The One That Got Away: A Novel

by Halle, Karina

  “Carrot sticks?” I ask, showing her the bag.

  “That’s boring,” she says.

  “Too bad,” I tell her, closing the fridge and tossing the bag at her. “Boring is all I have.”

  She catches it with ease. “You don’t need boring, Luciano, because you’re not boring.” She pauses, a wicked smile coming over her lips. “Don’t you ever want to say fuck it and do something bad?”

  A scene of us together, naked, me fucking her against the wall, flashes into my brain without warning and I actually have to avert my eyes away from her for a moment.

  I exhale slowly through my nose. “Bad like what?”

  “Eat some McDonald’s or something. I mean, no offense, but fuck these carrot sticks.”

  “I’ll try not to be offended,” I tell her. I walk over to the kitchen island and pull out a chair, sitting down. I need to get my head on straight. “Why don’t you sit down and eat your carrot sticks and we’ll talk.”

  She raises one brow for a moment and then comes over, sitting across from me. “What’s up?”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “Do you remember why I invited you up here?”

  “It sure as hell wasn’t for carrot sticks.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Ruby, can I ask you a question?”

  “Always.”

  “Why would you be interested in being my personal assistant?” I don’t want to throw Marco under the bus and tell her he made up this job, but at the same time we need to be on the same page. And I need to know just what’s going on with her.

  “Because Marco said you needed help. And I like you and I want to help you.”

  I give her a quick smile. “He may have misspoken.”

  “So you don’t need help?”

  I suck on my teeth for a moment and move the conversation in another direction. “Why didn’t you go with Marco to Paris?”

  The easy, bright look in her eyes dims a little. She frowns. “Oh. I wasn’t invited.”

  “I thought you were. When we went out for dinner last week, he was talking about it like you were going.”

  “Yeah,” she says slowly, looking away. She tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear, where rows and rows of earrings sparkle. “That’s what I thought too but I guess I was mistaken. Or something. It’s a guy’s trip, so I get it. We’ve only been dating for a month, so that’s moving pretty fast.”

  “Do you mind me asking what your plan is?”

  Her eyes widen as she looks up at me. “My plan?”

  “With Marco? Do you plan on staying in Lisbon for your full three months?”

  She nods quickly. “Yes. Why? Do you think that’s stupid?”

  My chin jerks into my chest in surprise. “Do I think that’s stupid? What does it matter what I think?”

  “Your opinion matters to me. It matters to Marco, too.”

  I give her a dismissive wave. “No. This has nothing to do with me or my opinion. This is your relationship. I was just curious.”

  She looks down at her chipped nail polish. “Yeah. Well, I don’t know what the answer is.”

  “I have another intrusive question for you, then.”

  “Yeah?” she says, wincing slightly.

  “How much money do you have saved?”

  If she winced before, now she’s full-on flinching. “Ouch.”

  “That bad?”

  “I don’t want to say…”

  “You think I’m going to judge you?”

  She stares at me for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. Then she shakes her head. “No. I trust you. I have less than a grand left. Maybe five hundred. I’m scared to check my account.”

  “How much is your hostel a night? Are you in a private room?”

  “No, I’m in a dorm. It’s about thirty euros.”

  “So, if you want to stay for two more months, you need a job. Unless you have someone back at home who would send you money?”

  She lets out a dry snort. “Yeah right. My father? He hated this whole idea. He told me I’d be back with my tail between my legs sooner rather than later. All the money I have, I spent months working at a café, saving up.” She pauses, opening the bag of carrot sticks. “But I guess I didn’t save up enough. I don’t think I really thought any of this through.” She takes out a carrot stick and bites it cleanly in half, then looks at me with big blue pleading eyes. “Please don’t tell Marco.”

  “Tell him what?”

  “How much money I have.”

  “Doesn’t he know?”

  Pretty sure he knows.

  “I just don’t want him to know what a failure I am.”

  I give her a curious look. I’ve never seen her act this way. “You’re not a failure, Ruby. Not even a little.”

  “Sure I am,” she says, munching on the rest of the carrot. “I came here thinking I’d be some hot shit sports journalist and the only thing I’ve managed to post to my blog is that interview with you and a recap of a few games.”

  I laugh dryly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help.”

  “It’s not you,” she says, reaching across the table and putting her hand on mine and giving it a squeeze. “You were wonderful.”

  My hand burns from the feel of her soft, cool hand.

  Fuck. Why is she doing this?

  She takes her hand away, like nothing happened, and I have to remind myself like I’ve reminded myself over and over again, that this is just the way she is and she’s like this with everyone.

  “Anyway,” she goes on, “I don’t want Marco to worry about me. He’s got his life so together, and I like that when I’m with him, I feel that way too. I don’t want him to take me off that pedestal he puts me on.”

  “And what pedestal is that?”

  “That I’m young and fun and free and a good fuck,” she says, eyes twinkling, and goddamn it, if her full red lips don’t look edible when she says the word fuck. “I make him feel good. I think I make him feel like he’s slumming it a bit too,” she adds with a laugh. “I mean, I know the girls he’s dated. He runs into them everywhere we go and they all look at him now like he’s crazy for being with me.”

