Hitman's Baby (Mob City Book 2) (31 page)

Around us, Spanish and Latin American commentators added their own unique brand of commentary. "
Gol! Gol! Gol! Gooool! Gooolassso!
"

I slumped back into my seat, wondering whether I was making the right choice – and whether I’d even be able to pluck up the courage to pull the trigger on our relationship – as Jack returned to my ears. "Diana, they talk about the commentator's curse – but they're going to have the come up with something different to call you – you're that kid's lucky charm!"

That was the last thing I wanted to hear.

"
H
oly crap
, Rodriguez – where in your locker were you keeping a goal like that?"

I was riding on an adrenaline high and I never wanted it to end. I knew that I'd just scored a goal that would make it onto every YouTube highlights reel for the next three months – the kind of goal that most players dreamed of scoring just once in their careers. I was a little bit more optimistic – I expected one every week – but even so, it felt good. It felt
damn
good.

I grinned back at Rodrigo. "I told you, buddy – you keep feeding me balls like that, we're going to get along just fine."

"Forget about the pass – anyone could have picked that out." Rodrigo grinned. "That finish was…"

I grinned. "Sublime?"

Rodrigo mock-bowed down in front of me. He was right – he didn't need to say anything. After all, how could you add to a goal of that majesty? Simple – you couldn't.

I sat down, suddenly exhausted, on the wooden bench next to my locker and looked around conspiratorially. "Want to know what else I've got hiding away in my locker?"

Rodrigo looked up from unlacing his cleats. "New trick?"

"Nah – nothing to do with soccer," I grinned, pulling a bottle of bourbon out of my locker, "but I think we deserve to reward ourselves – don't you?"

Rodrigo's eyes widened with worry. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed. "Put that away – you trying to get me fined?"

I rolled my eyes and shot him a disappointed glance. "Ah, come on – don't be like that." I laughed, unscrewing the cap and taking a hefty swig. "You think they're going to fine us after results like we got today? The fans would go nuts."

"Maybe for you," Rodrigo grunted, secretively grabbing the bottle. "They love you right now. I'm still just a squad player, remember that." He took a surreptitious look around the emptying locker room, checking that no one was watching, and brought the bottle to his mouth hidden by a white towel like a gym-going hobo.

I guffawed, slapping my thigh with amusement. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying not to get caught," he hissed. "Stop laughing – you're not helping!"

"Give me that." I chuckled, reaching over and grabbing the bottle from his shaking hands.

Suddenly, a different voice ended the conversation. "What the hell are you doing,
cabrón
?"

Oh, for fuck's sake. It was Ramon Garcia, the one man who could, no – would, spoil a day like today. It was just like him, I thought, to hang around looking for fun – just so he could put a stop to it.

"What do you want, Garcia?" I groaned. "I'm just trying to enjoy myself. Want a swig?" I asked, proffering him the bottle.

He grabbed it out of my hands and chucked it across the room into a trash can. If I wasn't so pissed off, I'd have been impressed – it was a damn good shot.

"Hey – what the hell?" I said, flabbergasted. "What did you do that for? That was a two-hundred-euro bottle of whiskey!"

He looked down at me dismissively, stabbing his index finger into my chest. "You call yourself a professional, Rodriguez?"

I didn't like the power dynamic of Garcia standing over me – especially when I knew I had an inch on him, so I stood up. On the surface, at least, I was still annoyed about the bottle, but I was quickly getting fired up about the way he was treating me. Hell – I'd just scored the winning goal against Barcelona's nemesis! If that didn't deserve a drink, then what did?

I looked down at him. This was better. "No," I glowered, "actually – I don't. You know who does? This football club, every time they pay me. Now, are you going to apologize for breaking my bottle?"

Garcia was so riled up I thought there was every chance he might lean forward and try something stupid. "Apologize?" he spat. "Do you know how many punks like you I've seen come through this locker room? You all think you're the next big thing, but you know what?"

I imagined he had every intention of telling me, no matter what I said, so I decided to humor him. "What?"

