CRAVING U (The Rook Café) (56 page)

Ferdinando took a last moment to think it
over before he made his decision. “OK,” he said, “you can go.”

“Yeah!” his daughter yelled, running over
to hug him. “Thanks Dad.”

“OK, OK. But one thing!” He stopped her
before she disappeared into the yard. “Be careful on the road. It’s icy
tonight. Go slow and don’t jerk the wheel. And after you’ve seen him, come
straight home.  Understood?”

Marika nodded while the others in the
living room fell over each other begging her to pay their compliments to Matteo
when they saw him. “Tell him that he scored an incredible goal and that we can’t
wait to see what else he’s capable of.” His former teammates from
Brenta
were clamoring around her as well. “Tell him we’re proud of him.” The girls
were clucking like a clutch of hens. “Ask him when he’s coming home and remind
him that’s we’re all single... if he’s still looking,” they giggled
flirtatiously.

Daniele was running back and forth from
his mother to his father, while Grandpa Giovanni grumbled about all this
hullabaloo: “What’s all the excitement about anyway?” There were even a few
people present who actually wanted to watch the end of the match. “Aren’t you
going to stay to see the end of it?”

“We won on penalty kicks.”
Correct
answer
! Marika pushed her two friends out the door before her parents could
find an excuse to hold her back or someone else found an ulterior way to delay
their departure.

Highway A4 - A51 - EXIT 6 - Viale
Forlanini... 126 miles gone in a flash. The pastel yellow Mini Cooper pulled up
in front of the Milan airport just thirty minutes after the arrival of flight
AZ2114 from Rome Fiumicino, and it was gripped in a frenzy of people returning
from the New Year’s holidays and fans of the
white and blue
. No place to
park. “Marika, just go!” Dario yelled at her, pushing her from the car.

Without thinking twice, she got out of the
Mini and ran as fast as she could against the north wind that was slicing through
her skin like a Jiàn through tofu, squeezing in between the other fans waiting
for the team bus that would take the players on to their next destinations. Her
heart was in her mouth and she felt lightheaded when the terminal gates opened
to allow the
San Carlo
bus through, preceded by a meteor gray spyder
with soundproof convertible top, six cylinder fuel-injected with all-wheel
drive, driven by...?

“It’s Zovigo!” The crowd of people tried
to block the vehicle for an autograph, but the security agents kept them at
bay.

“Matteo! Matteo!” Marika called after him,
struggled against the crowd, shivered at the thought of his eyes meeting hers,
but the group of fans, accustomed to pushing and shoving from years in the
stands, were stronger, and made it impossible for her to see his face, or vice
versa. “Matteooooooooo!” she screamed until her vocal cords gave out.

The driver of the roadster turned his head
toward the fans who were slapping the palms of their hands against the car
window, feeling that voice in his guts, looking around desperately for... he
didn’t know what... because it couldn’t possibly be true. It was just some kind
of infantile, dangerous hallucination that would be better to forget before it
made him go crazy. And so he drove past the fans who were indifferent to the
Wagon
Cup
trophy, which was prestigious only in terms of economic interests, and
who had surprised him by greeting him like a champion, and disappeared into the
Milan night.

Dario and Carlotta saw him drive away
without being able to do anything to stop him, their cell phones helpless, all
calls greeted by the same impersonal message that the person they were trying
to contact was not available, his cell phone still switched off in his carry-on
bag.

Matteo got on the highway in the direction
of Venice, but that voice was still ringing in his head. “I know it was her.”
He racked his brains while his right hand opened the zipper pocket of his
backpack and felt around for his smartphone. He wanted to call her, “just in
case.”

“Hello?  Matteo?” Marika answered on the
first ring, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” he said, hesitating, not knowing
what to say, covering the microphone of the bluetooth with his hand. After all,
it was fairly embarrassing to have to admit to having visions. “Are you in
Milan?” He wanted to kick himself for having said such a stupid thing. “Ahh,
forget it,” he stammered uncomfortably. “Stupid question.”

