“Well,” I said somewhat awkwardly, trying to pave over it, “what relationships aren’t complicated?”
He gave me a sharp look. “The good ones.”
The thing is, I had to agree with him. That’s why I wasn’t even in relationships. Wham, bam, thank you dude, was way easier than getting your heart trampled on. The last relationship I was in nearly broke me to pieces. There was no way I’d ever go down that route again. And so, I hadn’t.
I kept all of that to myself though and only said, “I understand.” I could sense that he wanted to know more but so far my love life was not even close to being on the table.
“Vera, Mateo!” Angel’s slurred English interrupted us.
We both twisted around to see him stumbling toward us with a glass of wine in his hands and a stupid smile on his face. His white shirt was stained with purple red.
“Angel,” Mateo acknowledged him, pronouncing the “g” softly, like an “h.”
“I was sent here to tell you something,” Angel said, swaying a bit on his feet, his expression absolutely exuberant. It was only then that I was aware of the loud voices, music and laughter coming from the patio area. Their drinking game must have accelerated while I was in my own little world.
Our own little world.
“Yes, what is it?” Mateo asked him impatiently. He didn’t seem to appreciate the interruption either.
Angel’s eyes rolled back in thought and he rapidly tapped his fingernail against the wine glass. “Sammy…,” he paused. “Sammy told me to tell you ‘cunt.’ And if I said it, she would show me hers!”
Then he collapsed into a fit of impish giggles, turned on his heel and ran all the way back to the patio, his wine continuing to spill everywhere. A chorus of laughter erupted in the distance, everyone finding Angel’s dare hilarious.
I looked back at Mateo, my brow cocked. “Wow, you Spaniards are being corrupted more and more each day. Have you picked up any English that isn’t a bad word?”
Mateo chuckled and eased himself off the wall. “Wait until we have a chance to speak Spanish, I will teach you all the bad words.”
My face fell a little. “We’ll have to find the time before you leave. It probably won’t be tolerated until your last day.”
His smile was sad. He held out his palm, waiting for my hand. “Less than two weeks,” he noted softly.
I put my hand in his and let him help me off of the wall. Together we walked hand in hand until we were out of the dark and into the light. He then let go, but not before giving my hand a squeeze.
Chapter 10
“Vera, get your butt over here!”
I opened my eyes and stared at the dark wood paneled ceiling. Sun streamed in through the open French doors, as did the shouts of whoever the hell was interrupting my nap.
I blinked a few times and slowly sat up. I’d passed out on the couch, my SLR camera on my stomach as I’d been reviewing all the photos I’d taken of the trip so far. I had no idea what time it was, but I had left lunch a little early, hoping to sneak in extra shut-eye.
After Mateo and I went back to join the makeshift party, I only stayed for about twenty minutes before I wanted to go back to my place. I was horny as hell and staring at Mateo as he drank another beer, knowing how soft his hair felt to my hands, was absolute torture for me. I went straight back to my room, locked the door, and brought out my vibrator. Normally my hands would have done the trick, but not for what I was envisioning.
Unfortunately, even after five orgasms in a row, imagining Mateo thrusting into me, jerking off, going down on me, I still hadn’t found the peace I so desperately craved. I tossed and turned all night and practically sleepwalked through the morning sessions.
After the nap, I still wasn’t that refreshed, probably because some hooligan was outside yelling at me. I growled in frustration and then got up. I flung myself at the iron railing and screamed, “WHAT?!” my hair blowing around me like a lion’s mane.
Down and across from me on the lawn of the dining hall a ragtag group of people had gathered, maybe a dozen.
I could see Mateo standing on the side of the group, wearing what looked to be jeans, a t-shirt and running shoes. My god, not a slick suit in sight!
At the front of the group was Eduardo who was wearing ridiculously tight shorts, knee-high socks and had a soccer ball under his arm. “We need another Anglo to make this even!” he yelled right back.
Didn’t these people realize that not only did I need some alone time each day, but I hated most sports. Give me tennis, give me skiing, give me my horseback riding but never sign me up for a god damn team sport.
Plus, Mateo was there and his forest green t-shirt showed off the V shape of his upper body, the strength of his tanned arms and his jeans looked really worn in, in that sexy mechanic kind of way. I couldn’t see his ass but I knew it looked amazing.
Maybe you’ll burn off your crazy libido, I thought to myself as I was getting hot and bothered all over again. It was either going to help or make it worse. Seemed I couldn’t really win while I was here.
I grumbled to myself and retreated to my room where I slipped on a pair of jean shorts that I knew made my ass look fine and my Chuck Taylors. Not the best soccer shoe but it would have to do. I quickly gulped down a glass of water at the sink and then ran down the stairs to join them.
“Okay,” I announced, waving my hands in the air. “I’m here, I’m here.”
I briefly made eye contact with Mateo before I was immediately sequestered over to the Anglo’s side. At least I got to see him turn around and join his team, proving that yes, his firm ass looked deliciously biteable in those jeans. Damn it.
“Vera!” Lauren snapped.
Oh great, she was here. I slowly turned around and glared at her.