"You won't stay at a club like this with an attitude like yours. You'll shine bright for a while – but mark my words, unless you get your head out of your ass, you'll sink like a stone." He jabbed his finger in my chest one last time, cast me a withering look, then walked off, white towel wrapped around his tanned waist.

I sat back down with a disappointed sigh. "Damn, that was a good bottle of whiskey. You know how hard it is to get bourbon over here?"

Rodrigo looked at me, stupefied. "Man, you've sure got bigger balls than me. I'd have been shitting myself if Garcia came up to me like that."

I looked him. "You think he's right?"

The indecision on Rodrigo's face said more than he ever could. "I—"

I interrupted him. "Come on, speak to me like a man. Don't worry, people have been telling me things I don't want to hear my entire life. I've never fallen out with one of them."

Even with my blessing, Rodrigo stammered a bit before finally mustering up the courage to spit out what he had to say. "Well, he's got a point, doesn't he?"

I looked at Rodrigo seriously. "You think I don't train hard?"

"Well…" he stammered, "no, but—"

"You see me out there. I train as hard as anyone. But the way I play – I have to be able to have fun. Maybe Garcia sees me having fun and takes it the wrong way. I can't help that. But you know what?"

"What?"

"It's having fun that makes me so good. The moment I stop trusting my instincts, I become just like the rest of them – predictable."

"Yeah, but Alex, be serious. You rile him up – you know you do."

I sighed. "Okay, you've got a point there – but what does it matter?"

It was Rodrigo's turn to sigh this time. "Man, do I really have to spell it out for you, Alex? Look at it from Ramon's point of view," he said, switching to my nemesis's first name. "You’ve been signed to replace him, not now – but one day."

"Soon, I hope," I grunted maliciously.

He shot me an irritated look. "Now, a season from now – what does it matter? You've got a decade on him – you'll be around for a long time. But Ramon? He won't. And what does he see?"

I saw where Rodrigo was going with this, even if I didn't want to admit it to him. "I don’t know…" I mumbled.

"I think you do." He grinned. "He sees you messing about and he thinks you're mocking him. How do you reckon that makes him feel?"

"I don't!"

Rodrigo shot me a disbelieving look.

"Okay," I conceded, "maybe once or twice…"

"Exactly." Rodrigo sighed. "Look – Alex, I can't control you. I'm not sure anyone can. But you want my advice?"

"Sure."

"Stop stepping on Ramon's toes and try and learn from him. He's slower than he was, but he’s still got a lot to teach. Why make your own mistakes when you can learn from his?"

I pulled my jersey over my head, pondering what Rodrigo had just said. I probably wouldn't have listened if anyone else had said it. If the coach said it, I'd have laughed in his face and asked him why Ramon couldn't look after himself. But coming from Rodrigo – my friend, and a man I trusted, it meant something. Whether it was enough to change my mind, though, I wasn't sure.

"I'll think about it," I allowed. "Come on – let's hit the showers."

My cock bulged out from beneath the fibers of the white towel that was doing its best to hide my modesty. The showers were communal – which had surprised me, for a club this big, but I'd got used to it pretty quickly. Anyway, I had the biggest cock of anyone in the squad, so there was no embarrassment there. Not for me, anyway.

"Coming out to the bars tonight?" Rodrigo asked, clearly trying to move the topic of conversation back to safer ground.

I squirted some shampoo from the dispenser on the wall into my hand and lathered it into my hair. "No can do."

"How come?" Rodrigo asked, intrigued. I could see why – I rarely turned down an opportunity for a drink.

"I'm…hoping to see someone," I answered honestly. The truth was, I had no idea whether Diana was available, but there was only one person I wanted to celebrate the night with – her. Going out with the squad would be a pale substitute at best.

"Is it a girl?" Rodrigo grinned. Apparently, something on my face gave it away. "It is, isn't it!" he shouted, looking entirely too pleased for himself. "So, tell me about her."

"There's nothing to tell," I mumbled uncharacteristically. "And anyway, I didn't say there was a girl."

"Look at you," Rodrigo chuckled, "you're tongue-tied. I didn't even know that could happen to Alex Rodriguez… And don't worry – you didn't need to say a thing, I can see it all over you. She must be special, this girl."

