Anatomy of Desire #2
She’s beautiful, outrageously funny, dangerously charming, and, above all, she has no idea about the little emotional disaster that’s plaguing my life right now.
We met a few months ago, right before I signed with Ravenhill FC.
We had a couple of wild, intense nights in a hotel—zero promises for the future, spectacular chemistry in bed—and we made the sensible decision not to turn it into anything more complicated than a good memory that included the right to casual hookups.
She is, without a doubt, exactly the kind of company I need for a night like tomorrow’s: nothing serious, no emotional drama, and nothing that forces me to wonder why Clara is ruining my life just by breathing near me.
I press the call button before my brain has time to reconsider and back out. The phone rings, and she picks up on the third ring.
“Well, well,” her voice says on the other end of the line, with that warm, drawling tone and that playful undertone I remember perfectly. “If this isn’t one of your pleasant, unexpected surprises, Alicia Puertas, I don’t know what is.”
I lean sideways against the counter, feeling a small, mischievous, sly smile form on my lips as I hear her playful tone.
“Well, that depends entirely on how much you’ve missed me, sweetheart.”
“Enough to know for a fact that you never call out of pure romantic nostalgia, babe. What do you need from me? Come on, be direct and get to the point—we know each other well enough.”
“I love that you’re such a practical woman,” I admit, chuckling under my breath.
“So, I have the club’s official dinner tomorrow night.
You know the drill: a super-boring social and soccer event, lots of people in suits with delusions of grandeur, speeches, and way too many fake smiles per square foot.
I urgently need an incredibly attractive person to accompany me and help me pretend to the press that I’m emotionally stable. ”
“Oh, girl… So what you’re really asking me to do is perform a vital act of social service,” she replies with a low, sensual laugh. “A humanitarian mission, practically.”
I hear her hearty laugh through the speaker and instantly remember why we used to have such a great time together.
Irina’s my kind of person: she doesn’t ask for explanations she doesn’t want to give, she doesn’t pry into your shit, and she knows exactly when to sit back and enjoy the fire without pulling out the fire extinguisher.
“And may I ask what exactly I stand to gain from this grand display of charity?” she asks in a suggestive tone.
“My charming and highly sought-after company for the entire evening—which is no small thing.”
“Not enough for my fee. Work a little harder, will you?”
“Good wine. Probably excellent and very expensive.”
“Well, that’s starting to sound a little better… Keep talking.”
“And, above all, the immense personal satisfaction of helping this poor forward avoid making a terribly irresponsible decision she’ll regret tomorrow.”
“Hey, now we’re really negotiating with our cards on the table,” she says, and I can almost picture her perfectly arching that eyebrow on the other end of the phone. “Let me guess. There’s someone at that club who’s been on your mind.”
I freeze and come to a screeching halt in the middle of the living room. Damn intuitive people in this world, seriously.
“No. Not at all. You’re wrong.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Alicia. I can tell by your breathing when you’re cornered.”
“I swear there’s no one, Irina,” I insist, even though I’m fully aware that my voice sounds about as unconvincing as possible.
“Okay, let me rephrase the question: Is there someone on that team who annoys you and drives you up the wall?”
“It’s actually much worse than that,” I admit in a burst of brutal honesty.
I let myself flop back down onto the couch, stretching my legs out across the coffee table without a second thought.
“Irina, look…”
“Is it really that complicated?”
“Way too complicated,” I finally confess, staring at the ceiling. “It’s all very tangled up. But I don’t feel like talking about it right now.”
“Perfect, it’s a deal. I’ll go with you to that boring dinner. Besides, I won’t lie to you: I’m dying to see the face of the person who’s capable of making Alicia Puertas herself so nervous. It’s got to be a sight to behold.”
I close my eyes tightly and shake my head in amusement, though the smile won’t leave my face.
“Look, I’m going to hang up right now before I regret calling you.”
“Come on, stop being so dramatic. I’ll pick you up by car tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp.
Send me your location. And do me a favor, Alicia: wear one of those drop-dead-gorgeous dresses of yours—something that’ll really make that mysterious person suffer the moment you walk through the door.
Let them see exactly what they’re missing out on for not being brave enough. ”
“See you tomorrow, witch.”
I hang up the phone.
I stare intently at the ceiling moldings, then shift my gaze to the abandoned game console, and finally check the time on the wall clock.
I have plenty of time to regret this madness, to call Irina, cancel the date, and show up for dinner tomorrow like a mature, reasonable person.
But I know full well that I’m not going to do it.
Because the truth behind this whole story is much simpler and less elegant than it seems: I want to see, with my own eyes, the look on Clara’s face the moment she sees me walk into the restaurant on the arm of a hottie like Irina.
I want to see firsthand whether she really doesn’t care who I’m dating.
I want to prove to myself, out of sheer pride, that I, too, couldn’t care less about what she does with her life.
Even though we both know, deep down in our souls, that that’s a complete lie.
I slowly sit up from the couch, stretching my muscles.
If I’m going to make a huge mistake that complicates things at the club, I have to do it while dressed spectacularly well.
I head toward the closet while a part of me—the wise part—keeps repeating on a loop that nothing I do is going to fix what happened in the showers.
And it’s right. But this isn’t about finding solutions.
It’s about wounded pride. About wild desire.
About that absurd, selfish need not to be the only one caught in the middle of the sexual tension that crackles and flares up every time we look into each other’s eyes and the world shrinks.