“Good.” I stand from my chair and stack our empty plates, rinsing them in the sink before loading them in the dishwasher. “Because you’re going to need to sleep in.”
“Where are we going?” He stands and follows me out of the kitchen.
“You’ll see. Trust me?”
“Sometimes,” he murmurs.
I raise an eyebrow, fighting my grin.
“I want to,” he amends.
I laugh and reach for his hand. Linking our fingers together, I squeeze reassuringly. “I’ll get you home in one piece, DiBlanco.”
Luca snorts. “I’m holding you to that.”
After we say goodbye to Abuela, we pass by my apartment so I can quickly change. Then, we head to Ruzafa, the trendy, eclectic part of the city. It’s bursting with people, energy, and good vibes and I breathe it all in. After weeks of commitment and grind, I’m ready to throw caution to the wind and have some fun.
Luca and I move through the crowds of Ruzafa together, our fingers linked. Luca stops a few times to sign autographs or pose for photos, but for the most part, people leave us alone. He’s well-known and recognized, but if he’s solo, without Alejandro, he can blend into a crowd. And no one recognizes me here unless I’m with Papá or Ale. It’s refreshing, to be honest.
A night out with my crush—high school Carla is squeeing. And dancing. And pinching herself. Because, is this even real?
“What would you like?” Luca asks as we slip into a bar.
I bite the corner of my mouth, glancing up at him. “Is it okay with you if we drink tonight, Coach Luca?”
He snorts. “Smartass.”
I laugh. “I’ll take a beer.”
Luca grabs us beers and we spill back out onto the street with other partygoers. Clustering around a small table, we’re pulled into easy conversation with strangers and I enjoy the night, the simplicity of the moment.
Luca steps behind me and I close my eyes, breathing in, when his palm finds my hip and slides across my abdomen before stilling. He shadows my back, his frame big and strong and protective, and I relish the feel of his hand on my body, pressing my back against his front.
When he drops his mouth to my ear, I nearly shiver. “You want another drink?”
I turn my face and our lips almost brush. Luca doesn’t back away. Neither do I.
His eyes are dark, liquid pools of ink. There’s a hunger, a desire there, that shocks me. And I love that he’s reacting this way to me. “Sure.”
One side of his mouth pulls into a half smirk. He taps my hip bone once before ducking into another bar for more beers.
We drink our way through Ruzafa, stopping at bars, and pausing to chat with friends and acquaintances we know in the busy streets. If anyone is surprised to see us together, they don’t let on.
And that pleases me too.
We could be a normal couple now. Gone are the days of being Ale’s baby sister. I’m an adult now and I can be worthy of the space beside a legend like Luca DiBlanco. Not because he’s a futbolista but because he’s a good man. One of the best I’ve ever known.
“You ready for our cherry on top?” I ask as we’re sandwiched between a group of people on a crowded sidewalk.
“A cherry on—what?” he laughs.
“It’s an expression,” I start to explain before shaking my head. “Come on; I’ll show you.”
We wind through throngs of people before stopping at a nondescript door on a side street in Ruzafa.
“Where are we?” Luca asks.
“You know, you’re supposed to be the local these days; you should know these things.” I knock seven times.
