I’m ready.
We head out into the tunnels that lead to the pitch, and wait as the Match Mascots are brought over to us, children in matching kits who are given the chance to walk out with us and stand beside us for the national anthem. This doesn’t happen for every game but certainly the most important ones.
I’m introduced to Ágata, a six-year old girl from San Sebastian who is adorably shy and keeps rubbing her nose when she talks to me, but she loves the game “with my whole heart” as she says.
Someday, I hope I have a little girl like her.
We walk out together, holding hands.
The stadium erupts.
The sound is earth-shattering.
Right now, there are no whistles or boos.
The 99,354 people in the stadium are all cheering for their team, whether it be Barca or Madrid, and it’s an experience that brings tears to my eyes. I’ll never stop feeling this way about it.
I’ll never stop feeling I have something to prove.
I catch Thalia’s gaze from the sidelines, right behind Mateo, and give her a nod.
I won’t stop proving myself to her, either.
We head out to centerfield for the national anthem.
We shake hands with the other team.
The captains, Luciano and Lionel, pose for a photo with the refs.
The coin toss is made.
We win. We choose the goal.
The kickoff commences.
It’s on.
Immediately my nerves dissolve. All I feel is focused energy, my eyes trained to the ball, my feet always moving. I don’t even have to think, I just do this on instinct alone.
Luka passes me the ball. I take it and spin around, knowing Piqué is right behind me. The stadium is chanting, and my heart tries to make a similar sound in my chest.
There’s so much pressure on me, from all sides, but I do a fake-out, managing to trip them up and quickly find an outlet to pass to Marcelo, who takes it and kicks it to Rene, who takes a shot at the net.
It hits the goal post and bounces off.
All of this is in the first minute of play.
We’re off to a good start.
The rest of the first half is played with the same intensity, with close calls becoming goals.
Luciano scores first against Barcelona, and half the stadium erupts into a frenzy. I’m running over to him, jumping high onto his back, yelling with my fist in the air, hamming it up for the photographers, knowing these are the money shots.
Messi scores the second goal, just a few minutes after, our goalie in no position to even try to take down the shot.
It’s even.
One-one.
But we aren’t done yet.
Then Barcelona scores again, a goal that barely squeaks into the net.
The ball comes to me, and I’m twisting it around from Piqué and the other defenders, shooting it off to Rene who runs with it and then passes it back to me once I’m cleared. I take it to the goal, pass it back to Rene who shoots it to Marcelo who shoots it back to him.
Rene takes the shot.
GOOOOOOALLL!
The game is tied.
Halftime.
We gather in the locker room and Mateo gives us strategy. Tells me to switch sides with Rene to mix things up. Tells Luciano to keep Messi in check. Gives us the confidence to keep going.
“It’s not over until it’s over,” Mateo yells at us.
We get back out there.
I go on the other side of the pitch, Rene to where I was positioned before.
The game begins.
I get the ball as much as I can, but I can’t seem to get through them, can’t seem to get a goal in myself. They’re always on me, like a moving fortress.
Then, at ten minutes in, I’m struck by a Barca player from the side, his feet slipping between mine and tripping me.
I go down.
On my other knee, the good one, tumbling over.
I hold on to my leg, rolling on the ground. It hurts but I know I’m going to be okay.
I just want people to worry a little.
Maybe give that player a yellow card.
It works.
Luciano comes running over to me to ask if I’m okay, and I nod slowly, wincing dramatically. I’m sure now the commentary is that it wasn’t my bum knee that was in question, but the other one. But in this moment, Barcelona may not remember which knee is the fucked up one. They might think they’ve done some useful damage to me.
That will be their biggest mistake.
Luciano helps me to my feet. I wave to the crowd with an overly brave face, kissing my badge on my shirt, and I’m met with cheers and whistles and the soft chant of, “Alejo, Alejo!”
Okay. Back to the game.
Now that Barcelona might think I’m no longer as much of a threat, I’m about to show them how much of a threat I really am.
Unfortunately, they have control of the ball and are spending too much time at our end. Messi gets another shot on goal, but our goalie’s skill and height aren’t to be messed with, and he catches it before it tips into the top of the net.
Another shot goes near the goal, hitting Luciano’s back.
Barcelona get a corner kick.
Rene manages to jump up and punt it out of the way with his chest.
It rolls to Kroos.
Kroos runs with it, passing it to Luka.
Luka gets it close to the goal, but no one is watching me and I’m running as fast as I possibly can down the side of the pitch, having gone off like a rocket.
I hear my breath, the beat of my heart, the footfalls as I churn up the turf, the rising tenor of the crowd as I get closer and closer and there’s no one to check me.
I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my whole life.
Except once.
When I ran away from the police and into our house.
But I don’t let the memory of my father’s death stop me in my tracks.
I use it to fuel me.
Because he would be proud of me.
He will be proud of me.
I dart in-between two players who have suddenly become aware of my existence, one sliding toward me but missing by a few inches.
