Our weekend in Barcelona together not only deepened the connection between Sebastian and me, it solidified it. It also made me make the needed switch in my head from spending time with him to actually being with him. The doctor listened to me when I explained that once we returned, I realized how content I was. And not just because of Sebastian, but because of how I’ve been enjoying my journey. I felt connected to my new home now, to the new friends I made. How for a while now I haven’t had to second-guess choices I’ve made. I even got to catch a glimpse of a smile in the doctor’s eyes when I told him how dedicatedly I’ve been writing in my journal. And what surprised me the most, was how easily he agreed with my decision to take a break from therapy for the time being.
“Any last words before you let this cuckoo bird spread her wings?” I asked.
“Firstly, I’d say don’t refer to yourself as cuckoo, not even jokingly. Liv, I think you’re heading in the right direction. Don’t let setbacks threaten you, it happens to all of us. And you need to remember that we are, in fact, our toughest critiques. And most importantly, stop overthinking everything.”
And on that educational note, he concluded a few years of therapy. Okay, not exactly. His last words weren’t as memorable, they were simply, “I’ll send the bill over right away.”
“Bueno, querida. Here, I’m done. I’m all ears,” says Vivian, yanking me out of my little brooding break as she joins me where I wait for her, having a coffee at one of the outside tables. I made sure to arrive before the rest of our friends so we could finally have a private conversation.
I study her face, glad to come up with the conclusion that she looks like her usual vibrant self again. She stares right back at me; her curvaceous body hugged by a simple black cotton dress, her thick dark curls a wild halo around her face, a perfect pair with the darkest red decorating her plump lips.
“Well, I wanted to make sure you felt better. You’ve been sort of tuned out lately. Is the pain gone?”
She regards me with a genteel air in her eyes. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“You look great, love the lipstick.” Her smile stretches. “And I wanted to talk to you about your reaction . . . when I told you about Sebastian and me. I guess I didn’t expect that reaction from you, of all people. You didn’t say much . . .” I linger on the last word, searching for her expression.
That twinkle in her eyes from when I told her about Sebastian makes an encore. “My reaction expressed exactly how I felt about it. I was, and still am, glad for you. I’ve known Sebastian since he was a little, mischievous boy.”
I wince and sigh, “Oh, God.”
“What’s with the oh God?”
“When you speak of him that way, of him being a child. That you knew him back then, just makes me think of our age gap. It’s not something that makes me feel too good about the situation.”
“That’s nonsense,” she admonishes with a wave of a hand. “Liv, I am much older than you; it’s not a surprise that I’ve known him since he was a little child. The gap between the two of you, eh, I wouldn’t even give it a second thought.” She drops her palm in dismissal. “I was genuinely glad for the both of you. When he first asked about you, I thought, perfecto. They’d be great together.”
I can’t help the plunge my lips take.
“So, si, my reaction was exactly what I thought. I was happy. Period.”
“You’re quite the romantic, uh? I never thought of you this way.” I send her a cheeky grin.
Her smile lights up her face, pushing her beauty mark higher. “Are you kidding? I’m as romantic as they come. I’m a product of the eighties’ ballads. Romance runs in my blood. I have dreamy stars embedded in my irises. These songs were chemically manufactured in a lab after experiments had concluded they could leave a human heart melted and swooned.”
We laugh it off and greet our friends next as they start to arrive.
“It’s official; you’re my favorite person on the planet,” I tell Vivian after tasting each and every dish she’d concocted for us tonight. Vivian smiles in utter joy, nodding.
“Seriously, you’ve outdone yourself this time,” Stephy confirms. “Ladies.” She turns to us. “Whatever you’ve been told about sweets not being healthy, it’s a big, fat lie. A propaganda. Nothing makes me feel happier than sweets. And what’s healthier than happy?”
We all eye the wealth of goods spread before us with an agreeing nod. Vivian went all out with tonight’s menu, a dinner composed of nothing but mouthwatering desserts. Chocolate praline bites, crumbly walnut and rum cookies, Crema Catalana, homemade pistachio ice cream, salty caramel fudge squares, pears in liquor and brown sugar, and so many more little perfections of delight.
