a wicked gleam comes over his eyes. “Let’s talk about Manchester United.”
“Ugh, I’m going to need more wine.”
I make a move to get up, but he puts his hand on my thigh and holds me in place. “You don’t need wine. There’s nothing to worry about. We’re going to beat them.”
“Yeah, but I have to go back to Manchester. I’m going to have to see Stew. Helen will probably be there. The media.” My eyes widen at the thought. “Oh god, the media! They’re going to know! They’re going to hound me and write mean things.”
“Who cares what they write? It can’t be worse than what they’ve already done to you. Besides, no one will be hounding you. You’re a physical therapist. You’ll be with the team and Mateo, doing your job. Otherwise you’ll be protected by us. No one that you don’t want to see will be able to see you. I assume you don’t want to see your ex?”
“Fuck no,” I cry out. “Why would you even suggest that?”
“Because I’m your man and he’s your ex-husband, and it’s only natural to worry.”
“Alejo,” I tell him imploringly, finding it almost sexy at how protective he’s being. “I hate Stew. Okay? I won’t even look in his direction. You have nothing to worry about.”
He tilts his head as he takes that in. “If you say so. Though I would love to go over to him and fuck him right up for what he’s done to you.”
“You will do no such thing,” I tell him sharply. “You and your Spanish bravado.”
“What if I see him in a bar? Permission to fight him?”
“No,” I cry out. “That would raise some serious questions about us.”
“You and Stewart?”
“No, you and me,” I explain. “Look, the way you get back at Stew is by humiliating his team by playing the best you can.”
“Vale, vale, vale,” Alejo says, kissing the tops of his fists. “I’ll keep these bad boys locked away.”
“You’re such a dork,” I tell him, laughing. “Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Other than you, no.”
I sigh and lean against him, my head on his chest. “Listen, Luciano came by earlier, badgering me over the game and whether I knew any weak spots with their team.”
“Sí,” he says, running his fingers through my hair, something I find so relaxing.
“I told him I’d think about it, but it kind of breaks my personal code of ethics.”
“Síííí.”
I glance up at him, resting my chin on his pec. “But I’m already breaking my code by doing this with you.”
“Technically,” Alejo says, “it’s not just your personal code. It’s in the employee handbook. I know. I looked it up.”
“My point is, since I’m breaking all the rules with you…might as well break all the rules with you.”
He peers down at me, brow arching. “I’m listening…”
“This is just for you. I’m just going to say that one of their defenders, Mark York, is going to be on you like glue. And he has a very weak right ankle. Any kind of twisting and he’s out of the game. He’ll recover, and I’m not suggesting you try and maim the guy. But if you need to get away and get him gone for the night…”
He nods. “Got it.” A slow smile spreads on his lips. “This is a very cunning side of you. I think I like it. What other sides do you have?”
He puts his hand behind my head and brings my face up to meet his, kissing me long and slow.
“I can think of a few new ones to show you,” I say in a husky voice, being the ultimate tease.
He grins and kisses me again.
November 26th.
Eleven a.m.
Our Emirates private plane has just landed in dreary Manchester.
I’m staring out the window at the grey, windswept, puddle-strewn tarmac, and a million nasty feelings are swirling inside me, so much so that I might need to vomit.
I can’t believe I’m here.
That I’m back.
The last time I saw Manchester was at the end of July, and though I knew I would be back one day to see friends or to play a match, I just never imagined what that would be like. It was always something vague and abstract.
Now that I’m here, I feel sick to my stomach. I guess I never really had an idea what kind of impact this place had on me until I left.
I wish I could stay on the plane and have it take me back to Madrid, but that’s not an option.