Chapter 13 Carla
Carla
Kissing Luca DiBlanco is even better than the countless fantasies I’ve played out in my mind since I was fourteen years old. His hands on my body, his delicious scent—spicy and sexy and so richly male, the feel of his mouth moving over mine…what even is this life?
I fight the urge to scream because this is a scene I never thought I’d be lucky enough to star in. I don’t want it to end. I want to escalate and take this to my bedroom.
I deepen our kiss, reaching for the hem of his shirt and dragging it up his body.
Luca breaks the kiss, his eyes searching mine. Whatever he sees convinces him that I’m not playing. I’m done waiting. He reaches behind his neck with one hand and pulls his shirt clear off.
His abs ripple with the movement, jostling me, and then I’m straddling his hard length and fucking whimpering. My hands fall to his shoulders, and he grasps my hips, careful of my bruise. His eyes darken to midnight sans stars.
“Dio, Carla,” he murmurs.
I smile at the sound of my name—my real name—rolling off his lips.
“Tell me to stop,” he repeats.
“Not a fucking chance.” I slide my palms down his bare arms, fall forward onto his strong chest, and kiss him again.
We make out like horny teenagers and it shouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as it is. But I lose track of time and spend every second enjoying this connection with Luca.
When his knuckles brush my ribs, I wince and he freezes.
Fuck me for pulling him out of this moment and reminding him of all the shit that happened today.
“Carla, you’re hurt.”
“Forget it,” I say, trying to capture his lips again.
He turns his head, his fingers flexing on my thigh. “I can’t.”
Sighing, I sit back on his lap. Reluctantly.
Luca’s lips gleam, tempting the hell out of me. But his eyes are serious. He averts his gaze, muttering Italian swear words under his breath.
As I watch the realization of what we just did wash over his face, my hackles rise.
“Don’t make this into something it’s not,” I whisper, an edge to my tone. I’ll lose my shit if he tells me this was a mistake, if he brings up my brother, or tells me it can’t happen again.
He frowns, his eyebrows pulling low. His jawline tightens and those lips I want to nibble on press together. He releases his lips with a pop. “And what’s that?”
I move to slide off him, but his hand tightens on my thigh, holding me in place.
“This wasn’t a mistake. Don’t apologize to me for crossing a line or worry about Alejandro or tell me it won’t happen again—”
“I would never say something so fucking stupid,” he bites out, cutting me off.
“I—what?” I question, surprised by the anger in his tone. Luca is always…steady. Not necessarily calm but mostly predictable.
“I don’t make mistakes when it comes to women.” His voice is low. “I know exactly what I’m doing and there’s not a chance in hell I could kiss you, taste you, and then pretend I won’t do everything in my power to ensure it happens again. And again.”
“Oh,” I say. “Seriously?”
A small smirk tips the corners of Luca’s mouth. “Really.”
I bite my bottom lip, uncharacteristically shy. Because this is new territory for me. Usually, I call the shots. I keep things lighthearted. Mostly physical with a small sampling of emotional investment.
But with Luca…well, I’ve desired him for so long, there’s no chance of keeping my feelings out of whatever transpires between us.
“But…” Luca continues, passing me my shirt. “I do think we should end this here tonight.”
“You don’t want to see my bedroom?” I muse, half teasing, half not.
He laughs and shakes his head. “You know I do. But not tonight, cucciola. Tonight, you need to rest.”
I sigh, trying to tug my shirt back on. “Argh,” I cry when my elbow slams into my ribs.
“Here,” he says, sliding me off his lap and taking my shirt back. He settles me beside him and slips the shirt over my head. Then, he gently guides my hands through the arm holes, carefully minding my ribs. “You okay?”
I nod, brushing my hair out of my eyes, and remember that he came here to talk. “So, I know we got sidetracked…”
Luca quirks an eyebrow.
“What did you want to talk about?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “That can wait.”
“I’m curious.”
“Are you sure you’re not too tired?”
“Tell me.”
“Alright,” he agrees. “I came by to ask for your help. I need a favor.”
He pauses, gauging my reaction to this, and I twirl my finger, encouraging him to continue.
“You know my camp in Tuscany?”
“Yes…”
“I started it years ago. It was a dream of my father’s.
We were supposed to run it together one day.
