enough.

  “No,” I lie. “Haven’t had the time to meet anyone.”

  “Well, if you want to meet some people, I have some friends. I know some single guys. Nice, cute. Maybe a bit young for you…”

  I glance at her sharply. “Too young for me?” I ask.

  She gives me a quick smile. “Not too young for you. I mean, look at you, you can get anyone. They’ll be falling over each other trying to get into your pants. But I mean, young guys, they’re only good for flings, right?”
<
br />   “Right,” I say slowly.

  “At least the guys I know, if they’re under thirty, they don’t want commitment. But since you’re just getting out of a divorce, maybe you don’t want that either.”

  “That’s true.”

  Suddenly, there are headlights out the window, and I hear the whir of the front gate.

  “He’s coming, he’s coming, everyone get ready!” I yell through the closet door.

  Everyone falls silent, except for someone giggling. It’s either Rene or Armando.

  I hear Luciano outside the front doors, and through the slats in the closet door, I see them step in.

  “¿Qué es ese olor?” Alejo asks, sniffing.

  Pretty sure Alejo is smelling someone in this house. Instinctively, Vera raises her arm to smell her armpit and ends up banging her hand into the hangers.

  “¿Qué ese eso?” Alejo asks, stepping toward the closet.

  Uh oh.

  Luciano says in English, “A present for you.”

  That’s the cue.

  I throw open the closet to see Alejo’s shocked face (he literally jumps) just as everyone else springs up from their hiding places in the living room and the kitchen.

  “¡Sorpresa!” everyone yells. Surprise!

  “¡Oh, díos mío!” Alejo cries out, hand to his chest, laughing. “What is happening? What are you…oh my god, you’re all here!”

  He glances at me — our eyes meeting for a few long seconds — and then Vera, and gives us a wry smile before he proceeds to greet all of his teammates and family.

  It’s not long before the music is playing, the drinks are flowing, and the noise level is out of this world. I make the rounds, talking to the players, even dancing around with Vera like a lunatic, letting our hair fly around us. I have to admit, it feels good to let loose a little. I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in a long time.

  I’m also doing my best to avoid his mother who is still giving me the stink eye.

  In the kitchen, when I’m filling up a glass of water from the sink, I run into Armando.

  “It’s you again,” he says in English.

  “Hi,” I tell him. “I’m Thalia. We never properly met before.”

  I offer my hand, and he gives it a limp shake. “Hey,” he says, sounding all lazy and trying to be cool.

  I hide my smile behind my glass. He’s the spitting image of Alejo, though shorter and hair a bit lighter. Pretty sure he’s wearing Alejo’s leather moto jacket though because it’s a bit too big on him.

  “So, are you really my brother’s therapist?” he asks, getting a beer from the fridge.

  I feel like I should scold him on the beer, but the attitude toward drinking is so lax here.

  “I really am. And he’s getting better every day.”

  He nods at that. “Seems like it.”

  “Your English is very good. Did you learn it in school?”

  “I did. Do you speak Spanish?”

  I shake my head. “Your brother is trying to teach me. I guess I’m a slow learner.”

  “Probably easier if you just fix his knee.”

  I laugh. “Yes. That is actually easier.”

  “Perhaps Luciano could teach you,” Armando says.

  “Ah, what’s happening here?” Luciano says, appearing in the kitchen. “Are you talking about me? De qualquer forma, eu estou com uma pulga atrás da orelha.” He looks between the two of us.

  “And what on earth does that mean?” I ask.

  “I have a flea behind the ear,” Luciano says.

  I’m still staring at him. “For real?”

  “It’s a saying in Portuguese. Means I have a flea behind the ear.”

  “I was just saying you should be teaching her Spanish instead of Alejo, so she can concentrate on Alejo’s knee,” Armando explains, while I’m still hung up on the flea behind the ear thing.

  “Is that right?” Luciano muses. He folds his arms across his chest and rubs at his chin. “And how are those Spanish lessons coming?”

  Okay, that has to be a euphemism again, right?

  “Fine,” I tell him. “More importantly, he might be back for El Clásico.”

  I know I shouldn’t start talking like this, but I’ve had a few drinks and it’s getting harder to keep my cards close to my chest.

  “I know, I was just talking to Mateo about it,” he says.

  “Word travels fast, huh?”

  “It’s good news, right?” he asks hopefully.

  Armando mutters something in Spanish under his breath and leaves the kitchen. Probably along the lines of, this is boring.

