Page 10 of Winning Match (League Valencia #1)

Ale

I breathe easier the second I hear the shower running.

Marlowe in that satin pajama set is enough to short-circuit my brain. But those tiny straps coupled with the worry, the uncertainty, in her gaze made my chest feel funny. Glazed in ice yet burning.

I don’t understand the feelings her presence alone pulls from me. And right now, I don’t want to dissect them. Instead, I want us to talk.

They’re saying she’s my girlfriend.

I don’t think Marlowe saw the social platforms yet. She seemed too calm, too confused, to have read the lies being circulated on social media. But she will. And when she does…

By the number of times my phone has buzzed, I know the story is everywhere and growing legs with each passing second.

I have to put an end to it now. Book her a flight home, issue a press release, and move on.

I groan as my phone rings for the umpteenth time. I silence it and place a quick call to room service instead, requesting a breakfast spread.

I’ve barely hung up when another call comes through.

Dios mío. Pulling it out, I swear as my agent’s name appears on the screen.

“Callie,” I answer.

“García,” she replies. Her voice is clipped, but not angry. Callie James is one of the most resourceful, bad ass, yet compassionate women I’ve ever met. She’s an incredible agent and, since signing with her, the endorsement deals she’s secured for me in America have been life-changing.

“ Buenas ,” I offer the casual greeting and sink back into the sofa.

“You doing okay?”

“Of course.”

Callie laughs lightly, letting me know she doesn’t buy my bullshit, but she doesn’t call me on it. “Who is she?”

“An American,” I clip out. I want Callie to tell me the full impact of the media attention spinning around about my night with Marlowe before I offer details.

“All right,” Callie says slowly, correctly reading my reluctance to share information about Marlowe. “You know this is easier if you just tell me the truth, García. It will be helpful for when I loop PR in.”

“The truth is that I met her last night.” I heave out a sigh and drop my head back. “How bad is it?”

“At the moment? Not bad at all. Every outlet is reporting that you had a fun, consensual night out with a beautiful woman, who is your new girlfriend. You joined some of your closest friends and teammates to celebrate Luca DiBlanco’s birthday.

Nothing that will ruin your image. In fact, early feedback indicates positive ratings. ”

“Positive?”

“It shows commitment. It’s?—”

“What team management wants from me,” I supply.

“What Ricardo Nunez wants from you.” Callie drops the team owner’s name.

“What my father expects from me,” I continue.

She sighs. “Yes. There’s time to control the narrative and spin this any way you want. It all depends on who she is to you.”

“A mystery.” I snort, dropping my head back.

“Tell it to me straight, García,” Callie presses. “I can assure you, whatever you share will not be shocking. It won’t even be the most dramatic thing I’ve heard this morning.”

I laugh because I know Callie is telling the truth. While she’s now committed to retired American football player Gage Gutierrez, I know her proximity to elite athletes places her at the center of spinning media shitstorms on the regular.

“The truth is she’s an American woman whose credit card was declined at a bar. I picked up her tab and left. But then…then, I went back and took her to dinner and invited her to the club for Luca’s birthday.”

“Because you like her?” Callie’s tone is hopeful.

“Because she doesn’t know who I am and I…”

“Liked being with a woman who was attracted to you ,” Callie finishes simply.

I grunt, not wanting to acknowledge how ridiculous that sounds. Most male athletes preen for the attention women heap upon us—no matter how undeserved it is. And here I am, at the height of my career, desperate to walk around incognito in my hometown.

“And now?”

“She’s showering while I sit in her hotel suite and wonder what the hell I’m going to say when she walks out of the bathroom,” I spill my guts.

“Does she know who you are?”

“Not yet.”

“Has she seen the feeds?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is this thing a thing ?”

“Too soon to tell.”

Callie snorts. “Well, you should figure that out as quickly as possible.”

“Yeah,” I agree, tossing up a prayer to the Virgin Mary for buying me some time, and drop my head back.

“Her identity will be confirmed within hours, García. What happens next depends on who she is to you. This could get messy for her?—”

“No,” I bite out. “I want her protected.”

Callie clucks her tongue, but I can tell she wants to know more.

I offer nothing.

“Can I give you a piece of advice?”

I clear my throat, waiting.

“If you care for her, at all, make sure she knows what she’s in for.

You’re still receiving more threats than you did before the car-keying incident.