“Speaking of deceptions, what’s the greatest lie you’ve been told that eventually turned out to be a brutal misconception?” Alma asks, then adds, “Mine was that you’re safe from catching STDs if you only sleep with your partner.” She snickers in contempt. “Sorry, there are actually two misconceptions there; the second is that if he truly loves you he won’t cheat on you.”
“Ouch.” Stephy cringes.
Dominique twists her mouth in annoyed disgust. Perhaps empathy.
“You know what the hugest misconception of them all is though?” asks Stephy. “I’ll tell ya.” She narrows her stare at us. “Sex goes on all night.”
The next words literally fly out of my mouth filter-free as I dig a spoon into the chocolate mousse. “Oh, I beg to differ.”
Vivian and Dominique practically burst out in laughter. Alma giggles and Stephy eyes me with big round blue eyes. With the spoon still held between my teeth, I send them a gigantic, sassy grin and shrug.
. . .
“Don’t you have people coming over to watch a game?” I ask when Sebastian attempts to free me from my cute top.
“Hold on, this is not just a game.” Solemnness composes his features. “It’s El Clásico.”
My brows almost meet when I regard him, clueless as to what the El Clásico might be. Sounds like an old western to me. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, part II: El Clásico.
“It’s a match between Barcelona and Real Madrid. And it’s almost the most important game of the year. Only five games left to play in La Liga, and Real have a four-point lead, meaning this game will probably decide who will win the league title this season. And just to make it clear, we are cheering for Barça.”
He might as well have spoken in Mandarin with a northern dialect for all I know, as I didn’t understand a word. But I did enjoy watching his lips move.
“Oh, Barça. Aren’t they the team with the hottest guys in the soccer world?”
“Not sure about that . . .” An overt eye roll follows the low murmur.
“That Piqué guy.”
Sebastian’s smile expands as I say the first name and immediately sinks when I mention the second.
“And Casillas.”
He drops his head, closes his eyes, and slightly shakes it from side to side. “Casillas plays for Real. He’s their captain and goalkeeper. Please, whatever you do tonight, don’t repeat that, okay?”
I grin at him. He gives me a once-over that ends with him pulling me by my hand toward his bedroom, which make my lips stretch wider. A little pre-game match. I’m totally game.
Once we pass the bed and enter the walkthrough closet, my gaze at Sebastian’s back becomes a query. In the middle of the confined space, Sebastian sends his hands to the hem of my lace inset black cami and peels it off me. When I’m about to give his dark blue tee the same treatment, he nimbly careens toward the shelves. He pulls out a scarlet and blue stripped shirt and helps me shrug it on.
Just when I’m about to protest the style choice, he says, “Wow, you look so hot in this shirt.” And . . . shirt stays on. One of his hands moves to cup my jaw and the other curls around my waist, pulling me slightly toward him for a hungry kiss. I reciprocate with an equally greedy exploration of his mouth. A short game of tongues, taking turns dominating
our connection, and hands ravenously running over each other, we find ourselves on the floor with me seated across Sebastian’s groin. I almost rip his shirt off and he kisses me as faint groans bubble from deep inside his throat when a loud knock comes from the direction of the living room.
“Mierda,” Sebastian growls through gritted teeth and drops his head back to the floor. He takes a deep, bothered breath and looks at me with a boyish glint and the most adorable dimple. “Um, can you get the door? I sort of have to calm the situation down.”
I giggle and gift him with another juicy kiss before standing up.
“Not helping,” he murmurs, and I send him a flirty smile over my shoulder as I leave for the door.
When Sebastian joins his friends and me in the living room, he sends me a sinful smile that makes me want to call off the damn El Clásico and send everyone home so we can continue the game we started a few minutes ago.
