Page 15 of Winning Match (League Valencia #1)

Marlowe

“I’d like us to be friends,” Ale says, his voice solemn, sincere, as he drops the hex key on my new desk.

“I—what? We are friends.” I spin around in my new bedroom, taking it all in. “This looks really good!”

He snorts and closes the lid on his power drill. I have a new queen-sized bed with cream and white bedding. A nightstand that doubles as a bookshelf. And a new desk with an adorable sage green lamp. The space is clean and tidy and…perfect for me.

“I’m glad you like it.”

I turn toward him. “I do. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he says easily. “And, I mean, I’d like us to be real friends. Not counting my sisters, there aren’t any women I’m…even friendly with. When I meet women now, there’s an expectation there, a motive. And with you…”

I hold my breath, waiting for his words. They don’t come. “What?”

“I can be myself.” The words are soft and quiet and tie my stomach in knots.

“We are friends,” I repeat, even though I’ve only known him for a handful of days. “I don’t have a lot of friends, Ale. But I already consider you one of them.”

He stares at me for a long beat. “I start training camp next Monday. They’re doing it differently this year, with one week in Valencia followed by one week in Portugal, so we can have some friendly matches.”

“Portugal?” My brow furrows.

He nods. “Everything between us happened so quickly, I forgot that you wouldn’t know…wouldn’t even realize…” He glances around my new bedroom. “I want to make sure you’re settled in before I go.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will. You’re stronger than you look.”

I smile but he doesn’t return the gesture and my nerves spike. “What’s wrong?”

Ale sighs and sits on the edge of my bed. He reaches for my hand and plays with my fingers absentmindedly as he collects his thoughts.

“Ale?” I press, the same unease spreading through me that I felt in Gerard’s hotel room. Like I’m on the verge of being blindsided. My heart rate jumps and my hands grow clammy.

Ale holds my fingers in his fist. “I want to help you, Marlowe. I want Prescott Sail to boom and expand. I want you to spend as much time with your dad as possible. I don’t want you to worry about finances during your time here.

When I asked you to be my fake girlfriend, I didn’t realize how much you would have riding on this. ”

“How could you?”

“This…” He pauses to gesture between us.

“This is different. I’m attracted to you.

Like really fucking attracted to you.” He snorts, dropping his hold on me to grip the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“And not just because you’re gorgeous. But because you’re honest and sincere.

You’re hardworking and ambitious. And the way you care about your family, the way you love with your whole heart… ”

My nervous system nearly short-circuits. My mouth dries. My fingers tremble. No man has ever spoken to me like this. In five years, Gerard never admitted half of what Ale just said.

For the first time, it’s as if a man truly sees me. And it’s the most terrifying yet incredible feeling. It’s like free-falling. Face first. Into an endless abyss of…possibility.

I’m wildly attracted to him, but I don’t voice it. Instead, I hold my breath and wait to see what he reveals next.

“The way we danced in the club, the way I kissed you… Marli, I don’t want to ruin this.”

I dip my chin, acknowledging the meaning woven through in his words. Awareness rolls through me as hope flickers in my consciousness.

Does he want to try for real? To make the fake portion of our arrangement real?

“I’ve never known a woman like you.”

Desire blossoms and excitement thrums in my bloodstream, zipping through my veins like a shot of espresso.

“And I don’t ever want to lose your trust,” Ale continues.

Oh my God! What is even happening right now? I roll my lips together, my body drawn tight in anticipation. Giddy; I feel giddy.

Ale stands and takes a step closer to me, his hand lifting to cup the side of my face. His thumb brushes over my chin as he lifts my face to meet his. Even though I haven’t torn my eyes from him since the second he started speaking.

I pull in another breath, praying I don’t hyperventilate, as my heart squeezes with expectation.

“There may be times when we’re out and we’ll have to hold hands, hug, or even kiss.”

I nod. God, I hope every single kiss is as heated, as hot, as the one from the club.

The pressure on my chin increases as Ale swipes his thumb along my skin for one more pass before dropping his hand. “But we can’t cross a line.”

I, uh, what? His words pull me up short and before I can disguise my reaction, I feel my eyebrows pull together. The free fall stops and I slam into the ground, hard. It rattles my teeth and causes my bones to creak.

