“It’s Mateo,” my mother says, her chin raised in defiance.
“You called him?”
“I texted him,” she says. “I had to. How are you going to get to the facility tomorrow? You can’t drive. He said he would be right over.”
I press my hand over my eyes. I can’t believe she called my coach like he’s got nothing better to do than to drag my sorry ass around. “That is so unprofessional,” I mutter.
“Well, I don’t care. He’s your coach. He’s practically a father to you. And you call someone like that when you’re in trouble.”
There’s a knock at the door and my mother goes over to it while Armando watches curiously. He’s always been a bit intimidated by Mateo.
She opens it and I hear her say, “Who the hell are you?”
I raise my head and see Thalia on the other side of the door, dressed in her uniform, hair pulled back in a low bun.
“I’m here for Alejo,” Thalia says in English, which of course my mother doesn’t understand.
I sit up and say in Spanish, “It’s okay, Mama, it’s my therapist. Let her in.”
But my mother does no such thing. “She is not your therapist. She is some crazy fan of yours.”
“She is not a crazy fan. She is my physical therapist.”
“Is she a hooker? Did Mateo send you a hooker? Is this his idea of making you feel better?” She reaches out and actually tugs at her Adidas jacket collar. “Are you naked under there?”
“¡Mamá!” I yell, trying to get up. “Please.”
Meanwhile, Thalia is staring at my mother with wide eyes, obviously with no idea what she’s saying, which is for the best.
“Should I go?” Thalia asks me. “Mateo called and said you needed to be taken to Valdebebas.”
“Come in,” I tell her.
Thalia eyes my mother and shakes her head. “I don’t want to disrespect your mother.”
“Oh, her bark is worse than her bite.”
“Is this your girlfriend?” Armando asks me, in Spanish thankfully, as he comes over to pull me up to my feet.
“No,” I tell him quickly, wincing at the pressure on my leg. “She is my therapist. Seriously. You want to see her credentials?”
“If they’re underneath that jacket, then yes.”
I reach out and smack my brother across the head. “Show some respect, you idiot.”
“Do you need any help?” A deep male voice asks in Spanish.
I look over to see a tall, somewhat familiar man standing behind Thalia, peering inside.
“And let me guess, you are the pimp?” my mother asks him, hand on her hip. But at least she steps aside so the man can step inside.
“I’m the driver, Manuel,” Manuel says, giving my mother an odd look. He then turns his attention to me. “Do you need help?”
I shake my head, swallowing my pride, and try to walk, but I stop in pain after one step.
“Easy, Alejo,” Thalia calls out as Manuel comes over and puts my arm over his shoulder. He’s a stocky man, so he supports me with ease.
My mother gives us a wide berth as we head outside.
“I’m going to call Mateo and make sure you’re not being kidnapped by a hooker and her pimp!” she cries out.
“Mama, please,” I tell her. “It’s fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You better. Al mal tiempo, buena cara,” she says.
“Sí, sí,” I tell her as Manuel leads me to the back of the town car and opens the door for me. I get in and put my leg up across the other seat while Thalia gets into the front seat beside Manuel.
We drive off through the gates.
“Al mal tiempo, buena cara,” Thalia repeats, twisting in her seat to face me, her lovely face in the shadows. “Why have I heard that before? What does it mean?”
“If there is bad weather, put on a good face,” Manuel says. “A popular saying.”
I nod. “I believe the English equivalent would be, suck it up buttercup.”
Thalia laughs. “Then I think I like your mom already.”
“Yes, sorry about her. She’s old-fashioned in her views, and she also hates every woman I bring home.”
I can see the shadow of her mouth as it quirks up into a smile. “I see.”
“Not that I have a lot of women over,” I say quickly.
“Sure, sure. You know, you’re not the only one the tabloids like to talk about.”
“Whatever you read is a lie.”
“Uh huh.”
True, I’ve had a lot of women. Maybe not as many as the press likes to make out, but enough to write about, I suppose. But that was back when I first joined the team and I was drunk on money and fame and adoration. I would like to think I’ve calmed down since then. I’d like to think I’ve grown up.
And I don’t want Thalia to see me like that. I’m not the manwhore they make me out to be.
It’s not long before we’re pulling through the gates and security checkpoints, and I’m getting out of the car. Manuel helps me out while Thalia uses her badge to gain access to our building.
We go up the lift and down the hall to my room, where Manuel brings me over to the bed.
“I’ll be waiting outside,” he says to Thalia. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I thank him for his help and then he leaves.
It’s just us in my bedroom, the lights dim.
Thalia’s face is grave, her brows knitting together as she makes me comfortable, propping up a pillow under my knee and slowly undoing the brace. “I suppose I should have brought you to the examination room but we can do the work up here. I didn’t want to tire Manuel out, hauling you all over the place.”
She opens the brace and then switches on the bedside light to get a better look.
“It seems okay,” she says. “I can see if they’ll run an MRI in the morning.”
“Honestly I think I just bent it the wrong way. I was just trying to get up after dinner.”
