Keep Cool, Stay Tough

“So after all of that you both just hooked up with your exes, and then acted as if it’s the most normal thing in the world?” Mina demanded, her voice pressed indignantly against my eardrums, “You guys are seriously back to being the best of buddies?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Mina, please shut up,” I glared around and at least three players dipped their eyes back down to their phones as if they weren’t trying to eavesdrop, “Can we not have this conversation surrounded by the entire Real Madrid first team?”

Even Carlos from concierge had more tact than my cousin; no wonder Cristiano trusted him to get stuff done, and I had waited so long to tell Mina everything.

“Fine, but we are going to continue this conversation as soon as we reach the hotel.”

I still can’t believe I told her everything.

“Fine,” I conceded and put my earphones back in.

We had been having this conversation off and on for the last twenty-four hours, and I didn’t know how much more of it I could take before I finally snapped. Mina kept going around the same circles of thoughts and questions and expected me to give a new answer.

“And, just for the record, I did not ‘hook up’ with Cesc. I almost, very nearly did, but I didn’t, and now I’m not even on speaking terms with him, and won’t be for a very long time, if ever again,” I pulled my earphones back out and muttered my retort into Mina’s ear, “Where you know who is already welcoming the glamazon back with open arms and corny romantic ballads in Portuguese.”

Okay, admittedly, it was more than a little nice to have someone to talk to without constantly nitpicking which details I should and shouldn’t mention. Mina knew everything about everything, including Cesc.

“You don’t know that for sure because you couldn’t be bothered to ask what was going on,” Mina snapped, her voice rising towards the end.

I opened my mouth, unsure whether I was going to respond to her stupid response or tell her to be quiet again, but was cut short anyway.

“What’s got you two whispering in each other’s ears?” Sergio popped his head up, grinning from ear to ear. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap. That would certainly explain why he had waited until we were almost at the hotel to talk to us.

“You,” Mina and I answered simultaneously. We sounded so sincere, I almost believed us. I could hear Iker laughing beside a puzzled and intrigued Sergio.

I looked away from Sergio’s conflicted expression, and found Cristiano sitting beside Pepe with his head turned watching our obnoxious exchange. I nodded towards him with a smile, and he returned the gesture, adding a suspicious arch to his brow as he did so.

After Mina had told me about Cristiano’s visit, it did eventually occur to me that maybe there was a slight truth to what Zoe had been so adamant about the other night. Maybe Cristiano really had been keen to rebound with his ex because he had been certain I was going to London to be with mine.

The question then still remained as loud and as obtrusive as ever: Why?

We got to the hotel soon after that, and everyone was either tired or hungry or both. Mina and I found ourselves in the company of Sergio, Karim, and Cristiano as we waited for the last of the key cards to be administered by the hotel staff. Iker had already ditched Sergio in search of food, and when he texted a picture of the jackpot he had scored at one of the hotel’s restaurants Sergio and Karim whined until they could leave to join Iker. Only problem was the previous occupants of Karim and Cristiano’s room hadn’t returned the key cards as instructed.

“You can wait here with Cristiano until they find the keycards,” Mina readily volunteered me; trying so desperately to not smile and reveal too much of her excitement. I very nearly rolled my eyes.

“Sure,” I conceded.

Mina waved goodbye immediately after that as she ushered an indifferent Karim and a puzzled Sergio out into the hallway.

Cristiano sat back with a sleepy smile plastered across his face and stretched his arms out on either side of the bench we were sitting on, “You usually don’t tag along to away games, what brought on the change of heart?”

“Mina made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” I sounded like I was joking; I even laughed as the words poured out, but that was literally what happened.

“No, really, what happened?” Cristiano asked through his chuckles. Obviously The Godfather reference did not go amiss. I would have felt the need to seriously shame him if it had.

“I am dead serious, Mina was furious with me when I came back, I was kind of terrified and she said the only way I could get in her good graces again is if I came to Seville,” I explained with sincere wide-eyes and a half smile.

“How’d you get her so mad at you?”

“Because of you actually,” I answered immediately. I had waited and waited, but Cristiano had made no effort whatsoever to explain his mysterious visit to Barcelona, and I felt like if I didn’t bring it up now, it would never come up, and I would explode.

