14. Beatriz #2
Alejandro’s locked in immediately. He doesn’t just play—he commands.
He’s got this swagger when he runs, this ease to how he controls the ball that makes it look like the thing is magnetized to his cleats.
He makes it look easy, like his body was made for this and someone forgot to warn the rest of us.
He weaves through the field like it's second nature, chest rising and falling, his jaw sharp under the overhead lights, and those legs—
Okay, no. Focus.
But I can’t help it. I’m a woman watching her man do the thing he was born to do. A very hot, confident, maddeningly skilled man. And yeah, the giddiness in my stomach is real.
A few minutes in, a laugh behind me cuts through my swooning.
“I’m telling you, he’s even hotter outside the field.”
I blink, leaning ever so slightly to catch the voices behind me.
“Oh my God, your brother Niko would literally die if he saw you drooling over his teammate,” another voice giggles.
“Well, that’s kind of the point.” A smug pause from, apparently, Niko’s sister. “I already know Alejandro’s down. We made out last year before he knew I was Niko’s sister.”
My stomach drops.
“You’re terrible,” the friend whispers.
“What?” she says, all fake innocence. “You think it’d be that hard? Look at him. He’s all sweaty and cocky and focused. That goal-scoring sex god energy? It’s giving. Besides, he liked it before—he’ll like it again.”
I shift slightly, facing forward again, willing the sting in my chest to disappear.
Of course there’s a history. A past. He’s hot, he’s talented, he’s been single. We only just labeled ourselves Sunday night. And she’s pretty—I don’t even have to look to know that.
I ball my fists in my lap.
Don’t spiral.
This isn’t like before.
Alejandro’s not like them.
He won’t cheat on me.
But my stomach feels tight and bitter anyway. All those old insecurities—the ones that have clawed their way into every relationship I’ve had since him—they come rushing back like they never left.
He won’t cheat.
He won’t.
He will not cheat on me!
I will myself to believe it as I stare back at the field, trying to calm the hammering in my chest—and then I see him. Alejandro. He’s just outside the box, ball at his feet, defenders closing in. And then—he looks up. Right at me. And points!
There’s no mistaking it. His finger jabs at me with the smallest hint of a smirk before he launches the ball in a curved shot that sails right into the net, slamming past the keeper and into the corner with beautiful, impossible precision.
The gym erupts with shouts. But all I hear is my heartbeat.
That goal was for me.
Like he knew. Like he saw right through me and wanted to ground me, anchor me here with him.
My heart stumbles over itself.
The girls behind me squeal louder now—clearly impressed—but I don’t turn around. I keep my eyes on him. Because Alejandro turns back once more before running down the field, sending me a quick wink. And just like that, my doubt stutters.
Maybe I’m not crazy.
Maybe this really is different.
The rest of the scrimmage moves fast after that, like my mind went into a tunnel and came out only when it was all over. Alejandro plays with this smooth, ruthless rhythm—scoring two more, assisting another—and every time he touches the ball, I feel it somewhere in my chest.
When the final whistle blows, the other players begin their walk toward the locker room, tired and joking among themselves, but Alejandro doesn’t move with them. He makes a beeline for me.
He walks, not jogs, his expression unreadable—but something burns behind those blue eyes. Something that tightens my chest.
He stops right in front of me. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t reach for me. Just stands there, breathing hard, sweat clinging to his neck and jaw, eyes locked on mine. And I swear I feel every inch of him even with a foot between us.
I drink him in. He smells like sweat and his cologne that I could recognize in a crowd. He’s not touching me, but I feel him everywhere.
My skin buzzes, and my lips part instinctually. He doesn’t smile—but something in his gaze tells me everything I need to know. He came straight to me. Not the guys, not the locker room. Me.
He won’t cheat.
I don’t move. Neither does he.
It’s a stare-off, but not the kind where someone has to win. Just… electricity pulsing in the air between us. Then someone clears their throat behind me.
Alejandro’s eyes flick over my shoulder, just once.
I turn in time to see a girl, the one I’m sure I overheard earlier.
She’s sauntering down from the bleachers with way too much confidence and way too much swing in her hips.
Her ponytail’s high, tight, and bouncing like she paid extra for gravity to work in her favor, toned legs on full display.
“Hey, stranger,” she says, like she wasn’t just loudly plotting to hook up with him twenty minutes ago. “Didn’t think I’d see you out here. I thought you’d head into the locker room with my brother.”
Alejandro doesn’t look away from me when he responds. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“Oh?” she says, faux-innocent. “Didn’t look like anything to me.”
His jaw ticks. “Valentina—”
Valentina. I’ll log that name for later.
“Relax,” she says, still ignoring me completely, like I’m invisible. “I was just being friendly.”
He turns his head slightly, finally giving her a glance. “Right. Friendly.”
She pouts. “Why are you acting weird? We’ve hung out before.”
Hung out. Cute.
Alejandro’s voice lowers. “I’m with my girlfriend right now.”
That word lands like a punch, solid and unshakable. Not for me—for her. She blinks, stunned for just a second before her lips twist into something that’s supposed to be a smile. “Oh? That’s… new.”
Before she can say anything else, a voice cuts across the field.
“Valentina,” Niko snaps from a distance, glaring like he already knows what she’s trying to pull. “Go wait in the car.”
Valentina rolls her eyes. “God, you’re so dramatic,” she mutters, then looks back at Alejandro one last time. “You didn’t used to be this boring.”
Alejandro shrugs. “I didn’t used to be in love.”
She actually scoffs at that before flouncing off, flipping her ponytail like it owes her money.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, I raise a brow. “I’m boring now?”
His eyes slide back to mine, mouth twitching. “Not even close.”
I hold his gaze, arms crossing slow over my chest. The silence stretches, thick with heat and memory. We don’t need to say anything.
Then, low and deliberate, he says, “I’m waiting.”
I blink. “For what?”
He steps in, gaze flicking down to my mouth. “For you to drag me away.”
My pulse kicks. I don’t smile, don’t tease. I just reach for his jersey, fingers curling in the collar. And I tug. He follows with a chuckle that slides down my spine.
We slip behind the metal bleachers like we’re teenagers in high school again, the echoes of the field falling away behind us. It’s quieter here. Warmer. Private enough that my skin prickles with anticipation.
The moment we’re out of sight, his hands land on my hips and pull me against him like he’s been waiting the entire game for this.
“I missed you,” he says, voice thick.
“I saw you less than an hour ago.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
His hands are greedy, but not rushed—just firm, claiming, thumbs sweeping under the hem of my shirt like he’s trying to memorize the feel of my skin.
I press up on my toes and kiss him, and the sound he makes in his throat is almost a groan.
It’s nothing like the last kiss. This one’s hungry, deeper, full of the weight of him on the field and me in the stands, and everything in between.
His fingers fist into the back of my shirt. Mine hook in the waistband of his shorts.
“I guess it doesn’t matter how much time passes,” I whisper between kisses. “Watching you play is always going to get me hot and bothered.”
He leans in, nose brushing mine, forehead resting against me. “Don’t say that to me right now, Bee. I have little self-control around you, and I still need to go shower before we can go have dinner.”
I laugh, closing my eyes and inhaling him deep, until every cubic inch of my lungs is full of him. “Hurry up. I’ll wait for you by my car.”
He sighs like he doesn’t want to let me go, but knows he needs to. “I’ll be quick. Don’t talk to anyone.”
He kisses my nose before I can say anything, running off to shower, and I can’t help the smile that plays at my lips as I watch him go, heading to my car to wait for him.
God help me. I’ve fallen too hard for Alejandro Soto again.