Safe Distance #3
She shakes her head from side to side, as if talking to a lost cause, but I clearly catch the hint of a beautiful smile at the corner of her full lips. Gotcha, brunette!
“Don’t get used to it, Alicia. My only job here is to keep you useful on the playing field, not to feed your already inflated ego.”
“What a shame,” I murmur, giving her a cheeky once-over. “Because my ego has a huge appetite, and it loves being fed by women as beautiful as you.”
Bruno, who’s walking a few meters ahead of us talking to the sporting director, spins around suddenly when he hears me and shoots me a look that clearly says, “Shut the fuck up right now or I’ll kill you.” I completely ignore him—of course I do.
We continue walking through the hallways of the club’s private clinic.
Clara explains the rigorous post-game recovery protocols to me in great technical detail, but I’m unable to focus on the medical aspects.
All I can focus on is the way she moves, the overwhelming confidence in her gestures, her clean, well-manicured hands, and the delightful way her voice softens just a tiny bit when she talks about her profession.
You can tell she’s passionate about what she does.
In a moment of inattention, while we’re waiting for the security guard to open the door to the main gym for us, she stands right next to me.
“Do you really think you’ll be able to adapt to this team’s discipline?” she asks in a whisper, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “I’m serious, Alicia. This club values discipline, order, and a low profile above any individual talent. And you’re not exactly low-profile.”
I turn toward her, coming within a few centimeters of her face. We’re so close that personal space disappears, and I can clearly smell her perfume: an exquisite blend of citrus, lavender, and something purely magnetic.
“I’ve played in locker rooms far worse than this and with coaches who were real iron-fisted sergeants, Clara. That’s not the million-dollar question here. The question is whether you all—and especially you—will be able to adapt to me.”
Clara spins on her heels to face me fully. She holds my gaze with an intensity that makes me swallow hard.
“I’m not your enemy, Alicia. Get that through your head starting today.
But let me make it very clear that I also don’t intend to be your accomplice or cover up your mistakes when you decide to break the medical team’s rules.
If you want this to work—and for your knee to hold up to the pace of the Premier League—you’re going to have to trust me completely. ”
For one damn moment, the background noise of the crowd, the voices of the executives, and the hum of the hallway lights fade away. It’s just the two of us, face to face, under the latent threat of sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
“Trusting people isn’t exactly my strong suit,” I admit in a low voice, letting my swagger slip for a second.
“I know,” she says, and for the first time, I notice a hint of genuine gentleness and understanding in her tone. “But being in here, up front, you’re not going to have any choice but to do it.”
Our gazes lock in an eternal standoff. Something small, fiery, and utterly electric vibrates in the air between us, but I force myself to shake the thought from my head.
I don’t have time for these distractions.
I didn’t come to England for this. I don’t want romantic complications.
I don’t want beautiful women with the gaze of a lineswoman and cold hands throwing my life off balance.
I just want to play soccer. I want to stay on my feet.
I want to remain the country’s indispensable striker long enough that no one notices how much I’m falling apart inside.
Everything else is just background noise. Although I have to admit that the background noise, in this particular case, has cat-like eyes and a butt that could stop anyone’s heart.
The communications director keeps spouting her memorized speech about the values of Ravenhill FC, but I’m barely paying attention.
I look out through the large interior windows at the immaculate turf of the main stadium, the empty stands that will soon be roaring, and the almost obscene perfection of this dreamlike place.
“My new club. My new big opportunity. Or my new and utter disaster, most likely,” I think with a wry smile.
I smile to myself because if there’s one thing I’m certain of in this life, it’s that I’m going to succeed here, no matter what it takes.
Even if I have to fight half the locker room to lay down the law.
Even if my left knee decides to give out on me in the middle of the season.
And even if the strict Dr. Clara Valle keeps staring at me as if she could read, through my eyes, every single fear I’ve been hiding for years behind my tough-girl facade.
Especially because of that last part. Because if that brunette thinks she’s got me figured out and knows exactly how to handle me… she’s about to find out just how damn wrong she is about me.