Keep Cool, Stay Tough

Settling into Madrid became less of a hassle when I fell into a real rhythm and routine with school and work at the training grounds. I had classes on Monday and Wednesday from nine to three. I had Sociology 102, Micro Biology, and Statistics 101. School had never been a problem for me, and I didn’t see it bothering me now. I hated to admit, but I was constantly getting distracted back home and I would cut classes on a habitual basis. I didn’t see that happening here, not with dear Martha breathing down my neck. Also, I was pretty sure Mina was doing checkups, but I had no way of proving it.

Real Madrid seemed to snap out of their own holiday lull to win their last three matches in January after being knocked out of the Copa Del Rey. Barcelona had lost the one match away at Real Sociedad the first week I had arrived in Madrid, and from then on it had been a blow out. They demanded max points in stylish fashion out of all of their matches – including knocking out the very same Athletico team that had knocked out Real Madrid from the Copa Del Rey.

I tried to be a good sport, but after the second leg when Barca had been in Madrid, I had abandoned what little schoolwork I had and excused myself from work to play catch up with the first team after they played a tough 2-3 match against at the Calderón.

“Fucking hell, I left my book on the training grounds, fuck, fuck fuck, I need it, I still have two more chapters to go over for this stupid research,” I groaned while pacing the length of the pool house, just barely noticing Cesc and Thiagos’ sleepy eyes barely following.

“Just go with your aunt and pick it up if it’s that important,” Cesc suggested.

I stopped pacing, “That poor woman is exhausted, today was just one of those days where anything that can possibly go wrong, went wrong, and every staff member’s been stressing out for the GAME that is tomorrow night, and we still need to run another scan on-“

I stopped short, shaking my head, “I shouldn’t give you two any details.”

They both made faces.

“Real Madrid is playing against Sevilla tomorrow for a la liga match,” Thiago pointed out with a bemused smirk.

“I know, but still, forget I said anything,” I waved off his logic and cont

“Alright, weirdo, what are you going to do about your book? Can you go borrow a copy from those girls you’ve been hanging out with?”

“They’re both out of the country for the weekend, and I don’t have a key to their place, but I do have my aunt’s key to the training grounds,” I stopped and turned, glancing at the dark main house where both mother and daughter have most likely been fast asleep for the last two hours.

I, on the other hand, had downed a triple espresso in anticipation for my late night study session, so my mind was working a mile a minute and maybe it was the caffeine thinking for me, but honestly just going to the grounds felt the most sound for me.

“I’m a great driver, I’m a safe driver,” I convinced myself, “I’ll be really quick, just in and out, come back, study, and knock the fuck out for twelve hours. I won’t even go to the game tomorrow night, just come back and sleep.”

Both guys nodded in agreement. Pretty sure they were just trying to get rid of me.

“Everyone’s sleeping right now,” I pressed.

“Yeah, don’t be that asshole that wakes up the whole house,” Thiago commented.

I nodded, “I know, right? I hate that guy.”

That was exactly the sort of thing Joie would do, God forbid she try and solve her own problems, no she had to go ahead and get the entire household involved.

“Text us,” Cesc managed to rush out before I shut off my computer.

There was a bowl on the table beside the front door where Martha kept her all of her keys, including the electronic security pass that was needed to get inside the complex. Lucky for me, Mina had parked her ridiculous fiat across the street, although honestly that thing’s engine was pathetic and wouldn’t even wake the lightest of sleepers. I just made sure not to turn the lights on until I had successfully driven away from the front of the house. Mina’s room’s window faced the street, but the curtains were drawn and the window was shut.

I’ll be in and out.

I didn’t fully realize just how much I really missed driving until the moment my hands gripped the wheel, and I almost immediately pretended I was in anything but a fiat. It was like being handed back a piece of your freedom.

It was dark outside of the city, and I managed to only make one wrong turn, which I treated as a victory. It was close to one in the morning, so there wasn’t a security guard situated inside the booth at the entrance. I assumed there was a security camera, but there wasn’t much I could do about that, and it’s not as if I was coming here to sabotage the team anyway, I just really needed my book bag. I didn’t drink a triple espresso just so I could binge watch Grey’s Anatomy.

Getting inside the complex wasn’t the part I had been worried about anyway; actually retracing my footsteps to find the stupid bag was going to be the tricky part. I mean it took me three hours to even realize that the bag was missing in the first place. I had no clue where I had left it last, and no the whole retracing your footsteps thing is utter bullshit. I don’t even remember what I had for lunch.
I started the search in Martha’s office. It wasn’t until I was halfway through with ransacking the place when I realized I had taken my bag with me to the cafeteria to have power shakes with Sergio and Iker. I walked outside, trying to remember which building was the cafeteria; this was all proving to be a bit tricky with the lack of proper lighting on the dark field. It was actually pretty spooky to hang around alone after hours.

The main grass field where the first team practiced separated the clinic from the cafeteria I finally remembered. It took me a minute to realize that; again there was the darkness to blame for that this time.