I sighed, staring grumpily at Rodrigo. "Alright, there's a girl."

He grinned broadly. "And she means something to you, doesn't she?"

"Why do you say that?" I said, dissembling – hoping to distract Rodrigo. For some reason, I felt entirely uncomfortable having this conversation with him. I'd happily talk about my conquests in the locker room, hell – you could write a book about them. But this was different somehow.

"Look at you." He chuckled. "It’s written all over your face. You're practically shying away from answering me!"

"There's nothing to say," I grunted, toweling the excess water and my muscular chest.

"I beg to differ," Rodrigo said, heading back to the locker room. "So tell me, where did you meet her?"

I looked around, making sure the room was empty but for the two of us. "Shut up!" I hissed.

He flicked me with the end of a discarded towel. "I've never seen you like this, my friend. She must be special."

"She is," I agreed absent-mindedly. "Shit…"

Rodrigo grinned broadly. "Oh ho! You're not planning on telling me anything about her, are you?"

I shook my head.

"I tell you what, Alex, you don't strike me as the kind of guy who settles down very often. This girl must be something else."

I looked up at a bank of television screens tuned to the world's sports channels on the other side of the room. They had everything from ESPN, Eurosport, and Sky Sports News to WBC Sports. And on the TV on the bottom right corner, relegated to the lesser spot reserved for the North American channels, was Diana's face narrating a clip of me in training. She looked gorgeous.

I looked away quickly, anxiously concerned that Rodrigo might have noticed what I was doing. After all, apparently he was some kind of mind reader. Luckily, his Sherlockian skills appeared to have deserted him – or perhaps he was toweling his hair dry.

I sighed. He was like a dog with a bone, and I knew he wouldn't give up without me throwing him a scrap. "Believe me, she is."

He clicked his fingers happily. "So, what's the plan?"

I considered his question for a couple of seconds, admitting to myself that I didn't have an answer. "Maybe you can help me with that," I conceded.

"What do you mean?"

I grinned cheekily. "You strike me as the kind of guy who falls head over heels for girls all the time."

He blushed. "What if I do?"

I sat down to slip on my sneakers. "Let's just say it's not something I've got a lot of practice with."

"Oh," he said slowly. "You mean?"

"Oh," I repeated meaningfully. "That's right, I've never had a girlfriend."

"You're not?"

"A virgin?" I said, finishing the end of his sentence. I shot him a disbelieving look. "No, you idiot. Look at me, for god's sake. You think I have trouble finding women?"

"I guess not."

"The thing is," I admitted, "I've never actually
dated
a girl before. I've done hookups, one night stands and plenty of friends with benefits type arrangements, but I've never actually had a girlfriend. Never liked being tied down, you know?"

"Shit," Rodrigo whistled, "this girl really must be something."

"Obviously," I grinned, "if she's managed to tie
me
down like this. But she's… I dunno – reticent, maybe? I've never had a girl called out to me before – usually they just throw themselves at me, you know?"

Rodrigo had a faraway look in his eyes. "Oh, I know," he said slowly, "like the redhead on the rooftop. She'd have eaten out of your hand, if you'd asked her."

"Exactly. How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know," I said, hating every second of it, "chase a girl. Make her feel, what's the right word?"

"Wanted?"

I seized upon it. "Exactly," I said enthusiastically, "wanted."

"You're a Barcelona player," he said incredulously. "Just put her in a private box for the game and go up after the final whistle. Trust me, she'll be wetter than you can imagine."

I shook my head, smiling at the irony of the suggestion. "Trust me," I laughed, "that won't work. Not on this girl, anyway."

Rodrigo threw up his hands in amazement. "What else can I say? Wine and chocolates, then. That usually works, doesn't it?"

I nodded thoughtfully. "Wine and chocolates, eh?" I clapped my friend on the shoulder. "Thanks Rodrigo."

"
C
ome on
," Tim said, darting out of nowhere and scaring the living daylights out of me. "We're going out celebrating!"

