Page 26 of Winning Match (League Valencia #1)

Ale

Another week passes and I am in a hell of my own making.

Living with Marlowe is like being on La Isla de las Tentaciones except I don’t need the solteros , the singles, to tempt me. I’m tempted out of my mind every second I spend in my own flat.

I find her hair ties next to the bathroom sink and on the kitchen counter. The scent of her perfume clings to the throw blanket that rests in the corner of the living room couch. Her water bottle—a massive tumbler with a straw—sits on top of a romance paperback on the coffee table.

The morning I spot lacy underwear and bras hanging from a drying rack on the back balcony, my vision blurs.

Marlowe is intertwined in all aspects of my life—except one. And I desperately want to change that.

Even when I try to add distance between us to clear my mind from thoughts of her, it’s impossible. When I speak to my family, they ask about her. When I meet with my team, they tease me about her.

And when I enter my flat after a tough away game or grueling practice, she’s beaming at me from the couch, ready to watch our favorite reality television show and plunge me deeper into my misery.

At night, I hear the rustle of her bedsheets and wonder why her sleep is restless.

In the morning, the dark circles under her eyes make me scowl with frustration.

I’m so caught up on Marlowe that I’m reprimanded by Coach twice in one practice.

For as much as the tabloids hail my committed relationship with the queen of all girlfriends, my mental focus is slipping.

I’m distracted. And sexually frustrated beyond belief.

In the past, there was a remedy for this. But now, there’s only my Marli. Is that a line I’m willing to cross? A rule I’m willing to break?

“Where’d you go?” Luca asks, a knowing smirk on his mouth as he lifts an electrolyte drink to his lips.

I sigh and glance out over the fútbol field. Our practice is finished but I’m planning to stick around to work out at the gym. I need to burn off this agitation that snakes just below the surface of my skin. I have too much energy and nowhere to put it.

“Sorry,” I mutter, knowing I spaced out. I take a swig from my water bottle.

“ Non importa ,” Luca says in Italian as he peers at me. “I was just asking what you’re doing for Marlowe’s birthday.”

I choke on the water, coughing as Luca pounds on my back.

He grins broadly, knowing he caught me off guard.

“Wh-what?” I sputter. Mierda . “When is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” I repeat, frowning. “That’s the day she pitches to José Costa.”

“ Sí ,” Luca agrees. “Bianca wants to throw her a party, but I said I’d check with you first. In case you planned something…” He trails off, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

I shake my head, disappointed in myself. How the hell did I not know my girlfriend’s birthday?

Maybe because she’s not really your girlfriend.

I ignore the voice in my mind and clasp Luca’s shoulder instead. “Thanks. I’ll take care of it.”

“Message B if you need any help. She lives for these things,” Luca adds as I move toward the gym.

“I will!” I call over my shoulder.

Then, I hit the gym for another hour. As my body burns off the extra energy coursing through my veins, my mind spins. What the hell am I going to do for Marlowe’s birthday? And how am I going to pull it off in such a short time frame?

After my workout and shower, I take Luca’s advice and call Bianca.

The following night, on my drive home from the stadium, I dial Abuela.

“Alejandro!” She answers on the first ring, blurting out in excited Spanish, “Did you see the last episode? Madre mía , I’m not sure if my favorite couple is going to last!”

I chuckle. “You know, Marlowe is now obsessed with this show, too.”

Abuela gasps. “You didn’t tell her I watch it, did you?”

“Abuelita, her Sewing Circle is older than you and much more scandalous. Trust me, she’s not judging you.”

Abuela harrumphs.

“I’m calling to invite you to Marlowe’s birthday party.”

“Ooh, really? When is it? I’ll be there.”

I give her the details for Wednesday night’s party.

“At a bar?” she repeats and I can hear the judgment in her tone.

“ Sí , Marlowe is turning twenty-seven,” I remind her.

“That’s true. Did you arrange for a cake?”

“Of course.” I try not to sound offended. Especially considering I didn’t even know it’s my girlfriend’s birthday! “Also, I have a favor to ask you.”

“Anything.”

God, I love Abuela. The world is a better place because of grandmothers.

I explain to Abuela what I’m thinking, and she remains silent until I finish.

“You’re a good boy, Alejandro,” she murmurs.

I bite the corner of my mouth because while Abuela and Abuelo always told me as much, my papá has never agreed.

“ Gracias ,” I murmur, before changing the subject. “So, you’ll come on Wednesday?”

“ Cuenta conmigo .” Count on me.

On Wednesday, I kiss Marlowe’s cheeks goodbye and wish her luck on her meeting with José Costa. Then, I head to practice and spend my day at the stadium. I’m about to leave to meet Bianca at Corcho when Coach pulls me aside.

“It will just take a minute,” Javi says, flipping through papers on his desk. “League Valencia is hosting a charity event to raise funds for the families affected by last year’s floods.”

I drop my head. Those floods decimated entire communities and gutted the neighborhoods around Valencia.

“It will comprise a series of games,” Javi continues, explaining the breakdown and structure of the event. He glances up from the paperwork. “And we’d like you to be one of the team captains.”

My eyebrows lift as I stare at him. “ Vale . Okay. I’d love to.”

Javi grins. “Good. Because this is a great opportunity for you to show your ability to lead the team, to step up for a greater cause.”

I dip my head in understanding. He’s basically telling me not to fuck this up. I bite the corner of my mouth to keep from grinning. Finally, a chance to rectify old wrongs, an opportunity to do the thing I set out to do when I first asked Marlowe to be my fake girlfriend.

Javi sighs. “Get out of here, García. I’ll email you the dates and additional info.”

I thank him and hustle to my car, not wanting to be late for Bianca.

“Wow,” I murmur when I enter the bar.

Since Bianca works here, she was able to arrange the private party on short notice. That and I’m sure she dropped Luca’s and my names. Not that I care; I’m grateful for any help in pulling off something special for Marlowe.

“You did a great job, B.” I glance around the space.

High-top tables are covered in hot pink tablecloths, pink and white flowers in little white vases atop each one.

There’s a floral arrangement comprising a huge number twenty-seven next to the bar in addition to a balloon banner and a dessert table that is prepared with various candlesticks, cake trays, and decor to display the desserts I ordered.

Bianca beams. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I think Marlowe will love it. What can I help with?” I toss my jacket on the back of a chair and begin rolling up my sleeves.

Bianca shoots me a mischievous smirk.

“What?” I ask hesitantly.

“You can start there.” She points to a karaoke machine with two microphones.

“Bianca,” I groan, dropping my head back.

“What? It’s going to be great!”

“It’s going to be something.”