There was only one of the floodlights on in the entire field, and even that was dimmed down so that it was useless for where I was standing. It seemed like it had been switched to reserve mode. I heard the sound of something hitting something else hard and fast before focusing my attention on the fact that there was actual movement beneath the dimmed floodlight.

Whoever it was, was too far for me to recognize by face, but given his posture and the fact that he was attempting to perfect his free kick taking abilities, there was only one name that immediately came to mind, but that wasn’t possible. He should be sound asleep in a hotel room with Gareth Bale. What on earth was he still doing here? He was by himself too no less? I heard a shout that echoed that was distinct Portuguese.

It really was Cristiano Ronaldo.

Seriously, what on earth was he doing here in the middle of the night? Okay better question, do I announce myself, or do I try to sneak past him and have him think there’s a ghost of a disgruntled past player haunting the complex?

There’s a dilemma I never thought I would ever have in my life.

I decided to go for the latter option, and resumed my brisk walk straight down the grassy field towards the cafeteria doors. Over the last month, I had managed to have at least one fun, stimulating conversation with each of the players on the first and most of the second team too. I would really like to think I was on great terms with most of them too.

And then there was Cristiano. It’s not like he was an out and out asshole or anything, but where I found myself one on one with the other players, the opportunity just never presented itself for me to talk to him alone. It was as if he kept himself completely focused on his game, and of course that was admirable, but really a quick chat wouldn’t destroy his scoring capabilities, would it? Tonight still didn’t seem like the best time to have a friendly chat with him so I kept my head down and feet moving.

The clang of the football was much more audible from inside the cafeteria, and it got pretty distracting because I wanted to stick around to watch him take his kicks. There were just the most subtle shifts of power, posture and position, and I found it difficult to keep my eyes on the ground. The glass windows were floor to ceiling so I had a perfect view of Cristiano’s impromptu free kick session. I wasted an embarrassing amount of time standing there and watching him.

I got a text from Cesc asking if I was still alive, laughing I responded with some ridiculous, immature, inane comment that Cesc was no doubt expecting, which helped me focus back on my mission. I had been wondering whether Fernando had mentioned my talk with him to Cesc, but since he hadn’t made any mention of it, I had decided not to either.

I turned on the flashlight on my phone to properly begin my hunt around and under the tables and chairs; I couldn’t remember exactly where I had been sitting with the guys when I had walked in before. I had just been that distracted with filling my stomach with something. Technically I had been promised chicken wraps, but was given a stupid kale shake instead.

I had my head under the fifth table when I heard the singing in Portuguese. Cristiano was belting out some romantic ballad that echoed off the walls, and the fact that I was choking back a laugh made me realize that I was being really creepy, and if I were to get caught like this, it would be pretty difficult to explain it all away with a book bag that still hadn’t even turned up where I was pretty sure I had last seen it.

Now or never, now or never, I chanted in my head.

“Hey.” I said as I came to my feet, allowing the flashlight to fall on my face.

He jumped at least two meters into the air with a strangled yelp again beckoning me to laugh.

“What is your problem?” He yelled. “Announce yourself, for fuck’s sake!”

“Um, that’s what the ‘hey’ was for,” I pointed out; struggling to fight back a giggle.

He was gasping and clutching at his heart. I briefly wished that Sergio or even Iker were standing in front of me; any of the other players, but him. But of course it had to be him; he was the one always building on his football skills.

“I really didn’t mean to frighten you, I’m just here because I couldn’t, still can’t actually, seem to find my book bag,” I explained.

“I’m not frightened,” He snapped, “Just caught off guard.”

“You seem a tiny bit frightened,” I insisted, pointedly looking at his hand still clutching at his heart.

He made a face and dropped his hand.

“You don’t happen to have seen a dark red book bag around have you? I’m pretty sure I forgot it here today.” I pressed, suddenly desperate for a change in topic.

I was going to go crazy if I went to all this trouble to go back to my aunt’s place empty handed.

“It had that horrible crest on it?” He asked.

I made a face, “Yes, Barcelona’s crest was stitched on it, have you seen it?”

“Sergio found it; he took it to the locker room for safe-keeping or something.”

Then I realized why he was acting so curt with me.

“Oh my God, you’re so not supposed to be here either, are you? You thought I was a security guard coming to kick you out? That’s why you freaked.”

“They can’t kick me out so no, of course not,” He didn’t even sound the least bit believable, “And I didn’t freak.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” He pointed out, as if turning the tables would make it any less hilarious to me.

“Yeah, but this is my first discrepancy. Which one are you on?”

“Don’t you have a book bag to find?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I wagered.

“Fine,” He agreed.

“Well?” I asked.

“Well what?” He asked past a gulp of water.

“Do you think you can spare five minutes and show me the way to where you think you saw my bag? It’s dark, and this place is huge and creepy when it’s empty.”

“Oh, right, sure, I guess,” He shrugged and began to lead the way.

“You know you seem kind of familiar to me.”

“Are you serious right now? I’ve been coming here with my aunt for the last couple of weeks,” I snapped, “I took your blood pressure last Tuesday afternoon. It had been a little high; did my aunt ever tell you why?”

He actually chuckled, it was brief, but it echoed along with our footsteps, and I smiled in spite of myself.

