how far I can push it with her.
Finally she tilts her head to meet my gaze, and I catch a whiff of her perfume. Something soft that brings to mind fresh sheets and morning sunshine. In my head I get a vision of tangled limbs, and my balls tighten in response.
“Would you sit this close to your other therapists?” she asks, dead-on. Determination flits on her brow, her chin raised slightly in defiance like she’s daring me to challenge her.
I smile. “If you haven’t noticed, we Spaniards are very, how do you say, touchy feely. It’s something you’ll have to get used to.”
She blinks at me and then nods, breaking our gaze. “Duly noted.”
She sips her champagne.
“May I ask you something?” I say, leaning in an inch, my voice dropping low.
Her delicate throat bobs as she swallows. “What?”
“Are you happy to be here?”
Surprise washes across her brow. “In Madrid? Of course.”
“Claro,” I repeat. “But I mean with the team.”
She clears her throat. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask? Do I look like I don’t want to be here?”
“Well, you do look like you don’t want to be here right now. But I’ll give you a pass on that. I can be intimidating.”
A gorgeous, full laugh escapes her and she looks at me, trying not to smile by pressing her lips together. I feel like I should be insulted. “You’re not intimidating,” she says. “You’re just a football player.”
“I’m one of the best football players in the world,” I tell her.
“Maybe on your team, and you’re one of them.”
I stare at her, surprised she doesn’t agree with me. “You’ve never watched me in a game, have you?”
“I have. You don’t think I watched a million Real Madrid matches before I came here? Besides, I’ve seen you train all week.”
“So you’ve been watching me, then.”
“It’s my job to watch you,” she says. “My job.”
“Sí, it’s your job. But do you like your job here? Or was it better in Manchester?”
Something dark and troubled comes over her eyes, not quite sadness, but something more complicated. It only makes me want to dig deeper. She has to watch me, then I want to know her.
“It’s too early to decide,” she says, taking another sip of her drink.
“But you’ve been making the comparisons in your head all week.”
“Well, how can I not? You’d feel the same if you were playing for a team and got transferred over here.”
“I suppose,” I muse. “But you know I’ve been with Real Madrid since I was eighteen. I joined the academy at fifteen. This team, this place, it’s all I’ve known. All I want to know, to be honest with you.”
“You wouldn’t be traded elsewhere, even for all the money in the world?”
“Not for all the money in the world.” I am adamant. “Madrid is my home. This team is my home.”
She adjusts herself on the couch, tucking a leg under the other, her dangerous-looking high heel pointing outward like a weapon. It puts a little more distance between us, but she looks comfortable as she assesses me. “I was going over your records this week.”
“Oh really? Are my school grades in there, too? I was awful at math.”
“It says you were born in Valencia.”
“This is true. But when I left, I left. Madrid is my home.”
“And your parents? Do they live there still?”
My expression grows tight. “My father is dead. My mother and my brother live in my house, near Valdebebas. This is home now for them. It’s a…what is the saying…a fresh start.”
Her face crumples and she lowers her drink. “Oh, I’m so sorry about your father.”
“Don’t be sorry. Surprised it doesn’t say that in the records. What else did they say?”
“That you’re prone to injuries due to you doing stupid shit.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Does it really say that?”
She shoots me a small grin. “No. But I got the gist of it.”
I shrug. “What can I say, I like to make risky moves.”
She stares at me for a moment, her smile faltering into something else, something cautious. “I believe it,” she says as she lifts the glass to her lips.
My head tilts as I observe her, words dancing on my tongue, propelled by a boldness that never seems to cease. “You know. If you weren’t my therapist, if we didn’t know each other as we do and met each other tonight for the first time, at this bar, you would be going home with me. That’s a guarantee.”
She coughs, nearly spitting out her drink,