But then what? I don’t have a job right now. I have no real ties. If I wanted to stay and be with him, I could do so easily.
And that’s the problem.
It’s too easy to be with him.
We’ve fallen back into bed with each other like time hasn’t passed at all, and whatever feelings that were building for him when I was here before, well, they didn’t disappear over the years. They didn’t evaporate. I thought maybe they would have, like they would have rebooted. I thought maybe things would have changed too much, that we would have changed too much. But, if anything, Luciano has changed for the better.
And me? Well I’m still figuring that out.
What I do know is I want to stay here with him.
I don’t want to leave.
I want to make this work, and at the same time I’m too damn scared.
Because I know that this is it.
I’m thinking the same damn thing I did the other day.
I did find the right guy.
And if I let myself fall, I’ll fall right into love.
It’s as fucking scary as standing on that cliff.
When practice is over, Luciano drives Elena and I back into the city. We drop Elena off at the hotel and I make plans to have drinks with her later, just so I don’t keep ditching her, and I go with Luciano back to his apartment.
We fall into bed, have sex twice, and then doze off in each other’s arms, which comes second place in the things I enjoy doing with Luciano Ribeiro.
“Luciano,” I whisper, running my hand down the hard muscles of his arms as he holds me.
“Mmm?” he murmurs into my hair.
“How would you feel if I stayed a while longer?”
I feel him tense behind me. He lifts his head. I look over my shoulder at him, as his brows come together, his eyes searching mine.
“Are you serious?”
I swallow. “Yeah.” I run my fingers in circles along his inner arm. “I thought instead of going with Elena back to Helsinki I could just…stay here. With you. If you wanted. No pressure.”
Okay, now I feel like an idiot. He hasn’t said anything and I totally might have overstepped my boundaries here.
His dark eyes flicker as he gazes at me, almost like he’s in disbelief. “Ruby,” he says hoarsely.
And then he’s shifting, practically lunging at me. He grabs my face, the back of my head, kissing me with so much passion and strength that my toes curl, butterflies loose in my chest.
“God, yes,” he says against my lips. “Yes. Please. Stay.” He pulls back, running his thumb along my lips, beaming down at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy; it makes me deliriously happy.
“You’ll really stay?” he asks.
“I will,” I tell him.
“We’ll make it work. We’ll figure it out. You can move right in here,” he says. Then he pauses, eyes widening. “If you want. Or we can get you an apartment. If you don’t want to move in with me. Is it too soon? I don’t think it’s too soon. We don’t have to, uh, atirar-nos de cabeça. Sorry I’m getting flustered, my English. “Estou a falar pelos cotovelos.”
I’m laughing at how fucking adorable he’s being. “I have no idea what you said. But yes, I’ll move in here.”
Though there is a faint alarm going off in my head, telling me that I went from ‘maybe I’ll go back to Helsinki’ to ‘maybe I’ll just move in with him, this man I’m not really dating.’ I can be impulsive, but holy shit, this just registered off the impulsivity scale.
“I said we don’t have to plunge head-first and also I’m speaking by the elbows.”
I stare blankly at him.
“I’m talking too much,” he clarifies. “And sometimes tenho macaquinhos na cabeça. I have little monkeys in my brain, as in right now. The monkeys may not be thinking clearly.”
I grin at him, running the tip of my finger down the bridge of his nose. “Either way, I’m staying. We’ll figure it out as we go.”
“I promise you, we can make it work. Everything we’re scared of, we can make it work,” he says, kissing me.
But the thing that I’m scared of isn’t what he thinks it is.
It’s love.
* * *
It’s the day of the game between Sporting and Nacional, and even though we’re at the game pretty early, the stadium is buzzing with energy.
The minute we got here, I bought a number eleven Luciano Ribeiro jersey and slipped it on in the bathroom, shoving my tank top in my bag, then Elena and I grabbed some beers and headed up to our seats.
The José Alvalade Stadium is pretty big, fifty thousand seats, and I was prepared to be the only ones here early, but it’s filling up really fast. We had to take the metro here, since it’s quite a bit outside the city, and it was packed with Sporting fans on the train, already drunk and very rowdy.
The other team, Nacional, is from Funchal, on the island of Madeira, and they kicked Sporting’s ass last year (who didn’t?) so this game is already tense from the start. Plus, there was a little bit of rivalry since Cristiano Ronaldo started at Nacional before he moved to Sporting (and now of course is with Real Madrid).
I didn’t see Luciano before the game, since he would have been at the training centre. I did see him last night at his apartment though. He made us dinner—chicken and vegetables—which despite being totally boring, was actually kind of nice because he made it. But because he needed to get good sleep before the game, I didn’t stay over. I mean, we had sex, of course, but I didn’t stay over.
I’ll see him after the game. If he wins, I plan on giving him the world’s best blow job and basically suck his dick right off. Hell, I know I’ll do it if he loses too.
My phone beeps and I glance at it. It’s like he knew I was thinking about his cock.
How are the seats?
I text back: They should supply oxygen up here.
That bad?
