Page 16 of Winning Match (League Valencia #1)

Ale

Shopping bags rest on the edge of the console table when I enter my apartment.

My body aches, my muscles simultaneously stiff and tender.

Today was grueling, but I knew it would be.

The first captain’s practice before training camp is always a bitch, no matter how hard I condition in the off-season.

But that’s the point. It’s supposed to snap us back into a routine, into reality, before training camp begins.

“What’s this?” I mutter to no one, even though my housekeeper, Sandra, messaged that I had a delivery.

I glance through the bags and note the designer shirts and pair of sneakers tucked inside. Then, sticking out of one corner, a note.

If I’m to have your credit card, I’ll put it to good use. And be a doting girlfriend as well. Thanks for entertaining B’s messages today. Hope your first day back was great! x, M.

A wave of surprise rolls through me but I can’t fight the smile that cuts my face.

I figured Bianca would convince Marlowe to go out and shop with my card.

In fact, I was counting on it when I suggested to Luca that we leave the girls cards linked to our accounts.

What I didn’t anticipate? Her thoughtfulness in purchasing items for me.

Although, now that the bags are before me, I’m not surprised. Mainly, because Bianca messaged to confirm shops that kept her brother’s sizes and address on file for delivery. Now, I know that helped her and Marlowe narrow down stores that likely had my sizes and address on file too.

I shake my head. Marlowe Claire Prescott is the biggest sweetheart I’ve ever met. Another reason she has no business being my girlfriend.

And yet, I’m enjoying this ruse between us more than I should.

I want to claim Marlowe as mine. In under a week, she managed to improve my standing with my team owner and senior management, ease some of the tension between my father and me, and make Mamá and Abuela beam at the prospect of having her join us for Sunday paella.

For the first time in weeks, I’m not dreading the start of the season. Instead, I’m anxious for it to begin, especially knowing that my personal life won’t be circulating in the tabloids, rife with scandal, betrayal, and heartache.

I rummage through the shopping bags and pull out two knit shirts from Purificacion García and a pair of OG Trophy Room Nikes. “Damn.” I whistle. My girl’s got good taste. And her shopping a Spanish designer like Purificacion García will only add to our current sparkle in the media.

Marlowe is smart and savvy. While I’ll never truly have a relationship with a woman like her, I’m grateful that she’s my friend.

Now, we need to get through a Sunday paella lunch with my family and the next nine weeks will be smooth sailing.

If Mamá and Abuela embrace Marlowe, they’ll keep my papá in check, and I won’t have any distractions or temptations.

I’ll be able to focus purely on my game, my team, my passion.

Pulling out my phone, I text Marlowe a quick thank you.

Alejandro

Thanks for the surprise presents.

Marli

Don’t thank me. I charged them to you.

Alejandro

It’s the thought that counts.

Marli

Alejandro

What are you up to tonight?

Marli

Dinner and a movie with Bianca. You?

I pause, my thumb hovering over the keypad. I want to ask if she wants to hang out afterwards, but is that sending mixed signals?

Didn’t Andrés accuse me of doing so? And shouldn’t I stick to the rules since I’m the one who fucking made them?

Swearing at myself, I tap out a reply.

Alejandro

Have fun! No plans. Today was grueling so I’m crashing early.

Several minutes of silence tick by and I stare at the screen, willing Marlowe to reply.

I’m about to place my phone down when the bubbles dance along the bottom of the screen.

Marli

Sleep well!

I close my eyes, irritation flickering to life. Before I can stop myself, I message again.

Alejandro

Will you come to my parents’ house for paella on Sunday? It’s tradition. My sisters aren’t in town, but you can meet my abuela.

Marlowe doesn’t miss a beat.

Marli

I’d love to! What time?

Alejandro

I’ll pick you up at 1.

Marli

Great! See you then.

I swear. That’s six days from now. Does that mean she has no intention of seeing me this week either?

Jesus, didn’t I tell her that this would be low-key? Didn’t I say we shouldn’t cross a line? That I needed to focus on fútbol and today was my first captain’s practice? Wasn’t I the one who encouraged her to explore the city and enjoy her life while she’s here?

And now, I’m wondering what she’s up to and messaging her like a lovesick teenager.

I toss my phone on the center console before I send any more text messages. After hanging up my new shirts—of course, they’re a perfect fit—and putting away my new shoes, I grab some workout clothes.

Needing to clear my head, and the confusing thoughts of Marlowe that swirl there, I lace up my sneakers, give my bodyguard Ramón a call, and head to Turia for a run.

The wide stretch of greenery, of tranquility, cutting through the center of the city calms me. I pop AirPods in my ears, start a playlist, and begin a slow-paced jog. Something easy to stretch out my muscles and clear my head.

Around me, families and friends gather. Some talking in clusters, others taking walks, or enjoying a bike ride. There are rollerbladers and people hosting picnics. Some practicing acrobats or yoga. Kids climb the famous Gulliver attraction from Gulliver’s Travels and the skate park is full.