I stare at him, working overtime to school my expression so I don’t give my thoughts—my desperate, reckless, needy-as-fuck thoughts—away.

Ale rakes his teeth over his bottom lip.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Marli.” His voice catches.

“You just got out of a serious, long-term relationship. You’re juggling a million things with your dad’s health, your family back home, and your work.

” His words come faster, as if he needs to rush through his explanation.

He needs to make me understand. To prove his point.

“And I-I could lose myself in you. Too easily. But I can’t .

” A pang of something I can’t read cuts through his eyes.

“This season, I need to stay focused on my game, committed to my team, to earning the title of captain for next season. I can’t disappoint my father again.

I won’t let my fans down. I just… I need to go all in.

No distractions, no messy feelings, nothing complicated. ”

Right. This makes sense.

His explanation is logical. Rational and sensible and level-headed.

All things I used to be before he turned me inside out. And hell, he wasn’t even trying to.

“I understand,” I breathe out, the words sticking in my throat. I clear it and work a swallow. “And I agree.” Even though I don’t want to. “It’s better this way.”

Relief floats through Ale’s eyes and he grins. “Yes. Great. It is better this way. We give everyone what they want, what they expect from us, and we both walk away with what we want too.”

I lean closer, waiting for him to sum that up.

“You close the account with Costa, and I’m named team captain for the following season.”

“Yes. Of course,” I murmur, even as my heart twists and my blood chills.

“ Gracias , mi nina .” Ale bends down to brush a kiss across my cheek. “Come.” He grasps my hand and tugs me toward the door. “The pizza is probably cold by now and I bet Luca inhaled most of it.”

He steps toward the hallway, but I shake off his touch. Ale turns, a frown marring his lips as he looks at me.

“Just give me one minute.” I hold up a finger. “I need to check in with my dad.”

Understanding washes over his face and I feel terrible for lying. “Take your time.” He slips into the hallway and closes my bedroom door behind him.

I drop to the edge of my bed and suck in a breath as tears burn in the corners of my eyes.

Gah! What is wrong with me?

I don’t do this—cry over boys—until this weekend when it seems like I can’t turn off the waterworks.

Deep down, I know Ale is right. We shouldn’t blur the line between us when we both have so much riding on our arrangement. When he needs to mentally commit to training camp and his soccer season. When I’m here to save my family’s livelihood, to solidify my future.

But a part of me desperately wants him to want me. To kiss me senseless. To make my body yearn for things I didn’t know existed. To remind me that one day, I might find a true partner, a real love.

I loose an exhale and pull my hair away from my face. Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply until my emotions are tucked away.

Ale and I are friends. Can’t that be enough?

I’m not here to indulge in a romance; I’m here to do a job. To fulfill a purpose my family is counting on me to deliver.

Yes, our friendship is enough. Hell, right now, it’s practically everything.

Shaking off my hurt feelings, I realize Ale is right. If I’m this affected after a few days, imagine how torn up I’d be after ten weeks?

Gerard and I have been over for a mere seventy-two hours.

Three days and he hasn’t reached out to make sure I’m okay.

Nope, all Gerard’s done is send a hurtful text message accusing me of jumping into bed with Ale.

Of being half out of our relationship before he even left for Spain.

Of absolving himself of any guilt in our breakup.

I shake off the hurt that thinking about Gerard—of five years gone—causes. Maybe my feelings for Alejandro are compounded by Gerard’s betrayal. Maybe I’m just desperate enough to lose myself in anything that feels good right now.

A small swell of gratitude surges forward as I realize Ale must have my best interest at heart if he’s not taking advantage of the situation. He has to have realized that I would have served myself up to him on a silver freaking platter.

I stand from the bed and move toward the mirror in the corner of the bedroom. I take a few minutes to twist my hair back and secure it with a clip. To slather on some tinted moisturizer to hide the red splotches on my cheeks.

My uneven heartbeat finds a steady rhythm. The swirl of emotions clears from my mind. I blink away the lingering burn of tears I didn’t allow to fall. Then, I smile.

I can do this. I know exactly why I’m here. I know exactly where Ale and I stand.