She was already glaring at me through her glitter glasses, eyeing my boobs angrily. Was it because I was wearing an American Apparel top again? I thought we already went over this.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing a sports bra,” she said, “or something more appropriate for the sport?”
I somehow both raised my brows and narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”
Sure this top showed skin, but most of my shirts did. When did she become the cleavage police? Wasn’t she supposed to be a feminist?
Wayne stepped forward, dressed head to toe in Nike gear that looked like it was being used for the first time. He was trying really hard not to look at my boobs. “As team captain here, I say that what Vera is wearing is fine.”
“You too?” Lauren scoffed, turning to look at him, which kind of reminded me of Linda Blair in The Exorcist when her head goes all the way around. “What is it with you married men? Does the sanctity of marriage vows mean nothing anymore?”
Wayne’s expression turned into that of a scolded child. “I’m sorry?”
“I have to agree with Lauren,” Tyler said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Your top is distracting.”
“Shut up, you Brony,” I said. He looked appalled while I heard Wayne whisper, “What’s a Brony?”
“Come on, you guys,” Polly admonished, bouncing back and forth on each leg. Though she was wearing a tight t-shirt, her fake boobs still jostled around and yet Lauren wasn’t signalling her out. “It’s just a stupid football match. Let’s just play. Who gives a rat’s arse what anyone is wearing, I want that damn dinner.”
Apparently whatever team was going to win the match next week was going to get treated to a dinner in a fancy restaurant out in town, like we were episode winners on a reality show or something. The thing was, I didn’t want to spend yet another dinner with some of these people. If I won a dinner by myself, then yes, that would be a prize.
“Let’s hear it for dinner!” Wayne yelled and clapped his hands together, happy to have a segue off of whatever the fuck was going on with Lauren. “Okay team. Let’s go, let’s go.” While he waved everyone over to him to huddle and pick positions, I reached out and grabbed Lauren’s shoul
der.
Kind of hard.
“What the hell is your problem with me?” I whispered as I spun her around to face me. Seriously, I had enough of her and her snarky, hateful attitude. She was pretty much the one thing that was putting a damper on Las Palabras.
She leaned in close. She smelled…not good. “I don’t like you,” she seethed, eyes wide and bright, like she was about to go apeshit on me.
“Why?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything to you.”
“Yes you have. You’ve done something to the whole female gender.”
Oh my god, what the fuck.
“I don’t like women who use sex to achieve what they want. Women are better than that.”
“What sex?” I asked, befuddled, pissed-off and a whole bunch of things. “I’m not having sex.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know his wife could find out everything.”
“There’s nothing to find out!” I yelled at her. By now it was quite apparent that we were having a little war on the corner of the lawn and the rest of our team was watching us impatiently. Thank goodness the Spaniards were further away and Mateo wasn’t picking up on any of this.
“You keep telling yourself that,” she said. “But I know girls like you. You make my life harder every single day.”
“Do you ever stop and think,” I said, waving my finger in her face, “that you make your life harder on yourself?”
She put her hands on her hips. “You have no clue, do you?”
“No,” I said just as I looked past Lauren’s shoulder and saw Sammy kick the soccer ball in our direction. I took a step back from Lauren and watched as the soccer ball slammed into the back of her head. “You have no clue.”
Lauren cried out, her glasses falling off her face and onto the grass.
“Heads up!” Sammy yelled with a smirk on her face.
I left Lauren to pick up her glasses and ran along to join the team, cleavage be damned.
After the little kerfuffle with Lauren, the rest of the game went pretty smoothly. Even though it was just supposed to be a practice match, Jerry was acting as ref and he was so into the game that he decided to cancel everyone’s first business session of the day and continue with the game instead. Everyone that wasn’t playing got to pull up the wicker chairs and watch from the sidelines.
I wished that’s what I could have done, instead I was running back and forth and pretty much fucking things up until Wayne put me in as goalie. Which would have been an okay gig if you were on the Spanish side, because none of the Anglos were even coming close to the net.
And the Spanish team had Mateo.
And Mateo was a fucking soccer god.
The one good thing about being in goal was that I had a very clear shot of the field (well, lawn), and the ball and wherever the ball was, Mateo was.
Even though we were playing on a lawn like bunch of grade-schoolers and the goal posts were nothing more than two orange traffic cones and Mateo was playing in jeans, he moved with the grace of a dancer, executed kicks and plays like he was in the stadium playing for Madrid. Everyone was kind of in awe, more watching him than actually playing seriously. And no one cared, because this was something you didn’t get to see every day.
The most amazing thing about the whole experience was the look on Mateo’s face. It was constantly lit up, like a spectacular sunrise that you never expected to catch. I sometimes caught glimpses of that look when I was talking to him but for the most part, Mateo came across as charming, witty, relaxed—and distant. There was always some edge, some darkness to him just rolling beneath the businessman exterior. But here, on the field, the way the ball danced with his feet, the way his supple body moved like he was in an intricate dance, it was like he’d come alive again.
And, perhaps inappropriately, my heart squeezed a bit for him. It couldn’t have been easy to give up what you loved doing for something else that didn’t give you joy.