“Ate too much?”
I laugh. “Definitely. My mother tries to overfeed me, like a pig being fattened for the slaughter. Now that I’m injured, I’m powerless against her.”
She gives me a gentle smile. She’s so fucking sweet.
“My mother used to do the same when I was a kid. All my brothers pretended they never needed to be babied, but since I was her only daughter, when I was sick, she was at my side twenty-four seven. Shoving chicken soup in my mouth and giving me cough syrup that made me feel all drowsy, rubbing Vicks VapoRub on my feet.”
“On your feet?”
“I can’t remember if it worked or not, but that’s what she did.” She stares at my knee and then gently touches it.
It hurts, but not as much as earlier.
“I think you just have to be more careful,” she says after she pokes and prods some more. “The brace will protect you as much as it can, but you still have to take it easy.” She pauses and straightens up. The sight of her at the end of the bed does something to me, like she’s slowly pulling at whatever strings I have inside holding me together, making me unravel.
I don’t mind being unraveled by her. I only wish I could do the same.
“What?” she asks, her voice soft as I stare at her.
“Are you leaving?”
She swallows and folds her arms across her chest, almost as if she’s cold. “Yeah.”
“You won’t stay the night?”
“Here?”
“You have your own room…”
She rubs her lips together in thought before she slowly saunters over to me, arms still crossed. “You’re a football player at the top of his game. You’ve dealt with injuries before. Your knee is going to be fine. Don’t tell me you’re afraid to be here alone.”
I feel something hot flash inside me. Without thinking, I reach out and grab her hand. “I’m not afraid to be alone,” I tell her. My voice is rough but my touch is soft. “I just want you to be with me.”
Something comes over her face, maybe desire, maybe dis
appointment. I can’t tell. “Alejo,” she says gently in the kind of tone that no good can come from. “I can’t be with you.”
“You can just stay the night.”
“I can’t. I’m going to go home. Manuel is waiting for me.”
I narrow my eyes as I study her.
I see her truth.
She wants to stay.
That is what she desires most.
And she’ll fight it to the bitter end.
“You thought I was afraid to be alone, but I think you’re the one who’s afraid,” I tell her.
“I’m not afraid to be alone,” she says defiantly, her eyes flashing. “At all. I prefer it.”
“No, you’re afraid of me. You’re afraid of what would happen if you stayed here overnight. Even if you went to your room and slept there, you’re afraid that you’d end up back here in this room. You’re afraid you’re going to end up giving in to me. Giving in to what you really want.”
I watch as she blinks at me and tries to take her hand away.
I tighten my grip.
She stops fighting.
“Why can’t you just admit it?” Still holding on to her wrist, I sit up, swinging my legs over the side, ignoring the pain while pulling her up to me, my thighs on either side of her. My erection pokes up through the thin fabric of my shorts. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten hard around her, and she’s always pretended not to notice. I suppose it’s her job, but I don’t want to be part of her job right now.
“Why are you afraid of me?” I whisper, sliding my hand up her arm to her elbow, staring up at her for a sign that she’s giving in.
“I can’t,” she says stiffly.
“Are you afraid you’ll like it? That you’ll need more? Are you ashamed of having those wants and needs?”
Her mouth opens and closes, and I just need the slightest hint, and I’ll be kissing those lips, pulling her onto my bed and pinning her down.
“Just for a night,” I go on. “I promise I can make it so good for you.”
“With that knee?” she manages to say, almost smiling.
“My tongue isn’t broken and neither is my cock,” I tell her boldly. Adrenaline and heat and desire push their way through me as I pull her arm down so her hand is at my erection, pressing against it.
For one brilliant second she makes a loose fist around it, as if testing me. It’s enough to make my eyes roll back in my head.
Then she’s pulling back, and I let go, knowing I’ve taken it too far again, a line I haven’t crossed with her before.
At least she knows what that line feels like.
She backs up a few steps, shaking her head, though the rest of her seems to be trembling too. “I’m your therapist,” she says in a faint voice. “I’m your therapist and we can’t do that.”
“But you want to.”
“Whether I want to or not is irrelevant,” she says, the strength coming back into her words. “I’m your therapist. I’m here to help you heal and nothing more. If you can’t respect that, and respect me, then I’m going to have you transferred to someone else. I don’t want to do that because I like you, Alejo. But for my job, I will. And I won’t hesitate.”
I’ve never seen her so serious before. I immediately feel bad for being so bold and reckless with her.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be sorry,” she says angrily. Then she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “Now I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, and Mateo says you should show up to watch practice.”
Then she turns and leaves.
I don’t think I’ve ever hated myself more.
Chapter 9
Thalia
Manuel drives me home from Valdebebas and I’m an absolute wreck.
My whole body is buzzing, like I’ve been plugged into a wall socket.
My heart won’t stop pounding.
The air is caught in my lungs.
It’s like I’m having a panic attack, but it’s not a feeling I want to get rid of, because I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before.