Luca, Bianca, Ale, and I sit in the living room, munching on pizza and talking. While Bianca and I enjoy a glass of wine, the guys stick to water.

“We’re going to get our asses handed to us next Monday,” Luca explains with a wink.

“Speak for yourself,” Ale shoots back.

“Ah, yes. Rubén’s been on you all summer, hasn’t he?” Luca asks.

Ale flips him off and Luca chuckles.

I frown, glancing between them.

“Alejandro’s father, Rubén, is the greatest futbolista of his generation,” Luca explains.

Even though I’ve read as much online, my gaze darts to Ale. He winces, averting his eyes, and I know speaking about his father is a sore spot.

“And he rides his ass to make sure he doesn’t forget it,” Luca mutters quietly as he reaches for another slice of pizza.

Bianca rolls her eyes, giving her brother a dirty look, before tactfully changing the subject.

We take turns sharing silly stories and embarrassing moments.

We laugh hysterically over first dates gone awry, and the craziest things fans have done to get Luca and Ale’s attention—a flash mob on Ale’s birthday had us howling.

Ale and Luca rib each other endlessly. Bianca teases her brother mercilessly.

And I lean back in my seat and drink it all in.

For the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m on the periphery of my peers. I’m right in the center, along for the ride, and able to keep up.

As Ale takes a swig of his water, his eyes find mine over the bottle. They flash, golden flecks and mesmerizing green. He smiles warmly and I read the sincerity in his expression.

I’m glad you’re here. I’m happy we’re friends.

I grin back. Me too.

I put my desires for more, any daydreams I harbored from our night at the club, away. I close the lid on that box and tuck it into the recesses of my mind.

After pizza, I kiss Ale’s cheeks goodbye the same way I kiss Luca’s—quickly and casually. I don’t breathe in the scent of his cologne or linger by the apartment door.

I turn toward my bedroom, lift my hand in one final wave, and head to bed.

When I wake in the morning, I scan the tabloid headlines with glee.

Alejandro García Is Officially Off the Market

Marlowe Claire Prescott has Snagged the Heart of Our Center Forward

Who Is Marlowe Claire Prescott?

Is Ale Getting Ready to Pop the Question?

Because I know where we stand, I don’t overanalyze and question each headline. Instead, I walk into the kitchen and note Bianca sitting at the table.

“Is Claire part of your first name? Are you really Marlowe Claire?” she asks as I beeline to the fancy espresso machine Luca gifted us.

“It’s solidly my middle name.”

Bianca laughs. “I love how the press has made it part of your identity. Marlowe Claire. It’s so…French.”

I make myself a latte.

“I know you and Ale are a new couple, but the way the media is hyping you guys up is bananas,” Bianca continues.

I hate that Ale and I are lying to literally everyone we know to pull this off, but we have a lot riding on it. The less people who know the truth, the better. And right now, that means no one can know.

“Tell me about it,” I agree.

“The guys have a captain’s practice today ahead of training camp. I’m sure Ale will message you at some point, but I won’t hear from my brother today.” She flips her chin toward the kitchen counter. “And I have some interviews lined up this week. Want to grab brunch and do some shopping?”

I tilt my head. “I thought you were low on funds?”

She shrugs and holds up two credit cards. “Alejandro passed by early this morning with these. My brother sent one for me and Ale sent one for you.” She bites her bottom lip, fanning the cards and lifting her eyebrows.

“What?” I gasp, snatching the note she holds out to me.

Marli—whatever you need, whatever you want, buy it. A

I take the thin plastic card from B and shake my head. “This is too much.”

“He’s wild about you,” Bianca amends, standing from the table. “Come on. Let’s go out for a bit! They wouldn’t have left us credit cards if they didn’t want us to enjoy them.”

I laugh but hesitate.

“Trust me, they want us to have some fun.”

I consider this, pursing my lips. If I was really Ale’s new girlfriend, I would be enjoying the perks of that title without harboring guilt. If I’m to play the role correctly, I need to embrace it for all it entails.

“Fine,” I agree, grinning. “Let me get dressed and we’ll go.”

“Yes! We’re going to be wonderful roommates, Marlowe Claire.”