Luka kicks the ball to me but it goes high.
I go high too, jumping up several feet and twisting in a spiral as I go, hoping to make a header.
My head makes contact with the ball, and it’s already moving in the right direction.
I fall in slow motion, watching with wide eyes as the ball shoots to the left of the goalie and soars to the back of the net.
GOOOOALLLLLL!
I land on my feet, and, buoyed by pure joy and adrenaline and a special kind of madness you can only feel when nearly a hundred thousand people are making noise and paying attention to you, I run and do a leap into the air in the corner of the pitch near the cameras, screaming at the top of my lungs in a dramatic stance while the crowd wearing white erupts.
Seconds later, it feels like all my teammates are jumping on me, hugging me, yelling my name, and we’re all caught up in pure euphoria.
We haven’t won yet, and Barcelona could easily score again.
But I made that goal.
Maybe the most important goal of my life so far.
The goal that proved I’m back.
And as luck would have it, Barcelona doesn’t score again that night.
We win El Clásico, three to two.
The team is back on track.
Chapter 18
Alejo
Even hours after winning El Clásico, I’m still full of so much energy and adrenaline, I’m not sure what to do with myself. Everyone wants to go out drinking and partying in Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter, and I’m tempted, considering it’s one of my favorite cities.
But my need to be with Thalia trumps all of that.
So while they’re off drinking, I tell them I’ll join them later, that I’m going to call my mother and brother. I’m not
sure if they believe me or not, but since family is as sacred to them as it is to me, they let it slide, so long as I make an appearance.
And I do quickly text my mother and brother, but then I’ve only got one thing on my mind.
My interactions with Thalia tonight have been professional and brief but I text her to make sure she’s around and to find out what her room number is.
It’s important that I don’t get caught going io her room. I’m sure I could pass it off as something innocent if I tried — perhaps she has to take a look at my knee to make sure there was no damage done from my fall, but I would rather not raise any suspicion at all.
Her room is at the opposite end of the hall from mine, by the elevators.
I slip down the hall, dressed in black track pants and a white shirt, totally not the thing you’d plan on wearing out for a night of partying, and just as I’m about to go to her door, the elevators open and Rene steps out, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt.
“Hey, you coming right?” he says to me. “I forgot my nice shoes.”
I glance down at his shoes, Adidas trainers.
“Some bars won’t let you in without dress shoes,” he says, looking me up and down. “And as much of a pretty boy as you are, no one is letting you in dressed like that.”
“I’ll meet you later,” I tell him, and quickly lie. “I’m just getting some ice.”
He gives me a funny look.
“Ice machine is the next floor up,” I go on, pointing to the elevators.
“You’re not carrying an ice bucket,” he muses.
“Oh, right.”
I turn to walk back to my room, and he walks with me, stopping at his room.
I grab the ice bucket from my room, but then he’s outside my door and talking my ear off about both the game and all the girls he’s going to score with tonight as he walks with me back down the hall to the elevators.
Well, shit.
He presses the down and up buttons on the panel.
The up elevator arrives first.
Guess I have to go in.
I give him a wave goodbye as the elevator takes me up to the floor above. As soon as those doors open, I immediately push the button for them to close.
That button never seems to work.
Finally, the doors close and I press the button for my floor, and the elevator takes me back down.
The doors open.
Rene is still standing there waiting for his elevator down.
“What happened?” he asked me, frowning at how fast I came back down and my lack of ice.
“Crazy elevators,” I say as an excuse, shrugging as he gets in the elevator with me.
I push the button for the floor below and get off.
“See you later?” Rene says, though now he’s eyeing me suspiciously.
“Sure,” I tell him as the doors close on his frowning face.
To be safe, I go to the ice machine on this floor, fill it up with ice, then take the stairs back up to my floor. No one’s around when I quickly rap on Thalia’s door.
Hurry up. I’m running out of excuses.
Thalia opens it with the chain across and peers at me and the ice bucket. “I don’t recall ordering any ice,” she says, then smiles as she undoes the chain.
I step inside and quickly close the door behind me, ready to take her in my arms.
But I stop.
She’s wearing an oversized Real Madrid jersey, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s wearing my jersey, the one I gave her oh so long ago when coffee spilled all over her.
And this time, it’s straight out of the fantasy I had that day.
She’s wearing that and nothing else.
She might not even be wearing underwear.
“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” she says rather coyly, her voice sounding all sex kitten-ish. That sound and this sight is all it takes for me to be harder than I’ve ever been in my life. “I sleep in it sometimes.”
I can barely put the ice bucket down on the TV stand before I’m at her, pushing my hands into her hair to tilt her head towards mine, my tongue slipping against hers, our kiss deepening and deepening as the hunger starts to roll through me.
She puts her hands on my biceps and pushes back a bit to look at me. “You were amazing, Alejo,” she says breathlessly, squeezing my arms. “You looked like you belonged out there, more than you ever have before. I’m so proud of you.”