No it’s fine. It’s great. Everyone is so pumped here. I’m wearing your jersey.
The bubbles appear for a moment and he sends: I can’t wait to take it off of you.
Oh man, how bad is it to sext your famous footballer boyfriend right before he plays an important game?
Elena makes a snorting sound, and I glance at her to see her rolling her eyes.
“Hey, keep your eyes on your own texts,” I chide her, covering up the screen.
“No way, mine are boring.”
I decide I don’t need to get him worked up. He needs to concentrate.
I text back. You will. When you come up, look to the seats and I’ll show you.
If he can see me of course.
But later, when things are starting and the teams do start running out onto the pitch to thunderous applause, Luciano does look up at me.
I stand up, turn around and point to his name on my jersey. Elena helps, waving her arms like an air traffic controller and directing traffic to the shirt.
I turn around and look down to see if he saw. He did. Luciano is laughing, shaking his head, before he runs out to the center of the field where the teams shake hands and then everyone stands for the national anthem.
And then the coin is tossed between Luciano and Claudemir, the other team’s captain, and the game begins.
Everything gets off to a fast start, both teams charging forward, taking risks, but no one has scored yet. I can tell Luciano is getting frustrated and he’s made some great passes and has had two shots on goal already, but so far that damn ball just doesn’t want to go in.
I hope I’m not jinxing things. I get superstitious about games and do that silly thing where I think something small I’m doing (or not doing) is having an impact on the way they’re playing. Still, I tell Elena I’m getting more drinks, hoping that they’ll score because I’m not watching them.
The drink stand on our level is out of the beer we like, so I head down the stairs to the lower level and look for drinks there, all the while listening to the crowd’s reactions. No g
oals yet, just a lot of close calls and frustration.
I’ve just gotten my beers and am turning around when my heart drops right out of me.
Just a few feet away, talking to someone, is none other than Tomás Ribeiro.
I stare, completely dumbfounded.
It’s him.
Luciano’s stepfather.
Cold mean eyes, scarred face, slick suit.
Him in all his ugly, nasty glory.
Black tar rage starts flooding through me, the beers starting to shake in my hands.
Then he looks my way.
I don’t think he recognizes me.
He frowns at my lips.
My red lipstick.
I don’t think.
I lunge at him, throwing a beer in his face.
The beer splashes out of the cup and the spray arcs through the air, splattering all over him.
“That’s for calling me a whore!” I yell, loud enough that people turn around and see, gasping at the sight.
Then I throw the other beer in his face, this time the cup goes flying too, hitting him smack on his forehead, more beer cascading over him as the cup rattles on the ground.
“And that’s for what you’ve done to Luciano! That’s for being the biggest asshole of a stepfather, for being fucking jealous of your own stepson! You said he’s pathetic, you’re pathetic!”
I’m breathing hard, my heart is pounding in my ears, I feel eyes from all around watching us.
And there’s his stepfather, covered in beer, and when he looks up from his ruined suit and meets my eyes, I see a man who wants to kill me. All danger and malice and revenge.
“You,” he says snidely. He slowly wipes the beer from his forehead, his eyes never leaving mine. I want to run. I should run. But all I can do is stay here, frozen in fear, in disbelief over what I’ve done.
“You’re her.” He smirks at me. “You’re the one that my son tossed to the side like the tacky American trash that you are.”
Aw, hell no.
“No, I’m the one who’s in love with your stepson!” I yell. “The bigger man. The better man.”
And that’s when I realize what I’ve said.
That I’m in love with Luciano.
And worse than that, I just admitted it to his stepfather before I had a chance to say it to him.
But from the way his stepfather’s face is growing red and crumbling in rage and bitter defeat, it might have been worth it. Just to see him take the hits, to know that Luciano won.
And that’s when I start running.
I run past him, nearly slipping on the beer, and then I book it to the stairs and up to the second floor, my bad leg screaming at me in pain as I try and take the stairs two at a time. I run around the corner and through the stands until I plunk down in my seat beside Elena, just as the first period comes to a close.
“Where’s the beer?” she asks, but I don’t answer. Instead I quickly pull my jersey off so I’m just in my bra.
“Oh my god, Ruby, did you drink all the beer? How much did you have? Why are you getting naked?”
I don’t look at her, don’t look at anyone, just brush my hair in my face and pull on my leather jacket, wrapping my scarf so it falls down my chest, covering me up.
“Ruby. Ruby what is happening?” Elena says, shaking me.
“I fucked up,” I manage to say, trying to keep my voice low, trying to hide. “I fucked up real bad.”
“Ruby. Helvitti. Look at me.”
I gradually raise my head, peering at her through my hair.
“I saw his stepfather,” I whisper.
“Oh. Shit. Really? Did he see you?”
I wince. I feel like crying. “I threw the beers in his face and told him I was in love with Luciano.”
Her brows raise. She blinks hard. “You what?”
I nod, pressing my lips together. “I know. I don’t know what came over me. I just saw him there and I was so fucking mad, I just hated him so much. I threw the beers and then…”
“You said you loved Luciano.”