Cristiano looked confused for only the briefest of moments before he smiled, as it quickly dawned on him, “She told you.”

“Yeah, Cris, but why didn’t you?”

He shrugged, rolling his neck back to observe the ornate skylight above us, “It was only going to make you feel guilty if I were to tell you now, and I didn’t show up that night to make you feel guilty. It was a tough couple of days for both of us, and I just wanted you to know that I was still there – that I meant what I said that night before you left.”

“Well I deserve to feel guilty,” I leaned forward to playfully hit his shoulder, “You did something incredibly sweet, and I wasn’t even there to appreciate it.”

“Apparently Mina appreciated it enough for the both of you,” Cristiano pointed out, a crooked smile lighting his features.

I nodded vehemently as I glanced up at him only now realizing how closely we were sitting beside each other, and just like that I lost track of what I was about to say.

“What is going through your head, Senna?” He murmured when we remained stuck in our strange silence.

That you have really amazing eyes and your lashes are so long they touch your eyelids, and I want nothing more than to just feel how soft your skin is against mine…

“How much longer do you think they’re going to take?” I asked instead as I cleared my throat and came to my feet.

***

“I dedicated the last one to you, did you notice?” Cristiano made a direct beeline towards me. Something that did not go overlooked from Mina’s vigilant observing as she was holding a conversation with Iker and Paul the assistant coach. Thankfully those two had our backs towards us.

I made a face, my nose scrunched up at the memory, “I was wondering what the weird hand gestures were for.”

He laughed, slightly incensed as I mimicked what I remembered, “It’s called dancing!”

He was in such a good mood after the match had wrapped up, it was infectious. I found myself mirroring his smiles and laughs at every turn. I guess singlehandedly destroying a team’s home record would do that for anyone, but for Cristiano handing Real Madrid max points and scoring a hat-trick in one night simply had his mood soaring.

Sergio reached the player’s lounge with his arms outstretched, his eyes only for Cristiano, “Tell us, what will it be tonight?”

“This is your hometown, Sergio, you tell us, where should it be?” Cristiano countered with a wide, toothy grin.

Sergio returned the smile with an arch to his brow, “I am so glad you asked Cris, I was hoping you would say that.”

Paul stayed behind to round up the rest of the players while the five of us gathered together and went outside where Sergio already had a black Mercedes G63 waiting for us with upbeat club music thumping out of its speakers. My jaw dropped to the floor when I saw the car, this car was the ultimate SUV, this car was the ultimate everything to be completely honest, and before I was fully aware of what I was doing my arm shot up into the air and I yelled ‘SHOTGUN!’ before ambling towards the front seat in my too-high silver heels and borderline-skimpy little black dress. The footballers weren’t the only ones prepared with a spare change of clothes. Mina and I had brought our own duffle bag, and had gone to change when the game had wrapped because Sergio had promised us a memorable night out in Seville regardless of the score-line.

I hadn’t even realized that Cristiano had shared my overexcited reaction, and he had hurried forward in the same instant to play designated driver for the evening.

“Children, you two are complete children,” Iker chastised with faux-shame as he, Sergio, and Mina jumped into the back seat, “You guys had that same look Martin gets in his eyes every time we get him a new toy.”

Cristiano and I both disregarded him as Mina asked to see a current picture of Iker’s son. We were far too preoccupied with chattering incessantly about the latest upgrades Mercedes had made to the already pristinely perfect G-Wagon.

Fast-forward roughly about twenty minutes that was filled with talks of cars and kids, and we were standing in the middle of one of Seville’s much, much shadier streets. Cristiano had refused to get out of the car until we had found the super secret, super swanky bar Sergio was so adamant existed.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” Cristiano asked from the confines of the car for the second time. I snorted. We exchanged the briefest of glances.

“No, we’re not lost give me a moment,” Sergio absently threw over his shoulder and circled about as we heard some stray cats mewing in the near alleyway.

“Marcelo, Alvero, and Pepe are all messaging me asking where we disappeared off too,” Cristiano announced, “I’m telling them you made us do it, Sergio!”

Sergio had officially begun tuning us out as he continued to inspect his surroundings and occasionally glance at his phone as he delved deeper into the dark alleyway.

“Hey, Iker, I’ll pay you fifty Euros to walk down that dark alleyway and bring back a cat,” Cristiano urged Iker nodding towards a narrower side street that connected to the alleyway.