Some of your fans are becoming emboldened.

Your life is being dissected online. The media, social media, can build you up as quickly as it can tear you down.

You know that. Your family understands that. But this woman…”

I don’t share her name.

Callie snorts. “Understood. This woman doesn’t. Don’t blindside her, García. Even if you don’t care for her at all, don’t feed her to the wolves. Call me back within the hour. Sooner if you can swing it.” She hangs up.

I swear loudly, then straighten.

Because the shower has turned off and I don’t hear the blast of a blow dryer.

How much did Marlowe overhear? What does she know? What will she think?

Early feedback is indicating this is positive.

It shows commitment.

There’s time to control the narrative.

My mind spins and I hunch forward, my palms braced over my knees.

What if…

What if Marlowe and me were a thing?

Callie was right. It’s what the team owner wants, what my father wants.

What if Marlowe was my girlfriend?

Fuck. I can’t ask that of her. She’s not cut out for this because no one is cut out for this shit. Life under a microscope, existing in a constant spotlight.

Some of your fans are becoming emboldened.

Your life is being dissected online.

I don’t want that shit for Marlowe. My security team has doubled this summer and I’ve barely gone out.

It doesn’t matter what Papá thinks. There’s still time for me to step back from the rumor. Send Marlowe home and protect her.

A text comes through on my phone and my stomach sinks as I read it.

Papá

Ricardo Nunez and senior management are thrilled to hear you’ve settled down. A girlfriend could be good for you, Alejandro. Perhaps I reacted too harshly. Perhaps this is for the best.

Girlfriend. They’ve already jumped to that conclusion.

Mama

Ale! Your father told me the good news! Please, invite her to Sunday paella. Can she come this week?

Madre mía.

My sisters start in on the sibling thread as a knock sounds on the door. I gratefully accept the room service, setting out the food as I scan my sisters’ commentary.

Carla

image attached

Is this a joke? Are you dating someone?

I snort. If Carla thinks I’m serious about a woman from a bunch of social media posts…then she must have gleaned the same connection between Marlowe and me in those photos that I did. Mierda , this is escalating.

Valentina

Is she American? She looks American! We’re bringing you over to our side.

Carla

I’m currently dating a German, thank you very much.

Valentina

For now.

Carla

What’s that supposed to mean?

Valentina

Raia told me he doesn’t like pretzels.

Carla

That’s not a deal-breaker.

Valentina

It should be.

“Ale?” Marlowe asks, standing in front of me.

I toss down my phone. I can’t believe I was distracted by my sisters’ nonsensical conversation that I didn’t hear her leave the bedroom and enter the sitting room.

“You ordered room service,” she says slowly.

“Coffee?” I offer, both desperate to spill my guts and drag this moment out for as long as possible.

With every second that ticks by, my anxiety heightens. She’s going to learn my real identity. Won’t she question why I didn’t tell her who I am last night? Will she hate me for omitting the truth, right after her ex-boyfriend blindsided her?

She nods and I pour her a mug of coffee.

“Milk or sugar?” I ask, but she accepts the mug from me, drinking it black.

She studies me curiously and I can see the questions turning over in her mind.

I don’t blame her. I’ve given nothing away. “We need to talk.”

Her eyes study me before traveling around the suite. When she looks back again, I note the flair of doubt, the sliver of distrust, in her gaze and it scrapes me raw. “So, talk.” A bite underlines her tone.

Don’t blindside her, García. Even if you don’t care for her at all, don’t feed her to the wolves.

But… early feedback is indicating this is positive.

No. I need to let her go. I need to book her a flight home and put as much distance between us as possible.

Marlowe perches on the armrest of the sofa and looks at me expectantly. I stare at her, noting the challenge in her irises, the rigidity of her spine.

I need to tell her the truth. I need to man the fuck up.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend,” I say instead.

“What?” Her tone is incredulous. “Are you…what…I don’t even know you, Ale. This whole thing”—she gestures around the hotel suite—“is insane. You’re not making any sense.”

She’s right. I know she is. But as I stare at her, with red patches burning in her cheeks, her eyes wild, her hair still damp from the shower…I know I have to convince her to stay.

I have to convince her to date me.

I won’t let my father down. Or my team. Or my fans.

Besides, my mind spins, this could be good for her. This could help her, too. Last night, she confided things I doubt she meant to say.

But God, I’d be a bastard to bring that up now.