There aren’t any tedious introductions; it’s all casual and flowing. “The guys,” six of Sebastian’s friends, introduce themselves to me, a couple over handshakes, some with the traditional kiss on each cheek gesture, and the last one, Pepe, with a wide grin and eyes zeroed in on the Barça logo proudly decorating my healthy chest. Sebastian slaps Pepe on the back of his head and drags him to help fetch the many six-packs chilling in the fridge.
There’s another knock on the door. Seeing that everyone seem too busy doing whatever guys do pre an important game, I open the door. So far it was the guys and me, now the powers have slightly shifted. Now it’s the guys, me, and Lola.
Lola wraps me in a hug that seems genuinely warm and turns to give the same treatment to the rest of the gang. I’d be shamelessly lying if I said it didn’t bother me when she lingered a tad more when hugging Sebastian. I decide, however, to let it slip for the sake of keeping my good mood intact.
By the time the coffee table piles up with empty beer cans amid snack debris, I’ve enriched my Spanish expletives by eleventy percent.
“Vamos, Barça, vamos!” Sebastian urges the players on as he leans in to press a soft kiss to the crown of my head, where I’m sitting on the rug, leaning against the sofa between his parted legs. I tilt my head back and smile at him, only to receive another quick kiss, this time on my lips. When I turn back to the game, I catch Lola’s eyes on us. Meeting my gaze, she swiftly careens back to the screen.
More than thirty minutes into the game, right after a sharp gasp erupts from one of the guys, a sudden tense silence enfolds the room. I watch everyone curiously as they wait, appearing to hold their breath. Lola buries her face in a pillow. Abruptly, high fives fly above my head and sighs of reliefs fill the room, accompanied by a few juicy curse words.
“The bad guys missed a penalty kick,” Sebastian whispers to my ear, mirth lacing his words. I grin and continue watching the game. When there’s a close-up of a tackle between Casillas and Piqué, Lola and I exchange an appreciative stare that concludes with thin smiles.
The ceiling almost flies up by the shouts of joy and roars of elation that boom the room when Barça scores next.
“Goallllllllllll,” the commentator yells not less than five minutes later, when Barça scores yet again, making us go wild. We all stand up at once; it’s a jungle of high fives and hugs in the room.
Till it isn’t.
Till Sebastian grabs me for the mother of all kisses. At that exact moment, I decide that soccer is my favorite game.
As we see our guests to the door, after everyone helped with the cleaning, a warm sense of belonging washes over me. Though it was the first time I’ve met these people, they’ve treated me as their own, including Lola, despite her sidelong glances at Sebastian.
“Hey, I’m going for a run, wanna join?” Sebastian asks as I return from freshening up.
“No thanks, I’ll pass. I don’t do the whole running thing. My preferred sports are breaking food into smaller pieces using my mouth or sex, which sometimes also includes intense mouth activity.” I hold the point of my tongue between my teeth flirtatiously.
He grins, a darker flare to his eyes. “I’ll be more than delighted to help you with the latter when I’m back. Keep the shirt on.”
“Sure, shirt stays on. I’m just going to finish up this proposal I’ve been working on.” I refer to the project Saul sent me a short while ago.
By the time I’m done with the side notes, my summary of the overall project, I stare at the screen of my notebook and wait. I wait for the surge of satisfaction I’ve always felt when I was done with a project. The sense of fulfillment, the little thrill of doing something I supposedly love, but this time it doesn’t seem to arrive. What jumps out at me though is a realization, enlightenment, of just how much I haven’t missed it. With the thought of “this is not what I want to do” fogging my mind, or rather clearing it, I head to take a shower. I need a break before working on the very last tweaks.
When the front door opens, I’m back in the living room, my legs tucked under me on the sofa, notebook on my thighs, wearing only the tee I promised to keep on with a tiny matching crimson thong and a towel wrapped around my wet hair. I click send, shooting off my work to Saul, together with a preface suggesting a call. A call in which I’m planning to tell him that I’m not interested in taking on any other projects. I lift my eyes to find Sebastian by the door kicking his running shoes off. Given my position at the opposite side of the living room, he doesn’t notice me at first, and I get the chance to drink him in. A light sheen covers his tanned forehead and temples, and a flush enhances his sharp cheekbones. His black tee clings to his ripped torso, darker moist spots coloring the front. He has black training pants on decorated by three long white stripes on each side. He seems to be deep in thought, listening to music on his player in an armband wrapped around his bicep.
