Authors: Koko Brown
Upon graduation, Robbie
could have entered himself into the MLS draft. Instead, he walked
away to pursue his real dream. To play professional football in
Europe where people ate, drank and sometimes killed for the sport.
Determined, he’d
returned to Florida and begged Trenton Kirksey, a former English
Premier League Football player, to train him. This led to a spot on
the Men’s National team and a trial with Leeds FC.
After playing a season on
their reserve team, he bounced around on loan for several more
seasons.
He finally found a
semi-permanent home when he scored a two-year contract with Roma
Internazionale, one of Italy’s premiere football clubs as a
reserve forward.
“
I better get cleaned
up for the press conference. You know how much I like to make a good
impression.”
Robbie might be a lion on
the soccer field, off it he was a hundred percent metro-sexual. One
of the reasons why she’d simply shrugged her shoulders when
he’d come out to her more than ten years ago. Before allowing
his teammates to pull him down the tunnel toward the locker room, he
gave her quick peck on the cheek.
While most of the team
followed Robbie into the locker room, a handsome strawberry blond
peeled away from the others to plant a kiss on Keitha’s cheek.
“
Come here, woman,”
he purred, his lips moving along the other woman’s jaw to right
below her ear. His lips continued to move, but Yvonne could only
make out, “chocolate syrup...on all fours...and handcuffs.”
Keitha must have gotten a
kick out of his garbled words because she giggled like a silly school
girl. Fortunately, their groping session didn’t last long. As
if suddenly remembering they had an audience, Keitha broke free of
the footballer’s roving hands and lips and turned to her.
“
Excuse us, Yvonne.
This is my husband Freddy, Freddy Macdonald, footballer
extraordinaire from the Great Down Under!” Her husband pinched
her butt causing Keitha to squeal the last word.
For good measure, he leaned
in to kiss her on the lips. Once they came up for air again, she
finished the introductions, “this is Yvonne Floyd, Robbie
Gutierrez’s fiancée.”
Freddy’s ginger
eyebrows arched in surprise, but he extended his hand with a warm
toothy smile.
“
Pleasure
to finally meet you. We heard…ah…we heard…”
Yvonne struggled to keep her
expression blank. Poor thing, he had no clue Robbie cooked up this
sham only two weeks ago. Yvonne decided to ease his embarrassment.
“I hope all of it was good. And if any of it wasn’t,
don’t believe any of it.”
“
No worries.”
Freddy blew out a breath, obviously relieved she’d let him off
the hook.
“
You’re rank,
Freddy!” Keitha’s perfect nose wrinkled as she stepped
back. “It’s time for you to hit the showers.”
“
Are you giving me
lip?” Chuckling, MacDonald hooked his arm behind his wife’s
neck. He ignored her loud protests about his sweatiness and the
grime coating his body and started planting kisses all over her face.
Feeling like an intruder, Yvonne stepped away, giving the happy
couple some privacy.
Even though most of the team
had disappeared, the stadium tunnel hadn’t entirely cleared.
Miscellaneous club and stadium staff ran back and forth trying to
complete their jobs, a small group of rabid fans was being ushered to
the nearest exit and members of the media milled around ready to
pounce on any player stupid enough to resurface.
“
Mi scusi,
Signorina. Che dove aspettare?”
Yvonne glanced over her
shoulder. A pint sized man with a pen clutched in his hands stood
behind her. His oily hair, sparse and stringy, hid a bald spot that
looked like a polished apple. His bad grooming extended to a wrinkled
short-sleeved shirt stained with sweat and a pair of rumpled black
slacks. He was unremarkable except for the PAPARAZZI tag hanging out
of his shirt pocket.
“
No
comprendo
...I
don’t speak Italian.” Yvonne responded uneasily. She and
Robbie had run through the ‘script’ several times, still
it didn’t help to ease her anxiety especially when the
photographer’s pale blue gaze seemed to dissect her.
“
You and Robbie
Gutierrez are friends, no?”
Normally, Yvonne would’ve
ignored the guy or told him it wasn’t any of his business, but
since he was the press she fell into her role. “I’m
Robbie Gutierrez’s fiancée,” she corrected.
The man seemed to be
bothered by her answer because he frowned and looked almost
disappointed by the news.
“
Congratulations,”
he mumbled then pressed his lips together.
An awkward silence fell
between them. His eyebrows rose as if he were going to pose another
question.
Instead, he scurried off
into the crowd, disappearing into a group of reporters and camera men
cornering a player making his way toward the team’s locker
room.
Standing at least a
half-a-foot taller than most of the people gathered around him, the
footballer seemed un-phased by the microphones and bright lights. A
seasoned spin doctor herself with six years of public relations
experience under her belt before seeking her MBA two years ago,
Yvonne stepped closer.
All of her years of
experience left her woefully unprepared for the ballplayer skillfully
holding court despite the incessant press of the media.
His confidence, beyond
exemplarily, didn’t hold a flame to the man because handsome
couldn’t aptly describe him or his effect on her body. Hands
down he had be to the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes
on.
He made her fingertips
tingle, and for the first time in her life Yvonne found herself
without words.
CHAPTER TWO
“
I see he has the same
effect on you as he does the rest of the female population.”
Yvonne’s cheeks heated with embarrassment, she’d been so
entranced with the football player she’d missed Keitha sidling
up next to her.
“
Who is he?” she
asked unable to look away.
Keitha
chuckled. “That beautiful specimen is the team’s captain,
Paolo Saito. The fans call him
Il
Duca
,
The Duke, because his rule over the pitch is unparalleled.
He’s one of the best
players in Series A, probably the entire world. He’s led Brazil
to the World Cup twice. Right now he’s one of the highest paid
forwards in the league. And when he becomes a free agent at the end
of the season, he’ll be number one.”