"Jesus Christ, Tim – you could’ve given me a heart attack!" I said, desperately attempting to regain control over my breathing.

He plucked the notebook from under my arm and tossed it into his company pickup truck. "You'll get over it." He grinned. "Come on, hop into the truck – let's go."

Hitting the bars was last thing I wanted to do right now only moments after making the decision to cut the most captivating man I'd ever met out of my life. I did my best to shake Tim off.

"Seriously, Tim," I groaned, "I'm not in the mood. Rain check?"

He pasted a puppy dog expression of disappointment onto his face. "Oh, come on… You're not going to turn down a face like this, are you?"

"Hey," I grinned, "it's my achievement we're supposed to be celebrating – shouldn't I get to make the rules?"

"Oh, don't try and claim all the credit for yourself." He grinned wickedly. "This is a team effort. So it stands to reason I get a at least a fifty percent say in things, doesn't it?"

"Oh?" I smiled dubiously. "How’s that?" Tim's infectious enthusiasm was beginning to rub off on me, and I was already feeling – if not recovered, then at least slightly less grumpy.

"Well, the way I see it," he chuckled, "the only way you get on the television at all is if I'm holding the camera. That's reason one."

"Okay." I grinned, climbing up into the truck. "It's pretty weak, but I'll give you that one."

Tim put the keys in the ignition and fired up the engine. "Perfect," he said, and – like the perfect gentleman he was, he didn't even reference the fact that he'd already crumbled my resistance. Though, on an evening like this, the truth was it would have been crazy
not
to go for a drink!

"So… Did you have another reason?" I asked, intrigued.

"Oh, please," he laughed, "I could come up with them for days."

"Hit me then." It had only been a couple of hours, but if Tim could keep my spirits up like this, I thought, then Alex might be easier to get over than I'd first imagined. After all, it stood to reason that since I'd decided to cut Alex out my life to focus on my career, then maintaining a comfortable working relationship with my colleagues was probably the most important way of getting over our brief, red-hot fling.

"Two—" Tim said, briefly taking a hand off the steering wheel and lifting up two fingers. "I do all the editing. Sure, you're the talent – but without me, the audience only sees your worst side."

I appropriated one of Tim's phrases. "Oh, please! I don't have a bad side…"

He just stared at me in response. "Okay, okay," I chuckled, "you got me there, too."

Tim put his foot down on the gas and sped up, changing lanes to get to the exit. "You want me to keep going? Because I can… Believe me, girl, I can do this all day."

"I believe you." I laughed. "And please – stop. You’ve already got me in the truck, don't you? Where are we going, anyway?" I asked, leaning forward against my seatbelt to check out the neighborhood.

"You'll love it." Tim grinned. "It’s a little underground bar off Las Ramblas."

"Tim," I said with dismay, turning to face him, "look at me – do I look like an edgy Spanish teenager? My partying days are long behind me."

He shot me a disbelieving stare. "At your age? Kid – you're barely out of college. Hell, by the time I was your age I'd already had my first divorce! What are you spouting this nonsense for?"

I flushed. "Alright, alright – I just don't want to be partying until dawn, that's all."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, sounding confused.

"You said we were going to an underground bar!" I exclaimed, baffled by his incomprehension.

He clapped me on the shoulder and ceased laughing. I was almost inclined to grab the steering wheel and help control the truck! "No, you idiot," he groaned, holding his stomach in pain. "I meant an
underground
bar – with emphasis on the word
underground
!"

"Oh…" I said, feeling foolish. "Actually under the ground, you mean?"

"I'll take underground for two hundred." Tim laughed mockingly. "Come on, we're nearly there." He pulled into a side street and parked the truck.

"Where is it?"

He took his time replying, striding down a side street and taking two lefts and a right before piping back up. "Ta dah!" He pranced, pointing at a non-descript metal door set into a sandstone building.

I looked at it dubiously, wrinkling my nose. "I dunno, looks pretty edgy to me."

He clapped me on the shoulder again. "Oh, come on," he grinned, "don't be a scaredy-cat – live a little."