By now I had given up the search to the elusive gold-painted door I had heard Sergio muttering about and returned to my spot next to Cristiano and switched on the seat-warmers. I don’t think I had ever seen Cristiano this perky or talkative all season.

Iker rolled his eyes, “I’ll pay you a hundred if you shut up. I’m still not sure how I wound up here instead of back at the hotel with the rest of the sane ones.”

“Because you’re one of us,” Sergio explained and fondly patted Iker on the back as he returned from the short walk down the alley he had gone on.

“And your girlfriend is visiting her family in Marseilles for the weekend,” Cristiano reminded.
Mina and I snickered.

“Fuck it, I’ve got it! We should totally go and flamenco! I know a place somewhere around here!” Sergio exclaimed, arching his right arm over his head and snapping the fingers of his left hand as he brought his hand to a halt before his chest, assuming the position of a flamenco dancer.

The car ride, to Sergio’s smug satisfaction, was much shorter than any of us had thought it to be. Continuing on with the theme of Sergio’s smug satisfaction, the club did in fact look absolutely amazing. The lights and the music were seen and heard from at least a kilometer or so away. The place was big, and even at midnight it was the liveliest spot within the vicinity – and the vicinity was lined with clubs of a similar nature.

“Impressive,” Mina commented as a valet arrived to open our doors.

We had arrived just in time for the second show of the Flamenco dance that was going to be performed by three couples on the center dance floor. One of the guys must have sent a team-wide text because the majority of Los Blancos had arrived and were scanning leather bound menus with bottles and pitchers of beer at their side.

“After the show, they put on music for us to tango to, I’ve gotten laid a lot because of this place,” Sergio informed proudly after we said our hellos and took up our spots around the long, rectangular table. I had squeezed myself between Mina and Sergio with Cristiano managing to sit directly across from me. And as was typical of Cristiano he more or less forgot about me and picked up two separate conversations with Karim and Marcelo.

“It’s really romantic,” Mina agreed.

There was a tint of longing in Mina’s voice that I hadn’t heard since that night we had talked about Gonzalo. I tugged her arm, nodding towards her, “You okay?”

She nodded, “I always miss him, but sometimes it hits too hard.”

“Do you want me to order a pitcher of Sangria?” Sergio interrupted when the waitress had returned.
I shook my head, “No, I’m okay with just Perrier tonight.”

“Really, why?” Cristiano asked, genuinely surprising me.

“Not in the mood,” I shrugged, and I couldn’t pinpoint a real reason as Cristiano continued to give me a curious look.

Dinner was amazing as we passed around the massive plates of rice and fish and roasted veggies and potatoes round and round the table. I kept getting hypnotized by the Flamenco dancers who moved with such amazing precision.

Sergio made an immediate grab for my hand as soon as the DJ announced the show was over and the dance floor was open. I still had a fork in my hand when we actually arrived on the dance floor; thankfully one of the waitresses had noticed and took it away.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a shit dancer, I’m a great leader,” Sergio proudly announced.

“Why do you assume I’m a bad dancer?” I demanded, miffed. The one thing my mother had bestowed upon me before disappearing was the ability to dance. She had taught me herself.

“I’m not,” Sergio went wide-eyed with his exclamation, “I’m just saying in case you were, you didn’t need to worry.”

I nodded, “That’s great.”

I noticed from the corner of my eye that Cristiano and Mina had followed suit and joined us just as the beginning beats of music thumped out into the crowd.

True to his word, Sergio was an amazing dancer and managed to keep me on my toes, and I was constantly grateful for the fact that I had decided to stay sober tonight. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gone dancing, and I had forgotten how much I had enjoyed it, and how easy it came to me.

I was spinning and spinning with Sergio’s hand tightly gripping onto my hand until he unceremoniously let me go, and very much like one of those toy tops I spun on my own once, twice until finally coming to a dizzying halt.

Cristiano looked amused by my confusion when I found him standing where Sergio had been standing moments before. He extended his hand which I took without a moment’s hesitation. He pulled me close to him to whisper, “Mina wanted to switch it up.”

I nodded, trying to stay steady on my feet as the shivers raced down my spine. I gripped onto him, and allowed everything else to melt away, “Then let’s switch it up, shall we?”

