His dream team—the one whose colors he’d worn since we were kids, whose matches he never missed—wanted him. One of the best football clubs in Spain, in the world, had noticed my best friend. If that wasn’t life-changing, I didn’t know what was.
“You deserve it,” I said. “More than anyone. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Javi’s quiet laugh rumbled through the line. “Thank you. Listen, I know it’s sudden, but I might visit you this month.”
“Fuck, that’d be amazing. Will you be here for my birthday?”
Javi sighed. “I’d love to, but no. I don’t think I’ll travel before Christmas. I’ll text you later, okay? Mom wants to celebrate.”
“Hug her for me. And tell her she has a great son—but not as good as me.”
“Qué te den, tío.”Fuck you, dude.He laughed.
“Congrats again. I can’t wait to celebrate when you’re here.”
A smile lingered on my lips when I hung up. This was the kind of news I needed. I lived Javi’s success like it was mine.
“I didn’t know your birthday was coming up.”
Ethan leaned in the conference room doorway. Since when was it okay to eavesdrop?
I masked my irritation with a neutral look. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Of course it is.” He stepped inside. “We should go out. You, me, the team guys. What do you say? You wouldn’t want us thinking we’re beneath you, right, champ?”
I’d only turned him down once—was it really still a problem? Not for me, but Dad would’ve made an effort to know the guys. Shit. Maybe I should go.
“I guess we could do something,” I said.
“Awesome.” Ethan clapped my shoulder on his way past. “I throw banging parties at my place.”
***
When I walked into Ale’s apartment an hour later, nervous energy thrummed through me. He knew how hard Javi had worked for scouts to notice him, and I was sure he’d be just as happy when I told him.
“How was the meeting?” Ale asked as we dropped onto the gray sectional. Traffic hummed even on the tenth floor—Stetbourg’s curse—but the view of the city skyline through his wide windows made up for it. I wouldn’t mind renting a place like this myself.
“Grant seems solid.” I stretched my legs, arms crossed. “He’s optimistic about the season.”
Ale took a sip of his beer, nodding. “Bet he is. You’re his and Russell’s golden ticket to the world championship.”
I snorted, letting my eyes roam his spotless living room. Whoever Ale ended up with would be lucky—he actually kept things neat. “I don’t think I’m Russell’s golden anything. He’d boot me from his house and team both if he could. Guess he puts up with me cause it makes my mother happy.” I grabbed the bottle Ale had set on a coaster for me, chasing away the bitterness on my tongue with a long swallow.
A frown tugged at his mouth. “Why? Something happen between you two?”
I rolled the bottle between my palms. I wanted to tell him about Kaia, but what would I say? That I’d avoided her for days to prevent problemswith her father, only for her to walk in on me naked and then nearly fall down the stairs? That I’d never been more confused about my feelings?
On paper, it was simple. I had a plan I couldn’t afford to derail, and giving in to our attraction was a recipe for disaster. She was Russell’s daughter, and I was on his team. He held my career in his hands.
I shouldn’t think about Kaia, shouldn’t imagine her smooth skin under my palms like yesterday—but I did.
“You know we don’t get along,” I said, taking another drink. “And I don’t like how he treats people.”
Mainly, I didn’t like how he treated his daughter—who tried so damn hard to act like his indifference didn’t cut her. Every time she swallowed back tears at one of his asshole remarks, it broke something in me.
He didn’t care about her, but I did. She was the only reason I was still in that house instead of an apartment like Alejandro’s, where I’d have far more freedom.
Ale set his half-empty beer on the table. “I see. Are you having second thoughts about joining Forward Racing?”
