Chapter 31
“To the best social media team the MLS has ever seen!” I shout, raising my tequila high above the flashing lights.
Around me, June, Bri, Anna, April, and May raise their shots in the middle of Club Candela, one of the most iconic salsa clubs in Great Lakes.
“The best and the hottest!” June yells, and we all echo her, laughing.
“Strikers on top!”
We throw back our shots together, the tequila burning all the way down. The bass vibrates under our feet, the air thick with laughter, perfume, and rhythm.
The Strikers pulled off the unthinkable tonight, an edge-of-your-seat, ninety-two-minute victory against Miami that had the entire stadium roaring.
Fans from both sides stood the whole game, waving flags, singing, losing their voices for every play.
It was everything football should be: raw, unpredictable, alive.
After the final whistle came the press conference.
Rogue and Messi side by side, announcing their plans to open new youth academies—Rogue in Great Lakes, Messi in Miami.
Rogue spoke about naming his after his mother, his voice steady but full of emotion.
Watching him speak like that—gentle, sincere, and proud—was enough to make my heart ache in the best way.
With the footage captured, edited, and sent his way, the workday was officially over. The girls had decided we needed to dance, and honestly, they were right.
I’d dressed with a little extra confidence tonight—black jeans that hugged tight, a silver halter top that shimmered under the light, nearly backless, a little daring. My hair loose, curled, pinned to the side, silver sandals catching every flicker of neon.
I’d second-guessed myself in the mirror until Bri and Anna, already half drunk and mixing drinks in their tiny club dresses, spotted me.
“I feel like my fupa’s on full display,” I groaned.
“That,” Bri declared without missing a beat, “is the hottest fupa I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Now, hours later, the club feels like its own universe. Everyone’s bodies move to the beat, drinks in hand, joy spilling from every corner. I’ve found my rhythm with June and her sisters, laughing like we’ve known each other all of our lives.
We discover quickly that April’s the oldest, May, Bri, and I are the same age, and June and Anna are the youngest—and that revelation alone earns a round of cheers and tequila.
The tempo jumps, lights flash, and the DJ shouts, “?Candelaaa! ?Que se prenda esta pista, Great Lakes!” (Fire! Let’s light up this dance floor, Great Lakes!)
I’m standing beside April when she tells me about her love story.
“So you just got in a car with a stranger,” I say, incredulous, “and that’s how it started?”
“Yeah,” she laughs, eyes bright. “The connection was instant. I think I felt it the moment I looked at him.”
“And now you’re moving to California?”
“I am. I accepted a job offer there. Been in LA for a few weeks already, just came home to pack up the rest of my stuff.”
“What’s his name?”
“Max.” Her smile turns soft as she pulls out her phone, showing me her lock screen—a photo of them on horseback, sunlight and happiness, caught mid-laugh.
“Girl,” I gasp, “you hit the jackpot. He’s so hot.”
“I know!” she says, laughing. “I’m the luckiest bitch alive.”
We’re still laughing when an arm drapes across my shoulders. I turn, startled, and there’s Thiago, grinning like a kid who’s just found trouble.
“Ca-ta-li-na,” he sings, dragging out each syllable. “What are the hottest girls in Great Lakes doing in a place like this?”
Before I can answer, Luca Moretti, Noah James, and Bruno Silva appear behind him, looking entirely too pleased with themselves.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, wide-eyed.
“Celebrating!” Luca says, raising his beer like a trophy.
Thiago shrugs, smiling. “Actually, I came to see your sister.”
Anna turns pink, a bashful smile tugging at her lips.
Noah smirks. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Catalina?”
“Right,” I say, gesturing around. “Thiago, Luca, Noah, Bruno—you know June. These are her sisters, April and May.”
“Like the spring,” Luca says with mock seriousness, and we all burst into laughter.
“Yes, Luca.” I roll my eyes. “Meet the Spring Fling Sisters.” Then I point. “And this is my sister, Anna, and my best friend, Bri.”
The girls wave shyly, because honestly, who wouldn’t be a little flustered? Four of the league’s hottest players just crashed our night out.
“Well,” Luca says, holding out his hand to June, “I feel like dancing. Want to join me?”
June hesitates, then smiles and lets him lead her onto the floor. April’s jaw drops, and I laugh at the look on her face.
Thiago puffs his chest out next. “Marianna,” he says, voice smooth and low, “?quieres bailar, hermosa?” (Would you like to dance, beautiful?)
Anna arches a brow, then smirks. “You know what? Why not?”