  “It is good news. Whether it’s for El Clásico or not, he’s going to be back soon. I can’t say that it will end your losing streak. Only you and Mateo have a feel for that.”

  “It will help,” Luciano says with a shake of his head. “It’s been hard. You know, you lose a few games in a row, and with each loss, the team forgets how to play. They second guess themselves. They start trying new things but those new things might be worse. That’s what I’m dealing with now. We have the skill. We have some of the best players in the league, and yet we keep fucking up. We’re not a unit anymore.” He has a gulp of his beer and then winces, giving me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m laying this all on you.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “You know what we need to do?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Mateo actually taught us this. We need to run that animal down.”

  I frown. “Animal?”

  “Okay, so hear me out,” Luciano says, his hands becoming animated. I watch his beer carefully as it sloshes around in the bottle. “Humans have the ability to hunt any animal, whether it be a horse or a lion or an elephant. Whatever it is, we can hunt them, and it’s not because we have the tools but because we have the will. If we keep walking and tracking and keeping on the animal, staying the course after them, day after day after day, eventually the animal will tire, it will weaken, it will give up. But we won’t. We’ll keep going. We have the willpower and the determination and the intelligence to succeed. We run that animal down. That’s what we need to do. Just keep at it and eventually we’ll be back in the game.”

  “Run that animal down,” I muse. “Sounds like you’ve got it figured out.”

  “We’ll see,” he says, raising his beer to his lips. He looks past the kitchen to the living room where Alejo is in a conversation with Kroos. “So, I’ve noticed you guys have been avoiding each other all night. Everything okay?”

  I give him a steady look. “Everything is fine.”

  “You won’t even talk to the birthday boy.”

  “Maybe because if I do, people like you will think there’s something going on.”

  “Is there still something going on?”

  “Luciano, I’m one of your therapists. I’m not going to tell you anything. That’s something you can bug Alejo about.”

  “I have. He won’t tell me shit.”

  I smile to myself. Good boy.

  “Maybe because there’s nothing to tell.”

  He narrows his eyes at me in mock suspicion. “I don’t like it.”

  “How about you concentrate on running that animal down?”

  He grumbles something and heads off into the living room.

  The movement catches Alejo’s attention, and his eyes go past Luciano, right to me, holding me in place. He gives me a small smile, pats Kroos on the arm, and then starts walking over to me.

  Luciano was right; I have been avoiding Alejo just because I don’t want to inadvertently give him heart eyes or something. But perhaps it is a bit of strange behavior between us since we’re usually in close proximity to each other.

  “Hola,” he says to me, stopping a few feet away and letting his eyes rake over my body before settling back on my face. “You look very beautiful tonight.”

  It’s an innocent comment, but I still freeze up a little in case anyone heard
that.

  “Your hair is down.” He gestures to it with his beer. “And your dress is lovely. Maybe too lovely. Not sure I want my teammates admiring you the way they are.”

  I roll my eyes at his possessiveness and lean back against the kitchen counter. “Okay, alpha male.”

  “It’s just true,” he says. “And you’ve been avoiding me too.”

  “You know why,” I say quietly.

  “Afraid we’ll give something away?”

  I glance around his frame at the other partygoers, but no one is paying us any attention in here. Still… “Maybe.”

  “I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice so low and impassioned I have to do a double take. “Stay the night with me.”

  “Won’t that be suspicious?”

  “No one will know. Just stay. The last person to leave will be too drunk to notice you’re still here.”

  “And your mom?”

  “She has her own private suite, private entrance, and she’s asleep. She’ll be fast asleep all night. She doesn’t normally drink, but she had some wine and she’s going to be snoring.”

  “I never thought I’d date a guy who still lived with his mother,” I muse teasingly.

  “She lives with me,” he says. “Because that’s what a good son does.” Then he folds his arms across his chest and cocks a brow, chin raised. “And what is this about dating?”

  I blush. Stupid of me to say that. I try to play it off. “Dating is a more polite term for fucking.”

  A dark heat comes over his gaze. “You know you don’t have to be polite with me. I like it when you use that word. Fuck.”

  We stare at each other for a few heavy moments and I have no doubt he’s feeling the same way that I am, the oh so intense desire to get completely naked and lose ourselves to some of that fucking.

  Then out of the corner of my eye, I see someone moving toward us with an empty bottle, perhaps getting another drink.

  I quickly turn around and fill my glass up with water again.

  When I look back, Alejo is gone.

  And the night goes on.

  Eventually Mateo starts yelling at everyone to go home or he’s going to make them all suffer tomorrow. Something tells me that they’re already going to be suffering.