19. MATEO
nineteen
“Did you step in a rainbow turd this morning? Was it the food we ate on your plane?”
I grunt as I ignore Torres’s concerned voice and continue to push my body to its limits as I lift more than my usual amount. It’s reckless of me, and I run the risk of potentially injuring myself, but I need the challenge. Need my brain to turn off and focus on the burn, the pain that comes with overexerting myself.
But it’s no fucking use.
I still imagine the sugar on my tongue as if it were the taste of Isabella.
Plus, my annoying best friend, who jumped at the opportunity to see his family sooner, and invited himself onto my plane, is of no use either. Especially since he decided to tag along to my gym session as well after his wife requested he do his training early in the day so they can take their kids to the museum later.
Normal family shit.
Normal family shit that I can’t seem to figure out how to do.
I let the dumbbells drop to my sides as I ask, “How do you do it?”
He stops his reps while looking at me through the mirrored wall. “Do what?”
Right. This fucker isn’t actually in my head. Only when we’re on the field or he’s riding my ass about Isabella.
“The normal family stuff. Going to public places like the museum. You’re a Monarch. How the hell do you avoid getting mobbed? How can you not worry about your family’s safety when you’re out?”
He nods slowly as he drops his own weights and makes his way to take a seat on the bench across from mine. “You struggling to do stuff like that with Anna?”
Anthony Torres might be a pain in my ass, but he always means well. He’s a family man through and through. It shouldn’t surprise me that his tone has shifted to take me seriously, but it does soften me up a bit. Just a fucking bit.
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know. I don’t think we’ve really even tried. I see how hard it is to sometimes do the most basic things by myself, so I don’t even bother bringing Anna into that mix.” I pause, thinking about earlier in the week when I decided to run a quick errand by myself and ended up on over a dozen gossip websites. I would usually defer simple tasks to my concierge team in my building, but when it came to getting things for Isabella’s guest room, I couldn’t help but do it myself. Especially when the thought of stocking up on her favorite lip balm came to mind. The same one that tormented me during our days in the Dominican Republic.
I shake the reminder away as I continue. “I’d rather fly Anna out of the city and take a couple of vacations throughout the year, to places that provide peace and privacy.” I hesitate, because I’m trying to figure out how to ask what’s really on my mind. “But I meant, how do you do family stuff, like with Denise too. How does she manage to be married to someone as famous as you and still, I don’t know, live a normal life?”
He studies me, and for a brief second, I swear he’s there again, in my head. Like he usually is during a game.
I brace for the barrage of questions, but he seems to take a different approach.
“Simple answer? We don’t live a normal life.” He shrugs. “We live in a secure building. When we want to do activities like the museum, we don’t show up on a whim. My assistant calls ahead of time and arranges for us to have an art curator escort us through the place while having one of my security guys walk with us. Sometimes the museum will provide an extra one for us. We skip lines and have access to back hallways, and our car is usually double-parked out front waiting for us when we’re done. So yeah, it’s not normal. But for the most part, when people see me with my family, they’re respectful. I try to take a few pics in the beginning, then I kindly ask the fans to let us be since I’m with my kids.” He sighs. “They’re usually pretty understanding, and for the few that aren’t, well, that’s what I bring security for.” He smiles.
“Really? Just like that? People give you space?”
He shakes his head. “No, Mateo. I demand it. For me and my family. Because having those moments with them is worth whatever extra hassle I need to figure out. And once you’re out enough times, it starts to demystify the experience of seeing a Monarch out, enjoying the city. It’s only when one becomes elusive that the media gets antsy and bloodthirsty for any piece of you.”
I point at my sweat-soaked T-shirt. “Oh, so we’re talking about me now?”
“Meh, I tried starting out that sentence being a little subtle, but then thought, this kind of stuff might be a bit too high-level for you. Best to give it to you straight.” He slaps my arm as he moves to get up. “Besides, if you’re going to bring someone like Isabella into our world as a WAG, it’s best you have all the tips and tricks up front.”