“
Filthy rich and
beautiful to boot, any woman would be lucky to tag that one. No one’s
succeeded so far.” Keitha paused to lay a hand on Yvonne’s
shoulder. “So, if I were you, I would stay away from him.”
“
A huge player?”
Keitha snorted. “Enormous.
According to all the gossip rags, he likes to share his God given
attributes with everyone. Young, old, pretty, plain, single, married
or engaged, it doesn’t matter as long as they’re female.
Every week he has a different girlfriend or lover, a different
conquest all of them well documented in the tabloids.”
Yvonne wasn’t
surprised Paolo Saito’s love life was practically public
record. Average human beings loved to escape the ordinariness of
their existence by living their lives through the rich and beautiful.
Heck the tabloids could stay afloat on her monthly subscriptions
alone.
A man with his looks and
chosen career would be a playboy of the worst kind and a consummate
charmer.
Classically handsome, his
Asian features fit together like an exotic puzzle.
A pair of dark eyebrows
slashed across his sun-kissed skin and provided a perfect frame to
his almond-shaped eyes and aquiline nose.
As expected for a man who
made his living outdoors, his bronzed skin, only a shade or two
lighter than hers, contrasted beautifully with his short black hair
cut into a modified Mohawk. And his body language and easy smile,
while he answered rapid fire questions, conveyed a confidence that if
bottled would sell millions.
“
How do you feel about
the playoff season?” Saito scanned the crowd for the source of
the question. A young blond kid barely out of his teens raised his
hand.
“
Price Quimby,
OnThePitch.com.”
Saito’s Brazilian
accent triggered Yvonne’s dormant hormones like an automatic
rifle. If she’d been alone, she would’ve probably touched
herself.
“
Roma Internazionale
plays like a team not a group of individuals. No egos. No ulterior
motives just one goal to win the European Cup.”
“
So you agree with
management’s decision to replace your good friend João
Schmitt with Robbie Gutierrez?” Price asked.
At the mention of Robbie’s
name, Yvonne drew closer while Saito’s sunny disposition
suddenly took a southward detour. His expression tightened and his
smile wavered, but he answered the question.
“
At this time, I have
no complaints with Gutierrez,” Saito replied his accent
noticeably thicker.
What was up with that?
Yvonne mused. Was there some hidden animosity between the two? She’d
have to remember to ask Robbie about it later.
As Saito scanned the crowd,
his eyes skipped over her then swung back. Like a possum caught in
headlights, Yvonne couldn’t move.
“
Uh…oh,”
Keitha whispered. “The player just found a new playmate.”
*****
His gaze pinned Yvonne to
the spot. He wasn’t physically touching her, but the effect
stoked a fire deep within Yvonne’s belly and she began to throb
and tingle in the most intimate places.
Instinctively, Yvonne’s
hand flew to her chest. Her heart was pounding a mile a minute! To
make matters worse, her nipples had become traitorously hard little
pebbles pressing against the fine material of her cashmere sweater.
Embarrassed and as a means of defense, Yvonne folded her arms across
her chest and faced her tormentor.
Big. Mistake.
Before she could say fish
and grits, Mr. Sex in Soccer Cleats, cut through the throng of camera
men and reporters and headed her way. Normally, she would have been
flattered but he wasn’t the reason why she was in Rome.
Time slowed to a crawl
without either of them saying a word as he stopped just inside her
personal space. Even the reporters crowding around them remained
silent save the sound of pencils scribbling on paper. Could they
sense the electrical charge ping ponging between them as well? If
not, they could surely see the smoke coming out of her ears. She was
practically burning up!
“
Awkward,”
Yvonne sing-songed under her breath. Although they didn’t have
any privacy, she didn’t find it too hard to block out the
people around them when she had the most beautiful pair of jet black
eyes staring down at her.
Yvonne gulped. He’d
taken her hand in his, bent over like a cavalier of old and kissed
her knuckles. If it weren’t for the AC vent overhead, she would
have gone up in smoke.
“
Como
a senhora se chama?”
he asked.
“
I don’t speak
Italian,” Yvonne whispered in awe of his chivalry.
“
Not Italian,”
he said, easily switching to English. “It’s Portuguese,
my native tongue.”
At the mention of tongue,
images of them lip locked floated in her head. “I-I don’t
speak that either.” I’m open to private, one-on-one
lessons, though!
Paolo shrugged. “Honest
mistake. Your dark beauty reminds me of the women in my homeland
Brazil.”
Kisses on the hand and
compliments. He was good! Sensing danger of the sexual kind, Yvonne
shook the stardust out of her eyes.
“
I’m Paolo and
you are?”
Yvonne struggled to regain
the use of her tongue. “Y-yvonne Floyd.”
Did
I just give him my first and last name? Yvonne’s brow knitted
in vexation.
In spite of her
self-reprobation, Paolo seemed pleased. His smile widened, giving
her a better view of his straight pearly whites.
“
I’m Paolo
Saito. Now that we’re officially introduced, we―”
Was
he about to ask her out? A rush of excitement swept through Yvonne’s
body and severed the oxygen from her brain, considering she was
already clearing her calendar.
“
Too late, Romeo.”
Keitha bounced Yvonne out of the way with a well-placed hip. “She’s
already taken by one of your mates.”
“
Ah, Keitha! You grow
more beautiful every time I see you.” Paolo dropped Yvonne’s
hand faster than a hot potato and turned his attention to the other
woman. Just like that, he’d dumped her on the trash pile for a
prettier woman.
What was new? The moment
wasn’t lost on the press either. A few well-placed coughs to
overshadow muffled laughter burned her ears.