"Scaredy-cat!" I exclaimed, mildly insulted. Tim's little bout of needling did the job he'd intended it to do, though, and I pushed open the door with an exasperated sigh. "Come on then, have it your way."

We walked down a set of cobbled stone stairs under a masonry tunnel lit only by candles and flame wick lanterns. I took a startled, impressed breath.

"I told you," Tim said with a self-satisfied grin on his face, "it's cool – right?"

"How did you even find this place?" I asked, baffled. It was quite literally in the middle of nowhere, as far as I could tell.

"Oh, trust me," Tim grinned, "I've drunk in every little watering hole this city has to offer. This one's right up there with the best, though."

We got to the bottom of the stairs and Tim pushed open a small, five-foot tall wooden door, which he had to crouch to walk through. Even I had to bend down a bit. "What, is this place built for midgets?" I grumbled, my eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

When I stood up, Tim was staring at me with a pleased grin plastered on his face. I couldn't blame him – he had every right to. The bar was breathtaking.

"Glad you came?" he asked.

"Oh, pipe down." I grinned. "Here, let's grab this table. What do you want to drink – it's on me."

"No, I was kidding about the team thing. I'll get this one."

I didn't fight him. "Oh, go on then," I joked. "I'll have a glass of Rioja, if you don't mind."

"Perfect," he said, wandering over to the bar. I reflexively pulled my iPhone out of my purse and checked it, half-hoping to see a text from Alex waiting for me.

Pull yourself together, Diana
.

What was wrong with me – if my brain had already decided he was no good for me, or at least no good right now, then why was it sending me these contradictory emotions? Either way, it was pointless – deep underground as we were, I didn't have a single bar of signal.

Do it now – pull off the band-aid
.

I composed a text message with trembling fingers, occasionally forced to stop and correct misspelled word. "
Alex. I had a great time the other night, but I'm not in the right place in my life to commit to anything serious
.
I hope you find who you are looking for. Sorry
."

It felt like a cheap way to end an affair that had burst into flames so vigorously, and as my finger hovered over the glowing green send icon, I couldn't bring myself to press it. Not yet, anyway. And regardless, I thought, I didn't have signal, so the question was moot. I resolved to make my mind up once I was done with the evening. The thing was, I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to resist Alex's charms if I saw him face-to-face.

"Put that away." Tim grinned, setting two clinking glasses of red wine down on the rough-hewn raised wooden table. "What's so important that you can't take a few moments to enjoy yourself?"

I tossed my phone back into my purse. "Sorry – you're right," I mumbled guiltily. "I'll put it away."

"I was just kidding, Di." Tim grinned, shooting me a surprised look. "If it was something important, then shoot."

"No, no," I replied with an air of false sincerity, "it's nothing."

"Well, that's a lie," he said with an intrigued grin, taking a sip of wine. "Go on, dish the dirt – it's clearly something."

I squirmed awkwardly on my stool under Tim's curious, intense gaze. My mind began to flirt with the thought that perhaps Tim hadn't asked me here entirely innocently. What if he actually saw this as a date? I mean, it wasn't that he was a bad looking guy, per se – in fact, Tim was quite a handsome man, but he was older than me, for a start, and just not my type. And anyway, I was hung up on another guy entirely…

"It's a guy, isn't it?" he pounced. "I knew it!"

The look of glee on Tim's face had me thoroughly confused. If he was trying to hit on me, would he really be so happy that my mind was occupied by another guy? It didn't seem likely.

"Tim…" I stammered, "I'm not sure whether we should be talking about this, should we?"

He cocked his head, looked confused, then a broad grin spread across his face. "You…" he gasped, before throwing his head back and laughing outrageously, drawing a few curious looks from the other drinkers. "You didn't think that I was hitting on you, did you?"

My face flushed red with embarrassment, giving him the only answer he needed.

"You did, didn't you?" He grinned. "Sorry – I can see how that would have been awkward," he said, doing his best to master the look of delight on his face.

"I…"

"Shit, Di, you're a pretty girl, and all," he said, pretending to check me out, "but you're not
exactly
my type, you know?"

I began to wish a hole would open up in front of us and swallow me up, just to give me an out. "What is, then?"