  “They’re jealous,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “Why? I look like white trash next to them and their tans and supermodel bodies and fake hair.”

  “They’re jealous because you’re real. And you’re beautiful. Just look at you.”

  I try not to take those words back, but I hope she doesn’t make too much out of them. Who am I to tell my brother’s girlfriend these things?

  “You think I’m beautiful?” she asks, hope in her voice.

  Shit. Luciano. Use your head.

  I nod. “Everyone does.”

  “I’m not talking about everyone. I’m talking about you.”

  I hold her gaze for a moment and something seems to change in the air, the energy around becoming louder, tighter.

  I look down at the bag of carrot sticks and reach across, taking them from her.

  “Why are you single?” she asks me just as I bite into one.

  I take my time to finish chewing and lift one shoulder. “Don’t have time.”

  “Would you ever find the time?”

  I consider that, taking another bite. “Maybe for the right person. But my focus is elsewhere.”

  “Tell me about it. Where is your focus?”

  “The game,” I say, thinking it must be obvious. “My future.”

  “You want to move on. I know you denied it when I asked in the interview, but you want to move on to another team.”

  “I want to show the world what I’m capable of.”

  “And what are you capable of?”

  I lick my lips in thought. “I’m capable of being the best. This team…it will only hold me back. I want to be the captain, and then I want to be the captain of a team that will take us to the championships. That will let me be the person I’m meant to become.” I pause, offer her a sheepish smile. “I know that sounds a
rrogant.”

  “It’s not arrogant if it’s true,” she says. “I know how you feel. My focus…it’s a little loose at the moment. I’m going to blame Marco.”

  I laugh. “That’s okay. I blame him for a lot of things.”

  “I didn’t want to get into a relationship. It just happened.”

  My smile falters. “Then break up with him.”

  The words just fall out of my mouth. I’m not usually this blunt, yet I can’t help it with her.

  She presses her lips together and gives her head a shake. “Nah. I didn’t want to be in a relationship, but I’m in one now and I’m going to ride it out to the end and see where it goes. I know it’s not going to go far since I have to leave here in two months. Our relationship has an expiry date and Marco knows that. Hell, I think it’s why he’s with me, to be honest. Three months and done. No strings attached. Works great for the both of us.”

  “Then where will you go?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere out of the European Union. Then I’ll come back in and do it all over again. This time in Barcelona. You should play for Barcelona.”

  I can’t help but laugh. She’s earnest. But then again, when isn’t she?

  “We’ll see.”

  “I mean it. You belong on a team like that. No offense to Sporting. And that way I’ll get to see you.”

  “And Marco,” I add, feeling heat in my veins.

  She swallows. “Of course.” Her head tilts to the side. “I like you, you know.”

  My brows shoot up. I need to take this the right way.

  “Okay…”

  “That’s not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to tell me that you like me too. You know, as a human being.”

  Thanks for the clarification.

  I clear my throat. It feels like I have my grandmother’s Christmas cake lodged in there. “I like you too, then.”

  As a human being.

  That’s it.

  That’s all it ever will be.

  “Good.” She smiles triumphantly. “So, am I hired?”

  Fuck.

  I forgot about that.

  “I guess you are,” I manage to say.

  I still have no idea what the hell she’s going to do for me, since I don’t need an assistant.

  But what I do know is that this is probably a huge mistake.

  A mistake I’m readily walking into.

  Five

  Ruby

  Being Luciano Ribeiro’s personal assistant is the easiest job I’ve ever had.

  Probably because it’s not much of a job at all.

  The minute Marco told me Luciano needed some help, I knew he was full of shit. I don’t know Luciano as well as I know his brother, but I knew enough that Luciano doesn’t need a personal assistant. Marco’s job is pretty much that, even if he won’t admit it.

  No, I figured this job popped up out of nowhere because Marco was worried about my expenses and running out of money. And because I have this thing called pride, and I need cash, I went along with it.

  Luckily, Luciano went along with it too. I didn’t want to admit to him how bad things really are, but he’s probably the only person I can be myself around.

  Elena is gone. She left a couple of weeks ago, heading down south to her aunt’s house. We still message and text every day, so it feels good to still have her in my life, but at the moment I’m feeling very much alone. Sure, people come and go from the hostel, and I’ll hang out with them for a few days before they move on, but I’m feeling a bit adrift.

  Especially as Marco isn’t back from his trip yet.

  One week in Paris turned into ten days in Monaco, which turned into two weeks in Italy, and I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Because he didn’t want me going with him, and the longer he’s away, the less time he has to spend with me. We only have so much time together.

  This isn’t what I wanted when I started dating him. I knew that we had an expiration date, I knew that months of sex would be great, if only I didn’t develop feelings for him. And yet here I am, feeling slighted because he went away.

