Bound and Blitzed (Knoxville Coyotes Football #4)

3. Avery

Chapter 3

Avery

“What?” I bark out, surprise rushing through me. “Deported? Are you…trying to immigrate?”

I swear, everything this woman says is unexpected. And yet, funny. A breath of fresh air.

Nothing like the stalker I imagined.

Valentina Garcia belongs to a powerful soccer family whose name and brand recognition dominates Europe and has footholds in North America.

She’s absolutely nothing like her spitfire little sister or intimating big brother I’ve heard stories about. She’s…different. More demure until she opens her mouth. Then, she has no problem saying exactly what she’s thinking.

And yet, from the blush that keeps fanning across her cheeks, I get the impression that she’s not like that with anyone. But with me, tonight, she’s…herself.

It’s refreshing.

The few times I saw her at the football field she seemed reserved. Almost detached.

But the woman I’m speaking with tonight is smart-mouthed and animated. She’s given me a myriad of emotions in our short conversation. And I’ve loved seeing each one blaze across her expression and cause her fingertips to tap a beat against the bar’s ledge.

Not to mention, Valentina is gorgeous.

And in the most unassuming way possible. It’s as if she doesn’t think she’s pretty. Or desirable.

I’m used to women pursuing me. Most of the time, they’re heavily made up, with perfectly tanned, tight bodies. They press their breasts into my chest and drag their manicured fingernails along my arms. They’re coy yet forward in their desires.

They’re…nothing like the flushed, honest, stunning woman sitting beside me.

“Well, no,” she says slowly. “But I am here, in America, specifically Knoxville, to study under a professor I’ve admired and respected for years. Dr. Mendoza is a powerhouse in her field and has been using a lot of her field research to better support conservation efforts that, if the US legislates on, will have a profound impact globally.”

Huh? I frown, leaning closer. “What do you study?”

“I’m supposed to be doing a PhD program in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology at the University of Tennessee.”

“Damn,” I mutter. “I wasn’t expecting that either.”

She shrugs, as if this is a response she’s heard before. Is it? I backtrack, feeling awful at how dismissive I must have sounded.

Clearing my throat, I add, “I’ve never met anyone in that discipline before. What’s your specific research interest?”

Her eyes flare. “Ornithology.”

“The study of birds,” I mutter.

“Yes,” she says, placing a hand on mine. “I’m working on research that I hope to discuss and share at the Ijams Nature Center’s outreach and education program.”

“That’s…incredible,” I say, meaning it.

Valentina nearly beams and I realize how many people must brush her off the moment she starts talking about her interests. Because they’re not interests most people share the way football is.

And yet, seeing the sunshine blossom in her expression is more than enough to keep me rooted to my barstool and listen to her speak for the remainder of the night.

I’m almost disappointed when she changes the topic. “Thank you. But my visa has gotten tied up in bureaucratic red tape. And right now, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to remain here, in Knoxville.” She sighs heavily. “Dr. Mendoza is a genius and the opportunity to study under her tutelage…it’s a dream of mine. I doubt I’ll get a chance like this again.”

“I’m sorry, Valentina.”

She shrugs, looking away as tears fill her eyes.

Shit.

“The worst part is my papá tried to intervene after I asked him not to, and his involvement has made things worse. It’s raised a red flag on my application.”

“Damn,” I mutter, flipping my hand beneath hers. I wrap my fingers around hers and stare at her, noting how devastated she looks at the possibility of missing this opportunity.

I think about the chances I’ve been given, the opportunities I’ve been afforded, to play football at the level I do. Any time I could follow my passion, I threw myself all in. I was never held back by things like…immigration and visas.

Valentina continues to tell me about her student visa and the dead end she’s run into, about her field research and the publishing deadlines, about Dr. Mendoza who has made a massive impression on her.

The more I listen to her speak, the more questions I ask. At my genuine interest in her responses, Valentina turns her body toward mine, sharing more. I watch the changing emotions on her face—a subtle lift to her chin, a flare of emotion in her blue-green eyes.

The more she opens up, the more I want to help her.

It makes no damn sense. I’m hardly a selfless guy. And yet, I want to be.

I want to be the type of man who fills Grandpa’s shoes. I want to try to have something akin to what my sister shares with Cohen. I want to be…enough for someone because of the person I am, not the athlete.

While I can admit that we’ve both been drinking, I know it’s not the alcohol that fuels the idea that forms in my mind.

When Valentina pauses to finish her wine, I pull in a deep breath.

“Valentina,” I say, waiting for her to look at me.

When she does, it feels like being bulldozed. Those bright eyes are slightly glazed but still spark with curiosity and…hope. The anger from our initial meeting has softened into one bordering on admiration. That alone makes me feel a million feet tall because this intelligent, quick, beautiful woman doesn’t revere me because I can throw a perfect spiral. She’s interested because our conversation has been substantial.

It’s skirted right over the shallow and into real depth.

That alone is something I haven’t shared with a woman, not counting the women in my family or the women dating my friends, in years. Years!

Valentina tilts her head, silently asking me to continue. She rolls her lips together and I note how plump and shiny they are. The freckles on the bridge of her nose stand out and I love that she doesn’t wear foundation to cover them up.

She’s…real. Upfront. Honest.

And I’m in a position to help her.

“Valentina,” I repeat. “Do you want to marry me?”

Her mouth drops open, and her eyes widen. They swing over my face and the bar before dropping to the two tequila shots I ordered ages ago.

She reaches for one and tosses it back, wincing from the sting of the strong burn.

I reach for her arm to steady her.

She shakes off my touch and stares at me. “Can you say that again?”

“I…um…do you want to marry me?” I repeat, dumbfounded. This has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I’m offering marriage—marriage!—to a woman who is hardly a damsel in distress. For fuck’s sake, until two hours ago, I thought of her as my harmless stalker.

And after witnessing the love between Raia and Cohen tonight, shouldn’t I strive for that? Not just a breath of fresh air and a non-shallow conversation with the first woman I run into at the bar.

How low have I set the bar? Hell, is it just rolling across the floor?

And yet, I don’t take back my offer.

I let the words hang there, stretch and contract, take all different kind of shapes, as I wait for Valentina to respond.

While logically, I know she should say no, a part of me wants her to say yes.

It makes no damn sense. Nothing about tonight makes sense.

“You’re serious?” she breathes out.

“Sure,” I say, taking the other shot glass and downing its contents. The sting of alcohol roots me to this moment. To this woman. “Marry me. It will sort out your visa issue in no time.”