I suck in a sharp breath, mentally warring with myself. Skepticism crosses Marlowe’s expression, and it crushes me. If there’s anyone in the world I want to look at me with faith, with trust, it’s her.

“You want a meeting with José Costa,” I blurt out.

She jerks back so quickly, a splash of coffee flies over the rim of her mug and dots her wrist. She hisses from the pain.

I move instantly, swiping a cloth napkin from the tray, dunking it in a water pitcher, and holding it to her wrist.

“It’s fine,” she murmurs.

I don’t remove my hold.

Marlowe glances up at me beneath her long lashes. Her face is free of makeup and again, the smattering of freckles across her nose hypnotizes me.

We’re close. Too close. Her shoulder presses into my chest and when I inhale, I breathe in the scent of jasmine. Her shampoo.

“How do you know about José Costa?” she asks quietly, her voice cold.

“You mentioned him last night. You said his account could save everything. What did you mean?”

Marlowe averts her gaze and passes me her coffee mug.

I’m forced to release her wrist to hold her mug. While she keeps the cool cloth pressed to the burn, I set down our coffees and sit on the other side of the sofa.

“How do you know him?”

“I have…access…to nearly every entrepreneur in Spain,” I say carefully.

Marlowe narrows her eyes. “Who are you, Ale? The way people react to you, the hostess at the restaurant, the bouncer at the club…what the hell am I missing?”

I swear softly. This is it. Time to come clean.

“I’m a futbolista ,” I admit, holding her gaze. “A fútbol player.”

Her eyes narrow and track over my frame, sizing me up. She lifts a wry brow, as if finding me lacking.

I scoff. “Not American football. Real fútbol .”

“You mean soccer?” she asks and from her tone, I know she doesn’t mean it as an insult but…

“That’s not even a real word.”

She surprises me by laughing. Then she shrugs, entirely unapologetic. “So, you’re a soccer player.”

“ Fútbol ,” I correct.

“And you know José Costa?”

I nod. I don’t really know the man, but I’ve met him a handful of times. “He’s a fan.”

She narrows her eyes, and I can tell she’s wondering if I’m fucking with her.

Marlowe sighs. “Sorry, I-I don’t even know what to say. The past twenty-four hours have been a mind fuck. You haven’t given me a reason to not believe what you’re saying but…this is a lot.”

“I know.”

Her eyes cut to the bed before finding mine again. She blinks. “Last night, you took me out. You brought me here. You tucked me in and left .” Her tone is accusatory, but I also hear a thread of…hurt…laced around her words.

I hold her gaze, trying to read her.

“And now, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend,” she continues.

“Yes.”

“Why? It doesn’t make any sense. Why not just ask me out on a date or propose a fun fling?”

I wince since both options are more in line with my usual motives.

“There are pictures of us. From last night,” I say slowly.

“I know.”

My eyes widen. “You do?”

“The Sewing Circle sent me one. I didn’t get a chance to read the post, but I saw the photo. It’s not indecent or anything.”

“No,” I agree. If it had been indecent , well, that would have made everything a million times worse.

Unbearable. I sigh, keeping my eyes on her as I admit the truth.

“I’m a professional fútbol player who was recently passed over for the captain position due to my reputation off the field.

I’d like to present a cleaner image and apparently, having a steady girlfriend—an attachment to a sweet, kind, and thoughtful woman—is a palatable solution. ”

Marlowe arches an eyebrow. “So, you want to use me to trick people into thinking you’re a better man than whatever they previously believed?”

Ouch, that struck a nerve. But also… “Yes.”

She bites her bottom lip before releasing it. Then, she sits up straighter, perching on the edge of the armrest. Marlowe tilts her head, and the atmosphere around us charges. The air tightens and the room shrinks.

We’re transitioning from an awkward morning to a business negotiation. I note the change in her expression. Her eyes flare and her lips purse and my God if she isn’t beautiful.

She wields more power than she realizes. Her confidence billows and her eyes spark with a fierce intelligence I admire. She settles into a role she’s clearly familiar with and holy hell, it’s a turn-on I never knew I was into.

“We should discuss terms,” she says finally, reaching forward to pick up her coffee mug.

I fight a grin. There she is. A beauty with a brain and a backbone.

A woman who knows what she wants.

She will be my undoing. Not that she’ll ever know it.

“All right,” I agree. “Let’s talk.”