“He almost met your President,” Marco says.
“Obama?” I cry out. “How?”
“I have a friend on the Colorado Rapids. They were the MLS champions last year and they all got to meet him in the White House. But the timing for me didn’t work out.”
“You missed out,” Marco says, shaking his head.
“So, how long are you planning to stay in Europe for?” Luciano asks me.
I shrug. “As long as I can. I have no intention of going back.”
“Why not?” Marco asks.
Another shrug. “I’m young. There are more opportunities for me here.”
I can be whoever I want here.
As I’m thinking that, I catch Luciano watching me again. He does that often and I can feel his gaze every time, like it’s burning me. A part of me wants to be burned.
Here’s the thing about Luciano—he’s handsome as hell. Maybe not the stereotypical “hot guy” looks of his younger brother, but he’s got something that I can’t quantify or put into words. I can only feel it. His nose is on the large size, and I think it’s been broken a few times, his eyes are heavy-lidded, alternating between a sexy and sleepy look. But they’re framed by dark brows that can make them look intense in an instant. His mouth is wide with a smile that comes easily, his teeth slightly crooked. His broad square jaw shows his relation to his brother, and seems perpetually covered in stubble, while his brother is clean-shaven. His hair is gorgeous, dark and wavy, long enough to tug and…
I blink and look away, suddenly aware that I’ve been staring at him. I’m not usually one to get flustered over something like that, I’ll proudly own it and make a fool of myself if I have to, but for some reason it feels a bit more serious when it comes to him. Which is funny, because from all the interviews I’ve watched and read, he doesn’t seem to be that serious of a guy.
And yet he has been with me.
The wine comes then, distracting me. The waiter pours us all a glass and we cheers. It’s then that I steal a look at Luciano and his eyes hold mine for what feels like forever.
My stomach fizzles and flips. Shit. What is up with me?
I quickly look to Marco and say, “Thank you again for getting me out of that hostel.”
“Thank you for coming,” Marco says. He has a sip of his wine and looks to Luciano. “I don’t want to get in the way of the interview though, so ask away. Perhaps my brother will get drunk and open up a little. He is like a molusco sometimes. A clam.”
I glance at Luciano and flash him a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
A brow raises. The corner of his mouth ticks up, creating a dimple. “You weren’t so gentle yesterday, but I think I can handle it. Though, tell me, Ruby Turner, you say that you’re here as long as you can be. Did you mean Portugal or Europe? You know that with the Schengen Visa, you can only be in Europe for three months.”
I give him a pointed look. “I’m aware. I didn’t just show up here with no plan.”
The way I say it makes him look reproached, though the truth is I’m lying because there really is no plan. I’ll just have to fake it.
“So what is your plan?” Marco asks.
“Interview Luciano. Write it up. I would love to see a game if possible.” I’m nearly batting my eyelashes at Marco, hoping he’ll get me tickets. “Then I thought I would go explore Porto. Do the same, then head to Barcelona.”
“You’re leaving Portugal so soon?” Marco asks.
“I didn’t say when,” I tell him. “It’s all up in the air.”
“I think you should stay,” Luciano says. “For at least a few weeks.”
I look at him in surprise. “You do?”
He gnaws on his lip for a moment and then jerks his chin at Marco. “I think he’d like it if you stayed.”
Oh. I see.
“Sounds like you’re trying to set me up with him,” I say, never one to keep my mouth shut.
He shrugs lazily. “Maybe. Marco is always playing matchmaker with me. Says it’s his duty as my agent. I figure I should try and return the favor to him.”
I don’t know why I feel so disappointed, but I do.
Meanwhile Marco is laughing. “If I didn’t set you up, brother, you would be single for the rest of your life.” He looks to me as he jabs his thumb at him. “I bet you wouldn’t believe it if I told you that, despite my brother’s growing career, he rarely dates anyone.”
Actually I can believe it, because when I was researching the crap out of Luciano, I couldn’t find anything about the women he dated. Sure, there were rumors of him being seen with this model or that local actress, but there were no pictures and no one blabbed.
“I don’t have the time, brother,” Luciano says to him.
“You’ve had plenty of time since you were injured.”
Luciano ignores him and has a gulp of wine. “So, Ruby. I hope you like seafood.”
I actually love seafood and consider myself to be an adventurous eater, so I’m open to anything, even when Luciano tells me I should order the bacalhau.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Salted cod.”
I pause and then nod. “Okay,” I tell him, closing the menu with aplomb. “If you think I should order the bacalhau, then I will.”
“It’s famous in Portugal,” Marco explains. “And every restaurant thinks they do the best one. This one is okay.”
“The bacalhau here is the best,” Luciano chides him.
Now, obviously this is my first time trying it, so I can’t say it’s the best, but when it comes it’s not what I expected. It’s very tasty, salted cod mixed with olives, shredded potatoes, eggs and green onion. I eat it all and I think Luciano looks impressed.
I take advantage of that
