Chapter 8 Surprise

It takes me a few minutes to realise that he was not staying as I gulp softly "Are you leaving? Oh, that's right? You couldn't stand it."

He looks at me blankly as if I lambasted him.

"You couldn't stand it when someone said no to you once in your life," I bristle. "Then your good luck and my bad luck gives you a ridiculous excuse to fuck a girl."

Tears start escaping through the corner of my eyes. Seriously, I can't believe it. How stupid could I be!

"I did not plan for this. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry," he says, looking all sad, but I feel twice the pain.

"Excuse me? Is that what you do with others?" I think to myself, that, seriously, he gives me the best orgasm I've had in my life, and he still apologizes to me? I get annoyed with my sincerity. "Leave soon before it gets worse," I warn him as he states at me terrified.

He walks for the front door in a hurry. I slam the door behind him and start crying again over a guy. Idiot!

After that episode, I try not to think about him anymore. Sex, that's all he wanted, but serious relationship shit- never! But not thinking about our moment hurts me. I liked him. But I didn't like the way he treated me.

It's now Saturday, and as hard as I try, I can't avoid him. Barcelona plays today, and of course, he is the leading player. It is almost noon when the doorman announces that letters have arrived for us. Strange, on a Saturday. I take the two envelopes, and they are both addressed to me. Even more intriguing.

In the first one, I have four tickets for today's big game. The second carries a note that reads:

"Sorry for what I did to you on Wednesday. Sorry again, I hope it's not too late. I hope this time I can truly redeem myself. You deserve all the best 'Spanish Girl from the most magical night' I've ever been a part of. Hope to see you and your friends there.

Kisses, H."

Holy crap. I stand numb in my tracks right there.

When I show the girls the tickets, they go crazy.

Of course, they drag me there. We arrive at the beautiful stadium of Barcelona. The first thing those crazy girls do is buy a T-shirt with his name and number on it. Sheer humiliation. I have yet to tell them what happened between the both of us. I just said he was arrogant and I kicked him out of the apartment.

They bully me into wearing the T-shirt. After the humiliation of the shirts, we go to the turnstiles. There are still three hours to start the game, but the sooner we get there, the better, explained Valentina. When we present our entries, the guy mentions something about being VIPs. He sends us to another ward. Damn, that incessant motherfucker sent us to the VIP area; he truly is hoping to make up with me by showing me a good time, eh?

When we arrive at our VIP area, there are cookies and even champagne. I can't believe this.

About half an hour later, a security guard privately calls me over. Of course, I suspect they have realized a mistake was made. He takes me to another reserved room that I enter, but he stays outside. When I see who is waiting for me, I get goosebumps.

Hunter is in uniform, almost ready to take the field. When he sees me, he looks amazed. I notice that he's smiling with happiness.

"I like the shirt that you're wearing," he says, smiling his gazillion-watt smile.

"It was on sale, so since it's to humiliate me, why not?" I reply, bluntly giving a clear hint.

"I'm sorry again. And thanks for being here. I'm delighted." His words seem sincere, and for the first time, I don't see the famous arrogant football player. I see a simple guy who had a good conversation with a girl.

"I need to get back soon. The technician doesn't even know that I am not on the field," he says apprehensively.

"Come on, this game is already yours. I'll be here cheering for you." I give him a reassuring hug and give him the kiss I always wanted to give him. And from that moment on, it's as though I forgot what he did to me that day. I'm not sure how I manage to do that.

Hunter leaves the room grinning, and I go back to the VIP box, where the girls attack me with a deadly interrogation.

It's time for the teams to take the field. Oh, how beautiful he looks. It sounds serious, but I think he's focused. For all of his twenty-five years, which I searched on google, he looks slightly older. It must be because of his muscles and physical shape.

The first half ends, and neither team manages to score any goals. When the second half comes, Hunter's team is winning 1x0, before he suffers a hard foul. Hunter rolls on the floor, seeming to be in pain, but soon gets up to score a beautiful free-kick. He points to the booth where my friends and I are. I'm red and floored. This guy is crazy.

When the game ends, a part of me is still waiting in anticipation to see him once again but then I decide not to be so soft and tell my friends to get their butts off the couch to leave. Of course, my friends do a lot of "Let's wait" with me. I threaten to leave without them and they reluctantly get up.

People around seem to be talking in hushed whispers about how the commentor expressed that the goal he scored seemed to be giving us a hint of something happening in his life. Although we're not the only ones in the cabin, I don't believe for one second that the goal was for me. There was a pretty girl sitting above me; he was probably thanking the redhead. She looked crazy for him. Maybe they're friends or girlfriends. Damn, I need to make sure of that.

Tomorrow Sunday morning, I grab my Mac notebook and read the latest from the weekend. And of course, there it is.

''Looks like they hooked our Muso friends' hearts. Yesterday, our favourite ace dedicated his goal to the girl and her friends in the stadium's VIP box. Lucky girl; she gets to sleep besides him. It seems that the handsome Hunter Blanco will only sleep with us mere mortals in our dreams."

And it looks like he's going to stay in mine too. The girl sitting above me was beautiful. She was a natural redhead, with a body of 1.70. How could he not want to? It's not low self-esteem; it's the reality check that I need!