After he passed, I tucked it away but never forgot about it.
When I signed my first big contract, I bought some of the land that bordered my parents’ property in their hometown in Tuscany.
Over the years, I made additions. I purchased and renovated a farmhouse, made connections with a nearby agritourism hotel, incorporated as a business.
Little by little the camp came into existence.
I’ve been running it for nine summers now, for the last two weeks of June. ”
“Alejandro told me about it.”
“He was one of our guest coaches three summers ago. The boys were ecstatic.” Luca grins.
“We’re a small, community-heavy organization.
But we have solid retention, nearly eighty percent.
About twelve percent of our boys get call-ups to regional or national youth teams. Nearly a quarter of the older boys go on to play for academy teams. And it’s fun.
The past few years, we’ve been able to offer more scholarships.
A lot of players I know pass through to help out. It’s…it’s special.”
“Sounds it,” I murmur, knowing exactly the kind of camaraderie and sense of belonging camps like that foster. I’ve attended a few while I was growing up, but when I joined my university team, I really felt like I belonged to a family.
“My right-hand man, Paolo, had to take a step back this year. His father is ill and Paolo went back to Sicily to spend his final months with him.” His voice wobbles and I understand that his empathy is rooted more in Paolo’s sorrow than it is in his camp being short-staffed.
“I’m sorry, Luca.” I place a hand on his forearm.
“I need help, Carla. I need someone with coaching expertise. Someone who can handle logistics. I need…you.”
“I—wait, what?” I sputter.
Luca drags a hand through his curly hair. “I know it’s last minute. I mean, we’d have to go to Tuscany one weekend and make sure everything is set up. We’d have to finalize the schedule, sort out bunking arrangements, assign coaches…”
“Luca, I’m coaching. I can’t leave my girls hanging.”
“I’m not asking you to. We’d work on this at night. On Sundays and random days off. I know, it’s a lot, Carla. It’s a hell of a lot of work. But I can’t let this program fail. And that’s what will happen if I have to manage it on my own this summer.”
I sigh, raking my teeth over my bottom lip as I think about what he’s asking me. The magnitude is astounding because timing is of the essence. “It’s already April.”
“Exactly,” he agrees, miserably. Stressed out and overwhelmed.
“Do you think we could really pull this off in a few months?”
“Yes, I do. Paolo has already completed the bulk of it. But I can’t finish things solo and…”
“And?”
“There’s no one I trust with this as much as you.”
“Alejandro? Andrés?”
“Well, yes. But Ale is preparing to welcome his first child into the world. And he’s wrapping up his first season as Captain. He’d be distracted at best and depleted at worst.”
“True. That’s…fair,” I admit, knowing my brother has been burning the candle at both ends for months now.
“Andrés would be a great asset, especially as a coach during the camp. But logistically…”
“Did he really lose his passport before your team flight to London?” I ask, repeating the incident Ale shared with me.
“He misplaced it,” Luca says, reiterating Andrés’ reasoning. “And that was nothing compared to the time he legitimately forgot where he parked his car and spent three nights biking through the city, pressing his key fob, and hoping to hear his car beep.”
I laugh and Luca’s eyes lighten.
“Bianca?” I give it one last try.
At this, Luca bursts out laughing. “B is the best. And, in all fairness to her, she has helped me out in the past. But Bianca’s liable to take the boys out and get them drunk or arrange them for a photoshoot and make a calendar from the photos before she’d have them commit to a training schedule.”
I sigh, seeing his point. I adore Luca’s sister. In fact, we have a lot in common, which is probably why we get along so well. But, where I understand the commitment and grit required of fútbol training, Bianca would give in and let the boys slack.
I think through Luca’s ask. After everything he’s done for me this year—showing up in Chicago, sending me the job opening at Santa Isabel, training me—I can’t say no. But, as an idea forms in my mind, my excitement builds and I don’t want to turn him down.
“What?” he asks warily.
“What?” I repeat.
“You’ve got that scheming gleam in your eye.”
I chuckle. “I just had a thought…”
“Okay?”
“I’m not trying to hijack your camp…”
“Uh-oh.”
“And I want to help you.”
“But?”
“Can you open it up to girls too?” I throw out the question hopefully, biting my bottom lip and keeping my eyes trained on Luca’s face.