A fucking WAG? The atrocious acronym for wives and girlfriends of professional athletes.
There’s a special breed of women who are infamous jersey chasers, in it to become WAGs. Isabella is most definitely not one of them. But then again, neither is Torres’s wife.
I swipe my gym towel down my face, then aim it at the back of his head.
I don’t miss.
“Don’t start again with that bullshit,” I warn.
Without missing a beat, Torres turns to me, leans down, and rests his hands on his knees. With the most serious face I’m sure he can muster, he asks, “ ?A mí tú me ves cara de pendejo?”
I can’t help it when I start to laugh. “Yes, your face does tend to keep you in a perpetual state of looking like a real pendejo. Might wanna call a plastic surgeon and see what he can do for you about that.”
He reclaims his seat on the bench as he revs himself up. “Exhibit A.”
“Here we fucking go,” I mutter.
“You try to avoid talking about her, but you can’t help yourself.”
“You brought her up just now, not me.”
He waves me away. “Yeah sure, because tiptoeing around the subject of doing ‘normal family stuff,’ specifically in regard to my wife, was a good cover. If any other man started asking questions about how my wife could be married to an athlete like me, the conversation would have proceeded much differently, and you know it.”
The guy is obsessed with his wife. It’s a known fact. So I just grunt in response.
“You were almost on the verge of knocking me out when I told you I knew Isa, and you assumed the worst. I’ve been riling you up for almost a decade. I’ve done some of my best work to try and make you snap out of this pretty boy persona. Yet the moment you thought I may have had a past with Isa, I saw it in your eyes.”
“Saw what?” I ask, aggravated that he’s really not letting me off the hook.
“That.” He points to my face. “The look of a man who’s willing to risk it all. For the right woman,” he declares. “I swear, man, I didn’t even entertain the idea of fucking with you when I saw what you were thinking, because I saw it. I knew then and there you would lay me out right on our home field if I pushed the wrong button.” He tsks as he gives me an exaggerated once-over. “But then I thought hey, let’s give my guy the benefit of the doubt , right? Maybe he was being a nice guy, protective of those in his circle. That I could get behind.” He pauses.
Long enough for me to sigh and have to push him along. “But?”
“ But .” His voice surges with energy, as if he’s delivering the best closing statement in a defense case. “But then you went ahead and slipped up.”
I roll my eyes. I want out of this conversation, yet I can’t make myself move away from it. A morbid part of me needs to know what I’m putting out there that isn’t keeping the lid as tight on my Isabella infatuation as I thought.
“And I slipped when, exactly?” I ask, feigning disinterest in the matter.
“When I laid the simplest of traps for you, my friend.” He grins mischievously, and now I feel like he’s just full of shit.
“All right, that’s my cue to get the hell out of here. You are in peak form today.” I go to move from my bench, but his words keep me seated.
“You offered to pay.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Come on, Mateo. Keep up, will you?” He runs a hand through his hair. “When I offered Isa a spa day with my wife? Dinner and drinks too? I didn’t exactly do it out of the kindness of my heart.” He pauses. “Any other time, I would, but not this specific time,” he clarifies before he continues. “Because the second I saw how your whole demeanor changed when she was on video chat, I knew I had to test my theory.”
“My demeanor? What, are you saying I was making heart eyes at the woman?” I huff.