My heart swells from her words.
My dick swells from her touch.
I kiss her again, not sure how to show my gratitude, and then we’re falling back into the bed.
But as much as the lust and desire is coupling with the adrenaline from tonight’s crucial match, I don’t want to rush things. I don’t want to pound her senseless.
Not yet.
I want to take my time and savor her, though I’m not sure she has the same idea.
Her hands go to my track pants, gripping the outline of my cock, her thumb moving back and forth over the tip until I’m groaning. I have to stop myself from pushing harder into her palm. I want to take time and break it into tiny pieces, so that we have more of it to explore each other, to feel everything.
She lets go of me and starts to remove my shirt from her head, but I make her stop.
“Keep it on,” I whisper to her. “Let this be a fantasy come to life.”
She bites her lip and nods, pulling it back down over one breast, leaving the other exposed, the pink nipple tightening, her hands continuing to skim down her sides until she’s parting her legs.
Turns out I was right. No underwear at all.
I let my gaze fall on her, taking her all in. She’s already wet and beautiful.
Fuck me.
I take off my shirt and pants (no underwear for me) and prowl over to her on the bed, the heat of my body pressing against the heat of hers, my cock thick and throbbing between us, twitching desperately for purchase.
But I take my time.
I kiss her lips, the corner of her mouth, her jaw.
Suck at her earlobe until she’s gasping and squirming.
Lick along her smooth neck and yank down the collar of the shirt to taste her delicate collarbone until she’s making my favorite, breathless little sounds.
I move down, my palms skimming over her body like I’m playing an instrument, knowing all the right places to hit in order to produce all the right notes.
Her gasps are music to my ears.
I knead her breasts, suck and nip at her nipples until they’re hard pebbles in my mouth, then continue to place long, wet kisses down her soft stomach, until my lips find a home between her legs.
“Alejo,” she gasps as her hands go into my hair, and I lose myself to the feeling of pleasuring her, how decadent she tastes, how her body responds like clockwork to my every touch. At this point, when we’re together, we are one. There is no second-guessing, no wondering; we meld to each other like second nature. It’s hard to imagine this being any other way.
Heat slides through my veins, building in my dick as I continue to lick her out, pausing to swirl around her clit before my tongue plunges inside her.
She loves this. I love this. I reach down and stroke my cock, feeling the precum slide from tip to the base, and I know this could be a mistake, that I might come before I’m ready, but it’s so fucking hard not to touch myself.
Especially when she’s squeezing my head between her thighs, hips bucking up into me, fucking my mouth. Desperation licks at my skin and I respond by ravaging her.
Thalia comes with a long, drawn-out groan, her back arching, hips up and limbs shaking, pulsing under my tongue. But I know this is just the first orgasm for her, the first of many.
I get off the bed and stand at the end of it, holding my cock rigid between my thumb and forefinger.
Thalia knows what to give me and wastes no time.
Her chest still heaving, she crawls to the end of the bed, and a visceral thrill runs through me as she
holds onto my cock, bringing it to her open mouth, all while I can see my name emblazoned on the back of her shirt. When I was younger, when I played with that shirt, I had enough women to keep me occupied, but none of them were like her. None of them were this beautiful, this secure with their sexuality, this confident in what they want in the bedroom, while giving me exactly what I want.
None of them had my heart in the way that she does.
She slowly licks around my head, really taking her time to taste me with her tongue, like I’m a melting cone of gelato, gazing up at me with those glittering eyes.
Then she deep throats me.
All the way down, her teeth razing my length.
Jesus.
My eyes roll back in my head, my body stiffens, and everything inside me tightens like a wire.
She knows how to suck a guy off, that’s for sure.
But as much as I love coming in her mouth or on her breasts, tonight I need to celebrate my victory by coming inside her.
When I’m unbearably close to shooting my load down the back of her throat, I put my hand on her head and gently push her back.
“Let me come inside you,” I tell her, my voice raspy and faint as she stares up at me with a very wet, swollen mouth.
She smiles and leans back on her knees.
“Am I free to take the shirt off now?” she asks as she starts to raise it above her head.
I nod, giving her a hoarse, “Si,” as she takes it off and tosses it.
She leans back on the bed, totally naked.
I take a moment to let my eyes rake over her body, her milky white soft curves mixing with toned muscle, then I motion for her to flip over onto her stomach.
I grab my cock and get on the bed, straddling her thighs just below her firm ass. I playfully smack her cheek with my dick and she flinches in surprise.
“Hey,” she says, then giggles.
Grinning, I then start teasing her between her legs with the tip.
I grab her hips. Hold her in place and ease into her.
She feels like hot silk.
Thalia gasps.
Her fingers curl over the hotel’s bedspread.
Slowly I pull out then slide in even deeper.
In and out.
Every inch is bringing me closer to heaven.
Every inch is bringing me closer to her.
The Younger Man: A Novel Page 22