A few fans recognize me, even with a hat pulled low to my brows. They lift a hand in greeting or flip their chin in acknowledgement, but no one stops me, and I’m grateful. As a precaution, Ramón trails behind me.

I breathe in the humid air and keep my sights on the City of Arts and Sciences as it rises before me—a modern, almost extraterrestrial looking cluster of buildings surrounded by reflecting ponds filled with cool, sea-green water.

The scenery distracts me from the heat pumping through my veins every time I think of Marlowe. I jog until I reach the end of the park, where I turn left and continue toward the beach.

I push myself until sweat is dripping down my back, pooling in the base of my throat, and dropping from my wrists.

But my head is quiet, my mind empty, and for that, I’m relieved.

When I arrive at the beach, I toe off my socks and sneakers, remove my AirPods, strip down to my underwear, and plunge into the sea.

The shock of the cool water is refreshing, and I settle into it, allowing the sea to envelop my body.

I need to keep my wits about me and stick to the plan. Marlowe is doing a fantastic job holding up her end of the bargain. After next week’s paella, I’ll figure out how to connect her with José Costa and we’ll be one step closer.

I just can’t get twisted up over her. I need to stick to the rules, keep my priorities clear, and remain focused on the end goal.

Which, for me, will always be fútbol .

I’m nearly desperate to see her when I buzz up to her apartment the following Sunday. Yeah, we talked throughout the week—an exchange of text messages, two phone calls, and some random updates I got from Luca via Bianca.

But with my training sessions accelerating ahead of camp starting tomorrow, fútbol demanded every ounce of my energy and every bit of my mental focus. As such, our conversations were surface level at best.

In addition to what Luca shared with me, the social media tags and random photos of Marlowe out and about kept me informed of what she and Bianca got into this week—some time spent at the neighborhood bar where I first met her, Corcho, morning runs in Turia, and several afternoons at the beach in Malvarossa.

Marlowe told me she even joined a game of beach volleyball—and she practically burst with excitement as she relayed serving an ace.

Knowing that she was enjoying her time in Valencia, and had hit it off with Bianca, was a gift I didn’t know I needed. It allowed me to mentally commit to my training and to prepare for the official start of camp tomorrow.

The building door clicks, and I enter, taking the stairs up to the fourth floor. When I arrive, Marlowe’s already cracked open the door to her flat and I knock once before entering. “ Hola .”

She walks into the small foyer a moment later, securing a stud earring into place. I pause, drinking her in.

She’s wearing a silk maxi skirt. It’s navy and printed with luscious flowers in various shades of purple and pink.

On top, a form-hugging, white tank hugs her curves.

The straps are thin and delicate. Her hair has been blown out and is full and wavy as it falls to just past her shoulders.

Her makeup is simple and natural. But her eyes sparkle and her smile is genuine, and holy shit, I can’t believe this is the woman I’m bringing home to meet my parents. To meet Abuela.

Since high school, Marlowe is the first woman I’ve ever brought home. Part of me swells with pride at the opportunity to do so.

“ Estás guapísima .” I shake my head. “Stunning.”

Marlowe blushes and bites that bottom lip. “You look really nice, too.”

I don’t repeat that she looks a hell of a lot more than “really nice.”

Instead, I close the space between us, place a hand on her waist, and lean down to kiss both of her cheeks.

When I pull away, a flicker of heat flares in her eyes, but it’s gone in the next blink. Wishful thinking on my part? Probably.

“You ready?” I ask.

“Yes.” She moves toward the refrigerator and pulls out a large pastry box. “Let me just get this.”

“You didn’t have to buy anything.”

She blushes. “I didn’t. I…I made it.”

I stare at her in awe, my mouth dropping open. Gently, I lift the lid of the pastry box and groan. Nestled inside is a delicious cheesecake, decorated with blueberries, lemon zest, and fresh lavender. “Is that… You made a cheesecake?”

Marlowe blushes. “Gladys is a fantastic baker,” she offers by way of explanation. “I have a bottle of wine too.”

I take the pastry box from her hands. “You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to do anything.”

“I know.” She moves to the barstool tucked into the kitchen island and grasps a wine gift bag, a bottle already inside. “I wanted to. I want…I want your parents, your abuela, to like me.”

“ Mi nina , trust me,” I say, gesturing toward the pastry box, “they’re going to love you.”

She laughs but I can tell she’s pleased. Placing a hand on my back, she nudges me toward the door. “I don’t want to be late.”

“We’ll be right on time,” I promise, stepping into the hallway and waiting for her to lock up.

A lone paparazzo lingers outside her flat, snapping photos as we walk toward my ride—a Mercedes AMG. Once we’re inside my SUV, I glance at Marlowe.

I thought I would be nervous about today’s paella at my parents’ house.

But I already know my family is going to fall in love with Marlowe.

In fact, that’s a double-edged sword. As much as I want them to admire her, the same way I do, the hardest part about today is knowing that Mamá and Abuela will be devastated when Marlowe and I break up in two months and she returns to Rhode Island.