“No.” He shakes his head. “You were acting like you wanted all her attention on you and you wanted me gone so you could have it.” He waits a beat before saying, “You offered to pay. Now, I’m not saying you’re a cheap son of a bitch. Hell, we all know you’ve got enough cash to set you up for a few thousand lifetimes. But when it comes to women, or anyone outside of your mother and daughter? Respectfully, you could give two shits. And I get it. There are gold-digger websites dedicated to how to land a date with you. It’s wild out here in these streets. But when I offered to pay for Isabella to go out? Yeah, no fucking chance was Mateo Martinez about to let that fly.” He chuckles darkly. “When we won our last World Series and I bought Anna a balloon at Disney World? You went ahead and bought the entire batch from the attendant. When your mother was recovering from hip surgery and Denise brought her lilies, her favorite flower—”
I groan. “I get it. I tend to go a bit overboard—”
“You had lilies planted outside of every window in her apartment and her balcony. She lives on the twenty-seventh floor in Midtown. Those flowers wouldn’t survive more than a few weeks at most up there. But the price tag and absurd effort were worth it because her reaction to seeing fresh flowers outside her windows when we live in a concrete jungle was all you cared about.”
“Okay, fine. It may have been a bit much. But what’s that really prove? That I like to spoil my mother and daughter? And that I was being nice when I, uh, offered to pay for Isabella that day.”
“False. You see, I’ve lived with a woman for many years now, and you know what I’ve learned during all that time?” he asks seriously.
“How to be a fucking chismoso,” I mutter under my breath.
“Yes. The best chisme sessions will always be with your wife. Remember that. But also, I’ve learned about love languages. And Denise and I both agree that yours is gift giving. So with that little nugget in mind, I deliberately offered Isa a day full of spoiling. An extravagant gift, right in your face.”
Crap. Not Denise too.
“And if you cared for her, the way I suspected you did, I knew you would offer.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “And I offered,” I mumble as I run a hand over my beard, resigned to Sherlock Holmes here.
He smacks my knee. “And you fucking offered, bro. Actually, no. You almost demanded you pay. Just like I would have if another man offered the same deal to my wife.”
I don’t know if it’s the brutal workout I just endured or if Torres’s masterclass in mindfuckery has done me in, but I sense my resolve starting to slip.
“She’s my nanny,” I offer weakly.
He grins. “Technically, Anna’s nanny. But at least now we can be open and honest about you wanting her to be yours as well.” He smirks. “And she’s been your nanny for what? Less than a week? I’m sure you can part ways so you can date, if that’s what works for you guys.”
“No,” I say far too quickly. “Anna loves her. And Isabella actually needs the job.” I stop myself before I share too much.
His brows furrow. “She got some money issues?” he asks, and now that my mind is caught up on their relationship, it’s clear to see that his affection for Isabella is much more that of an older brother than of a former flame.
“No. No money issues. She could just really use the work while she explores other projects. But I’ll leave it at that, since it’s up to her to decide whether she wants to discuss with you or Denise.”
He sighs. “Man, you really care for her, don’t you? And before you try to deny it, look over my shoulder and stare at yourself. It’s written all over your face.”
I look at the mirrored wall behind Torres, but all I can see is a man who has no clue what he’s doing.
Like licking the sugar off my thumb while being a hairsbreadth away from her sinful lips.
I don’t even think it’s a conscious decision between my mind and my mouth when I say, “I don’t know what she’s doing to me, man. I feel like having her in my orbit is driving me insane. But when I’m away from her, it only gets worse.”
He blows out a deep breath. “Fuck, man. I knew you had a crush, but damn. It seems I’ve underestimated the gravity of this situation. You, my man, are heading toward falling in love. Fast.”
I laugh humorlessly.
Love.
The emotion that has evaded every relationship I’ve ever been in. Even with Anna’s mother.
And if I couldn’t fall in love with the woman who gave me the world’s greatest gift, how could I possibly fall in love with anyone else? Hell, half the battle is getting to know someone long enough to even trust them to not sell stories about me to the press. The likelihood of opening up my heart and soul and trusting that it won’t be crushed in the process is statistically improbable.
I can’t dwell on the idea of falling in love. Can’t bring myself to give Isabella those broken parts of me. She deserves much more than someone like me can offer her.
So instead of taking a deep dive into all the reasons why we probably wouldn’t work out in the first place, I say the one thing that I know will get Torres off my back for a bit and most definitely cancel the rest of our workout.
“We also have this three-strikes thing going on that I want to tell you about.”