Page 3 of Winning Match (League Valencia #1)

I clear my throat. “I’m glad. Salud .” I clink my glass against hers and take a gulp of my drink.

“Cheers,” she murmurs, doing the same. She smacks her lips together appreciatively, grinning at me. “This is good. I needed this after today.”

“So, what happened?” I press, sounding just as nosy as Abuela.

“I flew to Valencia?—”

“At Gladys’s urging,” I interject.

Marlowe laughs lightly. “Yes, at Gladys’s urging, to surprise Gerard.

He’s here for work and has been putting in long hours.

The past few months have been…challenging for us.

I wanted to surprise him, to support him.

” Her eyes take on a faraway sheen, as if she’s lost in thought.

A moment passes before she blinks, clearing the memory and straightening in her seat.

Her cheeks heat but her eyes are dry as she admits, “He was in bed with another woman.”

“ Cabrón ,” I spit the vulgar word. My anger spikes and I grip my thighs under the table to control the surge of rage I feel on her behalf.

What a bastard. A man has a woman like Marlowe in his life and he risks that for a one-night stand on a business trip? But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t experienced worse. Hell, there are married men on my team who have done the same thing to their wives.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Marlowe whispers before draining her beverage. I refill it but also pour her a glass of water. I want her to tell me every single thing the hijo de puta said to her, but I also don’t want her to not remember doing so tomorrow.

I arch an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue.

She fiddles with the edge of her linen napkin and my anger swirls into concern.

Did he hurt her? Touch her? “Did he lay a hand on you?” I press, my voice deceptively calm.

As a professional athlete, I’m very aware of the shit guys pull with women and hope to get away with. As a brother with two sisters, I don’t stand for any of it. Ever.

“What? No, of course not,” Marlowe says quickly.

“Tell me the truth,” I demand. If he hurt her, I’ll?—

“He didn’t hurt me. Not physically. He just…he spoke to me so cruelly. He’s never been so dismissive, so callous, before.”

I pull in a breath and relax my hands. “Maybe he’s finally showing you his true colors.”

She snorts. “We’ve been together nearly five years. What does it say about my judgment if I didn’t pick up on these glaring character flaws sooner?”

I bite the corner of my mouth. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know. I just feel…hurt.” She presses a hand to her heart, as if her ex-boyfriend’s actions physically pierced her. “And confused.”

“About what?”

“About everything. Life.”

I offer a small, understanding smile. “I think everyone feels like that sometimes.”

“Maybe,” she murmurs but she doesn’t look convinced. She looks sad and lonely. Younger than her years even though her eyes hold a gleam of wisdom, of experiences, that speak to her maturity.

Do you love him? The thought flickers through my mind and I bite down on my tongue to keep from voicing it.

It’s none of my business whether she loves him. By tomorrow, or a few days at most, she’ll be back in America, and I’ll be a fun memory of a night in Spain.

A better question would be— do you want to forget all about him? Because if that’s the case, I can help her out.

My blood heats at the thought, at the idea of escorting Marlowe home, of laying her down in her hotel room, of making her forget the name of the cabrón she once referred to as her boyfriend.

We could have a night together. One she can recall as the little fling in Valencia. One I can savor as the night a woman trusted me for being Ale, the man, and not Alejandro, the futbolista .

It can be lighthearted and fun, with just enough emotional connection to take our physical coupling to the next level.

Marlowe will return to Rhode Island with higher standards than the poor excuse for a man she wasted five years of her life on. And I’ll start my season sated, without the usual distractions and temptations that crop up.

We can talk and laugh and enjoy each other’s company for one night without the expectation of more. In the morning, we’ll go our separate ways and the gratitude for what we shared will be enough.

As my fantasy takes shape, I can’t help but smile at the beauty sitting across from me. Dining with her makes me feel a thousand feet tall because she’s confiding in me as just Ale. And that’s enough.

Determined to enjoy this night, this time, with Marlowe, I take a sip of my drink and listen to every word she shares.

She talks about sailing, her passion for the sport evident as her face brightens and her eyes sparkle.

She speaks about her family and her Sewing Circle—a tight-knit support system that seems to be entirely comprised of senior citizens. Interesting yet endearing.

When she leans forward, as if to reach for me, my heart thuds in my eardrums. Before she can grasp my hand, our server appears and sets down the tapas.

A laugh spills from Marlowe’s lips as she takes in the various plates. “How much did your order?”

I smirk, feeling more like myself than I have all summer. “ Bienvenida a Valencia , Marlowe.”

Welcome to Valencia.