“I’m here.” The words would barely come
out. “I’m here right now!”

“Really?” Matteo began to sizzle like
under a hot August sun. “Where?”

“I saw you leaving the airport.” She could
barely breathe, wheezing as if she were in a field of sunflowers. “I was in the
middle of all the fans. I tried to call your name, but....”

“Who are you with,” he interrupted her
excitedly.

“Dario and Carlotta.” They had pulled over
to the side of the road on Viale Forlanini.

 “OK.” Matteo took a deep breath, getting
off at the first exit so as to turn the car around. “Let me talk to him!” He
wanted to tell Dario where to meet him. “Marika, I love you,” he added, the
words filling her life with meaning.

She sat there, speechless. It was just the
beginning: three little words with her name attached to them. Simple. Nothing
faked, nothing planned. They had shared just one kiss, and hadn’t even made
love yet, but her head felt like it would explode, spinning around like a top,
making her lose control of her tongue and the capacity to express what she was
thinking.

Dario had heard the words too. “Hey... Mat...
teo,” he said, tongue-tied himself by his friend’s declaration.

Matteo could tell from his voice that
Dario had heard him too, but it didn’t matter if it was out in the open for
everyone to see. “Follow the signs for Downtown Milan, then take the Corsica
Bridge to the light.” All that mattered was that Dario bring her to him.

His friend followed his instructions for
three miles, pulling over at the first stoplight after the bridge.

Marika jumped out of the car without even
putting on her jacket, and leapt over the median in the road, running to Matteo,
who was waiting for her on the other side, leaning against his car. She threw
herself into his arms. “I love you too!” she said, hugging him, unleashing all
of the love and passion that had built up over 500 pages of life. “I love you!
I love you! I love you!” It was an unstoppable natural attraction.

Matteo pressed his lips against hers,
losing himself in the depths of a feverish kiss. They allowed themselves the
joy of one, two, three kisses... each one more intense and passionate than the
last... far from the beautiful January sunsets that tinted the western skies of
the Berici Hills, when the air is chilly and the clouds flying above the
horizon take on infinite iridescent shades of pink and cyclamen.

“Ahem... excuse us!” Their two friends,
who had been watching for a few minutes, first from afar, and now close up,
were calling for a pause in the action. “Time out!”

Marika lingered against his chest,
drinking in the heat of his burning body, even though he was wearing nothing
more than the
San Carlo
team suit, while he held her tight, making her
drunk on his affection and caresses.

“Great goal!” Dario took a step closer,
dragging behind him Carlotta, who seemed to be in the grips of a strange
version of Stendhal syndrome.

“Thanks.” Matteo held Marika to him,
answering all her questions with the heat of his hands, while he replied to his
friend.

“And this?” Dario pointed at the spyder,
drooling and longing for such a sweet ride.

“I borrowed this to go to Orgiano.” He
looked down at the much more precious gift that he was holding in his arms. “I
wanted to go home.”  Spontaneously and naturally, Matteo moved his lips toward
Marika’s, kissing her gently. “Anyway, the car’s not mine,” he said, turning
back to his friend. “There must be fifty cars of all different types in the
San
Carlo
parking lot that are put at the players’ disposition by our sponsor.”
One of the perks of professional soccer. “But it’s just a car.”

“Of course it’s
just
a car,” Dario
snipped acidly. “Nothing special,” he added.

“You can say that again! Nothing special.”
He took Marika’s face between his hands and made love to her with his eyes. “You
are everything to me.” He didn’t care if other ears could hear him as he
delicately caressed her. “You are the only thing I think of. You are all I need...
and I was afraid that I had lost you.” He stared deeply into her eyes, making
the desire to kiss her become even stronger, until his lips gently brushed
against hers. “You taste good.” Matteo felt her body against his, craved her mouth,
just as he wanted to become master over her body and soul.

