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“Man, I’ve seen a lotta dogs in my time, but you're a regular hound. Fine! I’ll do this for you... again! But you owe me one, man. A big one!”
I clap his shoulder as Willie goes off to distract Marjorie.
“So, do you like America?” Ana asks, after we move to the outdoor area and grab a seat in the corner, far from prying eyes.
“I'm in a love-hate relationship with it so far. I love the attitude of the people and the vibe of Los Angeles but then I hate the way they drive on the wrong side of the road. And I absolutely hate it that they call football, ‘soccer.’ That takes a hell of a lot of getting used to.”
“But they seem to be loving you. Every week I see you on some magazine cover or another.”
“That’s just an occupational hazard,” I grin before remembering since Ana was a model, she probably lives for magazine covers.
“A hazard people in my profession would just love,” she laughs, echoing my thoughts.
“How’s it going for you?” I decide to change the subject.
“That depends on how this night ends,” she says, fluttering her eyes and sipping her drink from a little straw. Perfect. This is my cue. But before I take off with her, I have to do the usual socializing with sponsors. As I think about how to get that wrapped up quickly, Willie barges in.
“Man, that was one feisty cougar,” he sighs, as he thumps down on the chair.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Man, I tried to charm her, seduce her even, but she wanted none of it. She only wanted you and when I told her that you were probably at third-base with this one,” he nods to Ana, “She lost her mind!”
“Hey!” Ana protests, pretending to be innocent.
“Oh, come on, sweetheart. Save the fake innocence for somebody else. You, me and everyone else staring at you both know that you’re fucking him tonight,” he laughs. Ana doesn’t say anything—she just turns away from Willie and continued sipping her drink. I can’t help but chuckle.
“Jeez, mate, be more subtle, why don’t you?”
“Man, fuck that. I ain’t getting no loving tonight and this man is grumpy. Anyhow, I'm getting outta here,” Willie says, getting up.
“What? So soon? Plenty of the fish in the sea, still. Sure you don’t want to spread your net again?” I nod to a group of models that are at the table next to us.
“Haven’t you heard? The coach has scheduled an early morning training session for tomorrow and I sure as hell ain’t gonna risk his wrath.”
“Oh come on. Training is for rookies. Have another drink.”
“No, man. Not all of us are European superstars like you. We gotta work hard for our place on the team. Nice to meet you, Ana, and see you tomorrow morning, man. Be on time! You know the coach ain’t been happy with you of late.” With that, Willie is off.
“Why is your coach unhappy with you?” Ana asks.
“Because he is a bloody wanker,” I sneer but quickly put on a smile, as I see Ana laughing. Fuck the bloody sponsors. I’m in no mood to schmooze.
“Ana, why don’t we get out of here?” I get up and hold out my hand.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she replies, her hand slipping into mine.
The next morning...
I wake up with head pounding and vision blurred. As I take in the surroundings, the memory of last night comes rushing back. The party, the model, the countless shots of vodka. I’d forgotten how hard partying with an Eastern European model can be. We went over to her apartment nearby, and there we opened champagne bottles and vodka bottles as if it were Christmas. She wasted no time snorting a few drugs of choice and spent most of the night riding me hard. Best sex I’ve had in a long time.
Suddenly, I remember I need to be somewhere. Panicking, I look at my watch. Fuck. I’m supposed to be at training in an hour. Ana’s still sleeping and I see no reason to wake her. Quickly putting on my clothes, I tip toe out of the bedroom. I’m not much for morning conversations anyway.
Won’t be much traffic at this time. I can make it back home, take a super quick shower and be at the training ground in good time, I figure, doing the mental math. In spite of what I told Willie last night, my on time appearance for training is important. Bruce, the head coach of the team is a taskmaster and is no fan of the bad boy image I brought along with me from England.
Despite my being here a few months, Bruce still looks at me with a suspicious eye. Doesn’t matter how many goals I score or how many matches I win singlehandedly for the team; Bruce expects his players to behave in a ultra-respectful manner. He certainly wouldn’t appreciate drunken escapades with a coke-snorting model.
As I step out on the street, I wish I brought sunglasses along as the morning light hits me in the face. I gave my limo driver leave for the night since Ana made it clear I’d be at her place. Looking around for the Uber I booked, a flash hits me in the face. And then another and another.