When his brown eyes accidently meet mine, I respond with a tender smile. He stills for a beat, his stare on me growing intent. Not breaking our connection, he starts toward me, taking slow steps, seeming somewhat undecided. Something about the way he carries himself as he closes the distance between us, something about the way he looks at me, makes me tense. Less than a step away, he drops to his knees in front of me. I cock my head, waiting, not sure for what. By the light tilt of my head, the towel wrapped around my hair is released and drops to the floor. My wet hair falls, scattering around my shoulders and a thick cluster clings to my cheek.
Sebastian brings his hands to his ears and pulls out the earbuds. He moves his hands to my face, proceeding toward my ears. Along the way, he brushes the lock of hair aside and gently helps the earbuds to my ears. He holds my face and I blink at him as the music registers. The softest of smiles curves my lips as I gaze back at him, listening to the song from the concert. Sebastian still holds my face, his eyes gazing into mine as the chorus comes. He mouths something to me next. Something that makes my heart expand so wildly that it blocks my throat. My hands slowly move to my ears to pull out the earbuds, wanting to hear what he said.
“Me estoy enamorando de ti,” he says, validating what I thought he just said.
An army of butterflies marches in my stomach as I move to reach his lips. Softly, I brush them with mine. Gently, I skim them, sending my tongue to taste him. I close my eyes and there’s nothing else on my mind but this moment; the taste and feel of him and the words he just told me. “Me estoy enamorando de ti.” His statement keeps twirling in my head. “I’m falling for you.”
I leave my place on the sofa and move to sit on top of him on the floor. I reach for the player and unplug the earbuds, letting the music fill the room. I grab Sebastian’s face and kiss him with the flood of emotions that he just released in me. I kiss him with the warm feeling that’s pressing on my chest. I kiss him with how much I wanted to hear him say that and didn’t even know. I kiss him with such ferocity; I don’t think I’ll ever want to let him go. In easy pace, filled with passion and tenderness, we peel each other’s clothes off. With even further gentleness, he sinks into me
as I glide over him. We hug tightly as we move against each other in deep, profound motions. Up until our ecstasy reaches us, we never break eye contact. With my face buried in the crook of his neck, we continue to embrace, letting our heartbeats calm down.
Chapter 24
“Protect Me from What I Want”
Placebo
I remain seated by the screen long after I end my video call with Saul. A call in which we discussed my notes and I politely refused, more than once, to take on more projects. A call that ended with me telling him that I’ve officially made my decision to resign. Contemplating for a few moments more, I decide that I’d better have a glass of wine by my side for the next call I am about to make.
I take another look at the table I’ve set in the kitchen; a silver tablecloth, white china, and a couple of short trimmed roses in a low, round bowl. I turn to lower the oven’s temperature where an aromatic dinner I ordered earlier is warming. I leave the kitchen with a thin smile and a generously filled glass of wine. Taking a deep breath, I take a seat at my desk. “Here goes,” I murmur, take a long sip of the wine and press dial on the video chat.
I have an urge to laugh at the absurdity of my immediate relief when my father’s face greets me via the screen and not his so-called “better” half. So far, I’ve managed to stick to phone calls but seeing my dad on the screen fills me with warmth. Sincere affection lines his features as he asks me how I’ve been; telling me how much he misses me, and mostly how happy he is to hear I’m having a great time. My smile tones down when a French manicured hand curls around his shoulder and my mother’s voice comes from the speakers, asking my dad to let her talk to me.
“Hi, Mom,” I start with a great attempt at staying mellow.
She sits straight-backed against the chair, observing me. “Hello, darling.”
I smile at the screen. “How are you?”
Her lips coil at the edge, almost forming a smile. She sends her hand to her pearl necklace and says, “I see they have good food over there.”
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