“It’s the cherry chapstick.” She blushed.

“I don’t think so.”  He leaned his
forehead against hers, breathing her in. “It’s you!” he said, smiling,
spellbound by the sensuality of her knowing everything.

“So what are you going to do now?” Dario
couldn’t help himself from asking curious, inopportune questions. “You coming
back with us?” He was as annoying as a fly. “Aren’t you playing on Thursday? Do
you have a bye?”

Matteo nodded, ready to get back to where
it had all begun. “You guys go on ahead. Marika’ll come with me,” he clarified,
anxious to turn off those spotlights and just be alone with her, shining their
inner lights together.

“I was sure she would,” Dario said,
stating the obvious. He led Carlotta back to his car so that she wouldn’t stick
around, gawking.

Matteo unlocked the car doors, watching
giddily as she got inside. He had only a few certainties about the future. His
brilliant career as a professional soccer player, one that had started to bring
him fame and fortune, could end exactly the way it began, in the blink of an
eye. But now, she was in his life. She would be his equilibrium, his security,
and he would do anything for her.

Seated next to him, Marika felt incredibly
awkward in that jewel of a vehicle: heated leather seats, 14 speakers with
surround-sound, LED headlights, carbon fiber details, aluminum frame, color
navigational system, steering wheel controls, and push-buttons everywhere. A
nightmare, like an elephant inside a crystal shop.

“I get the same feeling,” Matteo said,
looking at her. “At first, I always kept slamming on the brakes by mistake.” His
feet danced between the pedals, while his face was kissed by the moon, which
bounced about in the foggy January sky. “You can drive, if you want.” She could
have anything she wanted from him.

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea,”
Marika mumbled, tangled in the seat belt, which kept locking up. She was turned
toward the window when she felt Matteo reach around her to grab the buckle. 
She froze, letting him latch her into the seat, breathing in his smell deeply.
“
I’ve lost all control. My head’s been spinning for hours
,” she
trembled. “I want to tell you so many things, but I can’t seem to get them out.”
She couldn’t feel a single thing except him and his heated body, burning like
never before.

“You don’t need to tell me anything.” He
smiled at her, taking her by the hand as he changed gears. “You are here, and
that’s all I need to know, the only answer I ever hoped to get.”

She gazed at him, finally feeling free to
love him without having to pretend that she didn’t feel what she had in truth
felt all along.  “I watched the finals.”  They had just gotten on the highway,
with Dario’s Mini following at a short distance, and he was so gorgeous that
she could hardly believe it.  “You were....”

“I don’t want to talk about soccer.”  He
put on his blinker to pass a car.  “Let’s talk about you!”

“There’s not much to say.”

“What have you been up to since I left?” 
Matteo checked his rear-view mirror, easing up on the gas.

“I studied all of the road rules, and if
you want, I can give you a refresher on speed limits,” she joked.  “And I read
Daniel Defoe and Orlando Furioso.”

“Not bad!” he said.  “Just as big a nerd
as ever!”  He was making fun of her, just like old times, with a comfort level
that neither of them had felt in ages.

They passed Bergamo, Brescia, and
Sommacampagna while Marika filled him in on details from
The Rook
, on
life at school without Carlotta, and on the results of the
Brenta
team,
and he listened to her, intoxicated, but with another question in his head: “What
else?”

“
What else...?!
” she moaned,
wanting to know more about him.  “I’ve been talking for over an hour.”  It was
his turn now.  “I’ve finished with my news, there’s nothing left.”  They had
already wasted too much time on her insipid life.

“Really?”  Matteo put his foot on the gas,
giving her a taste of the power of the car’s turbine engine.  “Don’t you want
to tell me anything about Federico Brunelli?”

She looked at him, squished back against
her seat by the G-force, and rubbed her palms against her jeans.  “What do you
want to know?”

“Everything.”  He gripped the steering
wheel tightly, taking the exit for Montebello Vicentino.