I feel…alive.
As stupid as that sounds, I feel like my body is finally waking up after being dormant for so many years, like I’d been buried by the aftermath of my divorce and the ash is finally brushing off.
I feel alive and terrified.
Because I was that close to giving in to Alejo.
That. Close.
The moment I felt how hard he was, the hot stiff length of his cock under my hand, that was the tipping point. I could have easily, so easily, kept going. Made those gorgeous eyes of his roll back even further in his head, bring him to the point of no return.
But it really would have been the point of no return for me.
And once I did that with him, it would all be over.
I would lose respect for myself for giving in so easily, just because he’s a beautiful boy and a warrior of a man all wrapped into one. Just because he says charming things and looks at me in the way I’ve always dreamed someone would look at me.
Oh, jeez. My heart is squeezing just thinking about it.
I did the right thing.
I know I did.
My job is all I have. It’s not worth the roll in the hay, no matter how amazing Alejo would be in bed. I would get off and then have to deal with seeing him every day at work. What happens when he starts seeing someone? How do I know he’s not already? Would I be able to put my feelings away, where they belong, and not let it compromise my career?
He’s also a hell of a lot younger.
But when it comes to getting fucked, I don’t think that matters.
Okay, maybe a little bit.
Maybe I’d feel like a bit of a dirty, pervy cougar if we had sex.
That said, I grabbed his cock tonight and I didn’t feel dirty over that.
At all.
I mean, not in a bad way.
Fuck.
I’m an absolute wreck by the time Manuel drops me off on my narrow street in La Latina.
I head up to my apartment and close the door.
Flop down on my bed.
Bring out my vibrator.
I take my pants off and spare no time in getting into it. I’m wet in a second with thoughts of Alejo. How his hands would feel skimming down the sides of my body, how his lips would feel on my neck, how he’d kiss me with so much passion and need and want that I’d melt on the spot. I imagine him naked — not hard to do since I’ve seen a lot of him — and how that cock would look, jutting right out of him. I think about that cock sliding into me, the skill of his hips as they rock into my hips.
I’m coming in seconds and moaning his name.
Fuck, I hope I got that out of my system.
I think I woke up the neighbors.
* * *
Two weeks pass by like nothing happened.
Okay, that’s not completely true.
Lots has happened.
Real Madrid have played three games since Alejo got injured.
They won the first one. Barely.
They lost the last two. By a lot.
Suffice it to say, they’re a bit on edge.
Meanwhile, Alejo’s knee is coming along, slowly but surely. We’re doing some hydrotherapy, which is helping, but progress seems to be slow and I don’t think Dr. Costa is too happy about that. The threat of surgery is looming over us at any given moment.
But when it comes to Alejo and me, what happened between us has been swept under the rug.
I mean, nothing really happened.
He basically wanted me to fuck him.
I said no.
I may have grabbed his penis in the process.
And that’s that.
Ever since, he’s changed. He’s still quick to smile and is as charming as ever, but the innuendo has stopped and he isn’t hitting on me.
I appreciate that. I really do.
Even if I miss it.
Just a little.
The on
ly thing that has stayed the same is the way he looks at me, especially when he thinks I’m not looking. If I catch him in the act, he’ll look away and become aloof. Pretend it didn’t happen.
But I can’t pretend I don’t see him staring at me like I’m the only thing in his world.
And I don’t want to pretend, either.
“Hey,” I tell him as he walks out of the changing room, a robe wrapped around him.
We’re at the hydrotherapy pools, ready for another session. I haven’t seen him since yesterday and he seems to have evolved into a moody beast since then.
“Hola,” he says, barely looking at me as he drops his robe.
I don’t look away from his body. I never do. It’s just too perfect.
He sits down on the edge of the pool where the steps are and undoes his brace. His knee still looks a little swollen, but other than that, it looks normal.
He gets in the water, and I barely have to instruct him. He does the exercises in the pool using the noodle that I throw in right beside him or up against the handrail.
Later on, I’ll have to get in the water with him, but we’re not quite at that level yet, so I just roll up my pant legs, sit on the edge and stick my bare feet in the water. From here, I have a good vantage point.
“Something wrong?” I ask him as he sits in the pool noodle and uses his abs and arms to stay upright, keeping his feet level with the surface.
“Other than this terrible exercise?”
I smile. “Yes, other than that.”
“What do you think?”
“I’m going to say the fact that you’re not healing as fast as you want?”
He gives me a sharp look. “The team is on a losing streak.”
“You lost two games in a row.”
“We would have lost three had it not been for dumb luck with that goal.”
I give him a sympathetic look. “It’s just the way it goes sometimes. And it’s out of your hands, so there’s no use worrying about it.”
“But it’s my fucking fault,” he says, and I can hear the anguish in his voice. “This stupid fucking knee. If it wasn’t for me, I would be out there. Now we’re playing tomorrow and I can’t do anything but watch the game from here.”
“You could go to the stadium,” I tell him.
The Younger Man: A Novel Page 11