Ironically, though Mateo was always considerate and thoughtful, he didn’t show any of that on the field. He moved through people, bowling them over with no apologies, all so the ball could be at his feet again. And, as goalie, he showed zero compromise with me. He kicked that ball at me like he was trying to take my head off.
As such, I spent a lot of time leaping for the ball but making sure my timing was just a bit off, so the ball never collided with me. I looked like I was putting in an effort, but really I was just letting Mateo make every single goal on purpose. His smile was so blinding after each goal that it warmed me inside and out, and besides, there was no way I was going to get bruised up in exchange for that. I couldn’t stop him, even if I was trying.
Naturally, the Spaniards won the game (so much for a practice match) and Jerry promised us all that next week we could probably have the official match on the field of the school in Acantilado. At least the goal posts would be bigger.
I wanted to talk to Mateo when it was all over, but he had a crowd of people around him now. I wondered if it made him feel like he was back in the day, back in the glory.
It was just as well. The game did nothing to clear my head or get out my sexual ya-yas. I had a business session with Claudia next and I knew for sure we weren’t having any kind of meeting.
“Great game,” Claudia said, coming up to me with the binder in her hands. She had opted to sit and watch, which was the wiser choice. “Do you want to do the interview or the phone call?”
“I have a better idea,” I said. “Do you have any beer at your apartment? Or wine?”
She frowned. “I have wine.”
“That will do. Let’s go.”
Minutes later we were sitting on her couch, a glass of wine white each. She kept flipping through the binder until I told her to put it away, we wouldn’t be needing it.
“I just want to talk,” I said. “Not about business.”
“Okay, yes.” She looked a bit relieved—the sessions were the hardest parts of the day. “What about? Are you okay?”
I nodded and craned my head around to look at her roommate, Polly’s, door. It was open, room empty.
“She’s not here,” Claudia said. “What is wrong, Vera?”
I sighed and swirled the wine around in the glass. “Nothing really. I just need to talk to someone and you seem so open-minded, maybe you would understand.”
“I am not Lauren,” she said seriously.
“No, you aren’t.” I folded my leg under me, my thighs sticking to the couch. Each day here it was growing warmer and warmer, my skin more and more tanned. “I talked to Becca last week and she said that this place has a way of…making people fall in love. Or at least fall into bed together.”
A knowing smirk came across her face, her brown eyes dancing. “Oh, yes, I can see that is true.”
“Really?” I asked, intrigued. “Has this happened to you so far?”
Her face turned red and she smiled sheepishly, looking down. Oh, how very interesting.
“Who?” I goaded.
She bit her lip and shyly met my eyes. “Ricardo.”
“Ricardo!” I exclaimed. Ricardo was very tall, mid-twenties, with a large roman nose and a buzz cut, but he was very cute. Still, it surprised me. “I would have thought Eduardo,” I told her.
The color in her cheeks deepened. “It was Eduardo. The second night. We just kissed, so…But he is with Polly now.”
“I thought he’d go with Becca. Doesn’t Polly have a boyfriend?”
Claudia shrugged and pulled down at her yellow tee. “Not my problem. Eduardo is nice but Ricardo is really nice.”
“How did it happen?” I asked, kinda wanting the sordid details.
She was coy. “The way it usually happens.”
“Did you make the first move?”
Another shrug. “Why not?”
I swear, a shrug and a “why not?” were the Spaniard’s go-to answer for everything.
“Well, then I guess it seems safe—and a little boring now—to tell you that I have a crush
on someone.”
Her brows quirked up. “Other than Mateo?”
“What?”
“You are sleeping with Mateo, no?”
“WHAT?!”
“No?”
“No!” I exclaimed, appalled. “Why does everyone keep thinking that?”
“Because you are always together,” she said simply. She took a sip of wine. “The attraction is very obvious. So, I figure you must be sleeping together.”
“He’s married!”
“Yes, but you are not.”
I shook my head adamantly. “It’s wrong. I don’t want to be the other woman. I’ve seen my dad go for the other woman, I can’t put his daughter through that,” I said. “Or his wife,” I quickly added.
“That doesn’t mean that you can’t have feelings for anyone else.”
“Yes, it does mean that.”
“Maybe you are meant to be together.”
“We’re not! There isn’t even a together. We’re just friends. I haven’t done anything about it and so far my feelings are totally one-sided.”
Claudia got up off the couch and brought a pack of cigarettes out of her front jean pocket. “If you think it is on the one-side, you have not seen the way that he looks at you.”
She walked over to her small patio and pulled up a chair. I got up and stormed after her, my nerves dancing excitedly.
“What do you mean, the way he looks at me?” I asked, lowering my voice in case there were people around, listening. I felt like bouncing off the walls.
She slid the ashtray toward her as I sat down. “You do not see it. But I do. I think everyone does. He looks at you like…like you’re his favorite food.”
“Favorite food?”
She lit her cigarette. “Yes. You’re like his favorite food in the whole world. He wants to have you, eat you, devour you. He thinks about you all the time, craves you. But, he cannot have you for one reason or another. Perhaps you upset his stomach. Maybe he is on a diet, yes? All he wants is a taste but he cannot even have that. That is how he looks at you.”
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