“Something like that. I may have also said that Luciano was the bigger and better man than Marco.”
“Oh my god, Ruby,” she gasps, her hand at her chest. “I can’t believe you.”
“I know. But it’s true.”
“I know, but, shit, isn’t throwing beers in someone’s face assault?”
“Back home it is. But I saw two old men headbutt each other on the street the other day, so I’m not sure what the rules in Portugal are.”
“Ruby, this is crazy.”
“I’m fucked. What if he’s looking for me?”
“Well, then we’ll leave the game early.” She gestures to the pitch. “No one has scored.”
“We should leave now,” I tell her.
“What if he’s still down there, now that it’s the break between periods?”
“What am I going to do? Luciano is going to kill me.”
“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like he’s going to understand.”
I’m not so sure about that.
But what I am sure about now is that I’m in love with him.
Absolutely, truly in love with that man.
I fell in love with him years ago, but I dismissed it. Decided it wasn’t real. That it was a burden. I buried it deep down, covered it up, and moved on with my life.
Being here with him has unearthed it, like finding a diamond when you’re digging a fucking grave. It was the last thing I thought I’d find, but it’s mine now all the same.
I love him.
Holy shit.
It’s all I can think about for the next period. I’m watching Luciano play, trying so hard to score, trying so hard to win, and I’m just hit with the realization that he’s the one my heart belongs to, after pretending it didn’t. That man right down there.
Of course I’m also freaking the fuck out about his father, so when there’s twenty minutes left in the game, I decide it’s the right time for Elena and I to sneak out.
We move along the rows of people, everyone annoyed since it’s still tied zero-zero, and then down the stairs, making sure to take a different set than before.
We’re almost at the exit on the main floor when a security guard steps in front of me.
He says something in Portuguese, so of course I have no idea what he’s saying.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
I shake my head, my hand growing clammy, and tell him I don’t understand. “Eu não falo Português.”
He holds out his hand. “Passaporte por favor.”
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!
I understood that. My passport.
“I-I don’t have it with me.”
“ID.”
“She doesn’t have to give you anything, you’re not a cop,” Elena sneers at him. Finn’s have a word for this type of ballsy behaviour. It’s called sisu, and she has a ton of it.
I kick her lightly, giving her a look. A look that says, don’t you dare get the cops involved because once they find out I’m here illegally, I’m in real shit.
“You don’t need to ID her,” a cold, dry voice says from behind me.
I freeze. Turn to see Tomás.
He gives me a stiff smile, his suit still stained from the beer. “But I would like to talk to you alone.”
“No way,” Elena says, stepping in front of him, full of sisu again. This girl is loyal.
“It’ll just be a minute,” he says, and then he jerks his chin at the security guard, who gets in front of Elena, blocking her.
Tomás takes my arm, his fingers gripping me hard even through the jacket, and takes me just to the side, in full view of everyone.
“He doesn’t need to ID you because I know who you are, Ruby Turner. I know where you’re from. And I know how long you’ve been in Europe. Seems you’re overstaying your welcome, yes?”
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
“How do you know that?” I whisper.
> He grins at me. “I didn’t. It was a hunch. You just told me.”
Motherfucker.
I rip myself out of his grasp, ready to deck him in his ugly face.
He wags his finger at me. “Ah, no. Don’t do anything stupid. You’ve already done enough.”
“What do you want?” I hiss.
“What do I want? Ruby, it seems this is something you want. Why else would you have been so fucking stupid as to do what you did? Were you looking for an excuse to have things fucked up for you in a very big way? You could have walked past me and I wouldn’t have recognized you. You could have gone back to your seats and gone back to Luciano and screwed his brains out for all I care.” He shakes his head, holding his hands out to inspect his fingernails. “You know, after you did that, I asked one of his teammates on the bench if they’d seen you around. Apparently, you’re his girlfriend now. Goes to his practice and everything. How sweet.”
Fuck.
“But I wouldn’t have known that at all. No, you had to make yourself known. You think you’re so special. You’re not. You’re nothing.”
I raise my chin. “He’s a better man than you.”
“He’s pathetic,” he snaps at me. “I can see why you want to be with him. Like attracts like.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I don’t appreciate having beer thrown at me. And I don’t like the idea of my son knowing what’s happened. You’re making a mockery of my family by being with Luciano, you know this. And I will put an end to that.”
“Go ahead. It doesn’t matter,” I tell him, but I’m shaking.
“I will.” He holds up his phone. “I’m getting you deported. You won’t ever see him again. Marco won’t ever know. Everything will be right in the world. In my world, at least. I take it Luciano might have a bit of a broken heart. Poor guy.”
Deported.
Deported?
“Don’t I just get a fine?”
“Oh, the youth really are ignorant, aren’t they? You’ll get a fine and you’ll be deported, and you won’t be allowed back for a very, very long time.” He pauses, reading my face. He jiggles the phone at me. “One call. To the police. They’ll take care of the rest. I might even mention you assaulted me.” He pauses to smile. “Of course, we could strike a bargain.”
The One That Got Away: A Novel Page 21