He gave an exasperated sigh, “My blood pressure’s fine thank you, and, I know you’re Martha’s niece.
I meant beyond that, you’re familiar to me in another setting, but I can’t remember from where exactly.”

“Oh,” I returned, calmed by the fact I wasn’t that forgettable after all, “Right well, I have no idea what you’re on about there.”

“Have you dated a famous footballer?”

“No.” Not publicly at least.

“Is your dad a famous footballer?”

“Oh God no,” I laughed, picturing my dad last summer when he was playing a small game on the beach with the likes of Luis Enrique, Carles Puyol, and Geri. He very nearly fainted in Geri’s arms.

“Oh, come on, this is going to drive me crazy, give me a hint at least.”

“I genuinely have no clue what you are on about,” I repeated as we arrived in front of a set of black double doors.

“Am I going to get traumatized by what I find behind those doors?”

“Depends, what day is it again?”

“Friday,” I replied.

“Oh, then you’re fine, the cleaners have been in today.”

“Lucky me,” I answered and pushed open the doors.

Thankfully, Cristiano had gotten the cleaning day correct, and there wasn’t even a stray sock to be found. A dark red book bag however was sitting neatly in front of a locker with Sergio’s name on it.

“My patch is gone,” I frowned, “And it’s been replaced.”

Cristiano chuckled.

“There’s Sergio’s idea of safekeeping for you.”

“I don’t support Real Madrid, that’s not going to change.”

“Even though you have an aunt that works for the club,” All joking visibly seeping off of his countenance as we retraced our steps back to the grassy field.

“And my dad works for Barca, what’s that got to do with my club preference?”

“Well, fine, but what if you were to go out with a Real Madrid player? Are you sure you haven’t dated a footballer?”

“I’m dating one guy, not an entire football team if that was the case,” I answered, slightly exasperated, “I don’t think it should factor in that much.”

“Well, I couldn’t date a girl that didn’t support me in my career,” He offered easily.

“When’s the last time you even dated a girl that really followed football?” I asked, before I could stop myself. I thought about puffy-eyed pouty Irina, and I couldn’t picture her devouring football gossip and watching documentaries about the sport and how it spreads all over the world.

“I never have,” His admittance pulled me out of my thoughts on Irina.

He seemed a bit surprised by his own answer.

“Seems that you’ll have never have to deal with that dilemma then, doesn’t it?”

“Lucky me,” He muttered.

I caught a quick glance, and I could not pick out the inflection of his words. Was he trying to be sarcastic or was that a random burst of angst?

“Are you sure you never dated a footballer?” He asked for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I would remember if I did,” I joked.

“I’m usually really good with putting names to faces, if you don’t tell me, I won’t get any sleep tonight, and I’ll be crap for tomorrow’s game.”

“And as a Barcelona fan, you really think that’s going to work on me?”

He smirked.

And in any case, he had more pressing reasons why he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night; one certain Russian model immediately came back into my mind. Of course I knew better than to bring her up, even though he attempted to bring up my personal life at least twice.

We finally arrived outside in the parking lot; the only other car beside the fiat was his Lamborghini, what I wouldn’t do or give, or even give up, for just one chance to rev that engine; even for a second.

“Great car,” Cristiano’s face was impassive as he nodded towards the fiat.

I honestly couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic; that was unnerving.

“It’s not my car,” I returned flatly.

“It’s Mina’s,” He answered.

Before I could ask how he could know that, Cristiano had his head turned, looking at me as if he had just discovered the cure for the common cold.

“I know who you are now. Sergio’s been talking about you so much these last few weeks, it’s getting pretty annoying.”

I shrugged, really not sure how to respond to that. I almost said sorry, but immediately thought better and held my tongue.

“You’re the one that got drunk and totaled Messi’s car. Didn’t they suspend your license?”

I pursed my lips, kicking at some stray bottle cap on the ground. I hadn’t heard someone under forty mention the accident so bluntly and with such a negative connotation since I had come to Madrid. It had almost stopped registering in my mind that what I had done, on paper, wasn’t really something to be commended for.

“They did.”

Cristiano smirked, “breaking a lot of rules tonight, aren’t we?”

“Guilty as charged,” I answered, vaguely wondering how long he could possibly drag this conversation out.

“I’m curious, what were you thinking when you got behind the wheel drunk?”

I sighed, my fingers on my left hand pressed against my eyelids, I was starting to get a headache, and I still needed to get back to outline the research paper.

Listen, I gotta get some studying done, and you should probably get back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

“Of course, you weren’t thinking,” He was still smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I didn’t like feeling so judged. What does he know about that night? He just read or heard a watered down version of what really happened.

Regardless, I wasn’t about to butt heads with him over something that he obviously couldn’t care less about. I was just a girl with a scandal that wasn’t worth delving into.

I took a breath, “Good night, and thank you for the help.”

“You didn’t see me here tonight.”

“I wasn’t here tonight at all,” I reminded.

I turned on my heel and stomped off towards the stupid, ridiculous fiat. Driving off, all I could think was:
My goodness, he was an infuriating ass.