I’ve always heard people say that the person you dance with that keeps your inhibitions at bay, your movements loose, and your trust intact to catch you and to match each move perfectly in sync with yours is a rare thing in this world. Not every person experiences that perfect sync with their partner. And that’s exactly what was happening with Cristiano and me on the dance floor. I could anticipate exactly where he needed my arms and legs to go, and he was ready to catch me, dip me, and spin me at a millisecond’s notice. I was only vaguely aware of the other couples that had spun away to leave us with more room.

It felt like there were unspoken emotions bleeding into our quick movements, making everything feel so smooth and so easy – most importantly, it made things feel uncomplicated. It wasn’t necessarily that Cristiano was a better dancer than Sergio; it was just that we had a deeper, more profound understanding constantly being exchanged between us, and in other unsurprising news I was freaked out.

The song suddenly slowed, the lights grew dim, and Cristiano pulled me towards him, adjusting our movements to coincide with the subtle curves of the new soapy love ballad that had begun to play. I rested my head against his chest, as my breathing settled and I could hear his heartbeat comfortingly against my ear.

“You know weren’t the worst I ever had,” Cristiano complimented, his voice almost forcibly light. I gave a quiet laugh, knowing Cristiano that was probably the highest compliment he could give.
“You weren’t the best I ever had anyway,” I sniggered as I played along.

Time slipped past us, I was allowing this to go on for too long, I realized.

“I need to get some air,” I announced abruptly overcome by the romantic ambience of being yet another pair in a crowd of couples staring lovingly in each other’s eyes.

The air outside had grown colder and unwelcoming since we had first arrived at the club. I rubbed my hands against my exposed upper arms in an attempt to get warm. Relief washed over me when I spotted the outdoor space heater, and I immediately went to stand under it, focusing on getting warm and nothing else. I ignored the knots in my stomach, I ignored the tears threatening to burst forward, and I ignored all of the thoughts demanding that I run back inside and into Cristiano’s arms and continue to act like nothing was wrong.

“I can’t do this anymore, Senna; I can only humor this for so long. I’m trying, but come on, you need to help me out here,” Cristiano’s voice called after me.

“I just needed a little air, I’ll come back inside in a minute,” I promised my voice slow and choked by confusion. I couldn’t even get myself to turn to face him, and I hated myself for it.

“Why are you acting like this?” Cristiano shouted as he continued coming towards me until he came to an abrupt halt close enough for me to smell his cologne. Still, I didn’t turn to face him.

“What are you talking about? I’m not acting, Cristiano,” I insisted, and I almost forced out a laugh or a smile, but I knew it would only prove his point.

He leered skeptically over me, his hand on my shoulder with his thumb pressed warmly against my bone, as he turned me to face him, “You know I find it very insulting that you feel like you need to put up a farce with me; especially for this long.”

“What farce? What are you on about?” I demanded, hypnotized by the look of sheer hurt lingering in his eyes. It was still so unusual to read emotion in his looks and in his voice. He was usually so consistent with keeping his actual feelings covered under sarcasm and smiles.

“You came back from London that day and you were not okay,” Cristiano started, his voice flooded by days, maybe weeks, worth of frustrations.

I opened my mouth to argue, a skeptical smile tugging at my lips, but he had his hand up telling me to just listen.

“And I am sure that you had a very good reason for coming to see me, and obviously it was something important because you didn’t wait until after the game. You remembered Carlos and you found me; you weren’t temporarily insane, Senna,” He corrected my words with an unsteady, defensive smile that was on the verge of flipping to a frown as if he had been waiting to do just that for days now.

“Now, I have given you time, I have given you space, and still you are not okay, still you won’t tell me what’s on your mind,” Cristiano’s voice dropped low, his head at a tilt, his hand still wrapped around my shoulder, his thumb still persistently pressed against my shoulder bone as if he was holding me in place, as if he was stopping me from looking away, “Senna you… you’re not supposed to put on an act for me, and I’m not supposed to lie to you. I’m never supposed to feel like I need to lie to you.”

“Then don’t lie to me,” I suggested, my voice barely audible to my own ears.

“Then stop pretending with me,” He retorted without missing a beat.

And then of course I did the most logical thing in the world.

I kissed him.