  To be honest, I’m not even sure what my feelings for him are. I like him a lot, I like spending time with him, and the sex is pretty good. It’s not mind-blowingly good (despite him being Portuguese, Elena was wrong about him and I was right—he doesn’t spend too much time making sure I come. Thank god I have fingers). But it’s good enough.

  And yeah, I could totally be vocal with him and tell him what I want but, honestly, it’s just fine. I’m having fun and that’s the most important thing. To be having a sexy relationship with a hot sports agent in Portugal is pretty much a fantasy come to life.

  All that aside, it stings that I feel so cast aside.

  He does text, but not as often as he should. In fact, I hear from Elena and Julie more than I hear from him.

  At least I’m not alone all day.

  I’m spending a lot of my time these days with Luciano.

  Turns out, with Marco gone, he does need someone to step up and make sure he keeps his appointments. Luciano is a lot busier than I thought he’d be. Even though his shoulder is pretty much healed, he’s practicing a lot at the stadium, still having appointments with the physio, sometimes his coach. Other journalists ask to speak with him (which annoys the hell out of me), he’s got special events to go to, he’s often on the go, meeting with teammates and other people in the industry.

  Today, he’s scheduled to go to his stepfather’s stables on the outskirts of the city for some sort of horse show. I’ve just woken up and texted him to remind him that it’s today.

  I went out last night clubbing with a few people from the hostel, and they’re all in their beds still sleeping, since we didn’t get in until four in the morning, which is considered “early” for Lisbon nightlife. They party here like it’s their job.

  Even though my mouth is dry and my head is pounding, I decide to try to go back to sleep.

  Then my phone vibrates.

  I glance at it.

  Come with me.

  That’s it. That’s the text that Luciano just sent me.

  My stomach flips.

  I stare at it for a moment then text back. What?

  The bubbles appear as he texts, and I try to picture where Luciano is. Is he in bed? Did my text wake him up? I let my brain dance over the image of him shirtless beneath the sheets. Thanks to his habit of taking his shirt off when he plays, I know exactly what he looks like.

  Heat flares between my legs.

  It shouldn’t. It really fucking shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be thinking of Luciano this way when I’m dating his brother, and I hate that I’m making everything more complicated than it should be, at least in my rattled brain.

  But I can’t help it.

  I get turned on just by looking at him, and the more I try to fight it and berate myself for feeling this way, the worse it gets. The worse I get.

  I want to be a good person.

  He answers, finally:

  To the stables. I don’t want to go alone. I’ll pick you up in an hour.

  My heart trips over itself.

  He’s just like his brother, I think. And yet, they couldn’t be more different.

  See you then :D I text, then put my phone away. I get up, ignoring my aching head, and I quickly gather my clothes—leggings and a long flowing shirt that does a good job of hiding my chest. I figure a horse show here is a classy event, and more than that, I’ll be meeting my boyfriend’s father for the first time, even if he isn’t here himself. I have to present a certain way.

  I take my time showering, blow drying my thick hair straight, which takes forever and I’m getting a nasty look from a Swedish girl who needs to use the blow dryer. Then I do my makeup on the patio, ending with my red lipstick. I look pretty good, respectable enough. Usually I up my sexiness, but with the straight hair and minimal makeup, I think I’m leaning more to the classic look. I have no idea how fancy these horse people are, so I
err on the side of caution.

  Time flies by and I only have enough time to drink an instant coffee before I have to meet Luciano outside.

  Now I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be. I’ve been around Luciano a lot in the last two weeks, usually alone in his apartment, and the more I’m with him, the easier and more natural it feels. In fact, I feel bereft when he’s not around.

  But today, the fact that he’s inviting me to meet his infamous father, it feels like there’s a lot at stake.

  It’s like I should be doing this with Marco, not him.

  I don’t have a lot of time to dwell on it before Luciano’s grey BMW pulls up.

  I go over to the passenger side and sit down, buckling up.

  “Nice suit,” I say, looking him over.

  And that’s an understatement, because I mean, damn he looks good. I should be used to suits on the Ribeiro brothers, since Marco wears one literally all the time, but this is the first time I’ve caught Luciano in one. It’s charcoal grey and fits him perfectly, his wavy hair providing a bit of contrast to the sleek lines.

  “Thanks, it was a freebie,” he says, adjusting his tie.

  “Nice car too,” I tell him, running my hands along the dash.

  “It was also free,” he says with a shrug. “Sponsors love to give us cars. We don’t really get a choice in the matter.”

  “Well lucky it’s a nice sponsor.”

  I glance at him to find his eyes on me.

  “What?” I ask. I don’t let myself think about the heat in his eyes, how his gaze simmers when he looks at me sometimes.

  Even though I want him to look at me like that all the time.

  “You look good,” he says, clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the road.

  “Was that so hard to say?” I tease him and lean close. “You smell good.”

  He does. He doesn’t splash his cologne all over the place like Marco does, in fact I don’t even know if Luciano wears cologne. He just smells naturally good, like sea salt and pine. It reminds me of the mountains and the sea, and yet also just reminds me of him. Something wild and comforting.