Thiago grins, their fingers intertwining as he hauls her toward the dance floor. They disappear into the crowd, swallowed by flashing lights and the sway of bodies moving to the rhythm.
Before I can even catch my breath, Bruno steps forward and flashes Bri a charming smile. “May I have this dance?” he asks, offering his hand like a gentleman straight out of an old movie.
Bri giggles, eyes sparkling. “You may,” she says, slipping her hand into his.
They flow into the music, spinning their way toward the center of the floor.
Noah watches them go, then sighs dramatically. “I’m Australian,” he says dryly. “I have no idea how to salsa.”
April hooks her arm through May’s. “She’ll teach you!” she says, shoving her sister toward him.
May glares daggers, but Noah only grins. “Guess I’m in good hands, then.”
“Have fun!” April calls after her, giggling.
I shake my head, laughing. “Look at them go.”
They’re all gorgeous, bodies moving like they were made for this.
Thiago spins Anna, June laughs against Luca’s chest, and even May is loosening up with Noah.
There’s something intoxicating about watching people fall into step with each other, like the universe is quietly pairing souls off one song at a time.
“Want another drink?” I ask, trying to ignore the strange flutter in my chest.
“That’d be great,” April says, dragging her phone from her pocket. “Do you mind grabbing it? I want to call Max real quick.”
“Of course. Margarita?”
“With salt,” she says.
“You got it.”
The club is pulsing as I make my way toward the bar. Every step is a wave of sound—horns, drums, bass so deep it thrums through my bones. The air smells of lime, rum, and sweat—joy itself.
Flashes of color dance across the walls—neon pinks, fiery golds, and ocean blues. Couples swirl past, laughter spilling between songs. I slip between them, murmuring excuse-mes.
Someone laughs nearby, a glass shatters, and before I can look up, a hand grazes the small of my back, firm and familiar.
The music fades, or maybe my brain just forgets to hear it.
I turn sharply and my breath catches.
Stormy-gray eyes. A smile that shouldn’t exist in this heat but somehow burns hotter than the room.
Rogue, is here.
“What are you doing here?” I manage, my breath catching.
He’s still holding me by the bare curve of my lower back, his palm warm and steady, pressing me against him.
He’s dressed in black jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, every muscle visible beneath the fabric.
A baseball cap sits low on his forehead, shadowing those stormy eyes that somehow still find me in the dark.
“I wanted to see you,” he says, voice low, rough around the edges.
“You’re going to be recognized,” I whisper, glancing around the crowded room. My pulse quickens as I grab his hand and tug him through the throng, weaving between tables and dancers until I find a darker corner near the back.
The curtains to the VIP section are drawn, the area closed off for the night. I push through anyway, pulling him behind me, and let the fabric fall back into place enough to hide us from view.
“Rogue, if anyone sees you here, this place will go wild,” I say, voice breathless. “Everyone’s been drinking. They’ll lose it.”
He looks down at me, that familiar intensity burning in his eyes. His hand comes up to my cheek, tracing lightly down the side of my neck until his fingers brush my collarbone.
“You look so beautiful, kitten,” he murmurs, voice rough and reverent all at once.
Then he pulls me closer until there’s not a single inch of space left between us.
I should be worried about someone walking in. About being seen. About everything this could mean. But I’m not. Not with him this close. Not with the air between us charged and heavy and alive.
Every line we’ve drawn is blurring fast, and I can’t tell if I’m about to cross it or fall right through it.
My chest tightens, my pulse wild. This isn’t just want anymore.
It’s something deeper, dangerous, inevitable, and if this is a mistake, I’ll still remember the way it felt when he looked at me like that.
I reach up, fingers sliding around the back of his neck, and guide him down to me.
Our lips meet and the world disappears. The kiss is desperate, greedy, every bit of restraint we had last night waiting to snap.
His mouth moves against mine with urgency, heat flooding through me until I can’t think, breathe, or do anything but feel.
My body reacts before my brain does, my nipples tighten against my metallic top, my heartbeat wild against his chest, my fingers trembling where they grip his shirt. He’s hard against me, and when I trace my hand down his length, he groans into my mouth, deep and rough and utterly wrecking.
His hands slide to my hips, then lower, gripping me as he lifts me off the ground. I gasp, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, his strength effortless as he holds me there. Every move between us feels inevitable, dangerous, impossible to stop.
“Let’s go home, kitten,” he growls against my neck, lips brushing my skin.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word barely audible.
He freezes, drawing back just enough to look at me. “I don’t have to convince you?”
“You’ve done all the convincing I needed,” I say, breathless, my voice trembling with want. “Now let me down, and let’s go finish what you’ve started.”