"What, my type?" Tim said, still smiling broadly.

"Yeah. Wipe that grin off your face, will you?" I begged. "I'm embarrassed enough as it is…"

"Sure," he agreed, resting his chin in his palm.

"Tim, I can see you biting your lip – that's not exactly what I was looking for…"

"If you knew my type, you'd know why I find this so… well, ridiculous." He grinned. I stared at him, daring him to spit it out. "Okay, okay," he continued, raising his palms in supplication, "I'll spill. But keep this between us, okay?"

"Why," I grinned wickedly, "what's your secret?"

"Promise?"

"Fine," I said, sticking out my hand. "Pinky promise."

We linked little fingers in a childlike display of trust, and both fell apart laughing. "Okay, I believe you now," Tim said, "here's the thing…"

I was expecting him to look at me and say that he didn't like blondes, or he was into girls with tattoos and piercings in all the wrong places. I certainly wasn't expecting the next words to come out of his mouth.

"I like big chicks," he said with a faraway look, "real
big
chicks. And no offence, lady," he grinned, "but look at you – how the hell am I going to bounce off you in bed? I like a little meat on my bones, you know?"

I took a
very
big swig from my wine glass. "Jesus, Tim…"

"What?" He grinned. "You asked."

He had a point. Still, I couldn't help but feel a little… passed over. "You really don't think I could be good in bed?" I blurted out, a little bit outraged. "You don't know what you're missing…"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you're hitting on
me
now, are you?"

I reached over and punched him. "Don't be ridiculous," I hissed, beginning to feel the wine lugubriously making its way through my bloodstream. "I'm just saying, you don't know what you're missing out on!"

"I think," Tim said, raising his own glass to his lips, "we got a little bit sidetracked. Tell me about this guy you're so hung up on…"

Embarrassing as our conversation had been up to this point, I seriously didn't know which topic I wanted to talk about less. The only good thing about listening to Tim wax lyrical about his interesting sex life was the fact that, for a brief time at least, images of him bouncing off an eager lover had replaced my mind's constant fixation on what to do about Alex.

"There's nothing to tell," I said grimly. "I'm done with it."

The expression on Tim's face changed immediately to one of solace. "Something happen?"

My head was roiling. I needed to talk about it with someone, but I didn't know whether Tim was the right guy. After all, friend or not, he was still in the same business as Frank and Ken. How would he feel about me dating a soccer player?

"No, seriously – nothing. I'm ending it, anyway, even if there was."

"Oh, come on," he crowed, slapping his thigh, "you can't just say that. I told you what was going on in my life—"

"Oh yeah, like I wanted to know about that…" I interrupted, sticking out my tongue with a teasing smile.

"Fair's fair," Tim said firmly. "An eye for an eye and all that."

"Hey," I protested, "I never agreed to this." He fixed me with a probing stare, and I quailed underneath it. "Fine… It's nothing major, anyway. I've just decided that this isn't the right time in my life me to be getting distracted with a relationship."

Tim's jaw dropped. "Not the right time…" He groaned. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I'm busy," I said defensively, "and I'm trying to make it in my career. Where do you think I'm going to find time to have a hot affair?"

"Trust me, kid," Tim said, taking a deep restorative swig from his wineglass as though trying to wash away my naïveté," when I say things don't get less complicated. Hell, do you think there's some magical moment in your thirties when you are not focused on your career?"

"I guess not," I said quietly.

"You're damn right!" Tim said forcefully. "I don't want you to think I'm being mean, so tell me if I'm putting my nose in somewhere doesn't belong, ‘kay?"

I threw my head back in frustration. He was – in fact, I couldn't think of a way he could possibly
be
any nosier, but at the same time, what he said had the ring of truth about it. "No," I groaned, "it's fine, I guess. Christ, can't you just let me make my own mistakes?"

Tim turned in his chair and looked me in the eye, all trace of humor entirely evaporated. "I've been there," he said quietly, "more times than you know. I'm just a cameraman, I know – but you do this job, you fly around the world, covering these sports teams, just think about how much time you really end up spending at home."