Chapter Two

The newly formed group of four gathered around one of the free tables, and dropped the ball in. The man had been with two companions, and hadn’t had a final team member to make things even. They had just resigned themselves to not playing when they’d seen her with her coworkers, and saw she was both sober, and staying a bit longer.

However, she wasn’t playing with just any companion. She was playing with Xavi Hernández, his brother Àlex, and a friend named Bernard.

She was on a team with Àlex, her hands clutched around the offensive player poles. Across from her was Xavi, who was gazing at his brother, waiting for the ball to drop it. The small, off-white ball rolled in, and the game began. She watched as Xavi hit it back with startling accuracy, which Àlex only just managed to block. She realized he played futbolín much like he did football in real life: with precision and instinct. It was the perfect mixture which allowed him to be the great player that he was.

She forced herself to focus on the game, or rather, play to her strengths.

She watched the ball bounce around, sometimes controlled, sometimes at random. Bernard attacked at random with the offensive players, while Xavi clinically stopped her shots, and took long range shots from his end of the table.

However, she did have some tricks up her sleeve. As the ball rolled by her player, instead of hitting it dead on, she hit it on the side, causing it to rebound off the side of the table, and into the goal. Xavi blinked in surprise, having not expected that move.
But then that competitive grin, one she had only ever seen on a television screen appeared.

It turned into an all-out war, with little talking, and overdone motions. Finally the match point was scored by Xavi, who looked like he’d won the Champion’s League, not a game of futbolín.

Àlex rolled his eyes at his brother’s antics, and turned to her. “Good game. You play a lot?” he questioned. “Yeah, and with guys mostly too…so I’m used to such antics.” She gestured over to the still celebrating footballer. The other Hernández sighed, “Yeah, it gets obnoxious though…especially since this is a weekly occurrence, if he can help it.” She laughed, shaking her head. Army guys were like that two, whether the game was ping pong, futbolín, air hockey, pool, or video games. They were just super competitive.
Bernard had been happy for the win, but eventually abandoned the celebration to go get a beer.

“Are you finished?” Àlex asked, frowning at his brother. Xavi sighed, and flopped into a nearby seat, “Fine, if you insist on ruining my fun.”

He then turned to her, “Sorry, I never caught your name.” The other Hernández looked at her curiously, also having not heard her name. “Nina. Nina Trujillo,” she said, smiling at the pair. “Trujillo…that’s a Spanish name, yes…?”Xavi asked. “My father originated from Spain, though I’m actually American,” she responded.

Both looked at her in surprise, “You don’t sound like one!”

She grinned, “I’ll take that as a compliment. As I said, my dad was born in Spain, and my mom in Mexico. So Spanish has always been the language I spoke at home, and often in my neighborhood.”

They nodded, understanding that.

“So what do you do for a living?” Àlex asked, grabbing his abandoned beer. “I’m a risk analyst for the Catalonian government, checking the integrity of historical structures,” she answered, nearly cringing at how boring that sounded. “That’s…unique. Did you do stuff like that in the States?” Xavi asked kindly.

A soft sigh passed her lips. How to answer that? Did she really want to open up that topic? No, not really. But at the same time, they were so friendly, so couldn’t really help it.

“In order to pay for college, I was in the military for several years,” she said at last.

Both looked extremely surprised, and she could guess why. First, he had a slim build, and she was short. She didn’t look like she would be able to get through boot camp. But she also had longer hair, and did something that seemed boring. None of that really fit the bill of soldier.

“You were in the military?” Xavi asked incredulously. “Yeah, the Army,” she confirmed. “I would never have guessed that,” he admitted. She laughed, “Most can’t.”

“Can I buy you a beer?” Xavi asked, noticing her water was gone. She shook her head, “No. I should get going anyway. I have historical landmarks to save tomorrow.” She smiled at the pair of them, having greatly enjoyed the game, and grabbed her purse and coat before exiting the bar. The warm night air rushed over her, a cool breeze making it comfortable, carrying the smell of the beach from the Mediterranean through the streets.

Who knew she’d run into an FC Barcelona player, after a game in fact, on a night out with coworkers?


~~

“You look like you could use a drink.”

Had those words really come out of the mouth of Carles Puyol? She blinked, trying to get her brain back to a state of functioning.
“I’m working right now,” she managed to get out. She wasn’t supposed to take a break, let alone stop working in order to talk to one of the VIP customers. He smiled, “So when do you get up. You really could use something. At least to make up for the rude words of my teammate.” She wasn’t sure if she should say yes. Technically speaking, he wasn’t a stranger. She knew exactly who he was.

“I get off in an hour,” she said at last.

“Bueno! Just meet me here,” he said, smiling. She watched as he ascended the stairs, his curls bouncing slightly as he headed up, and disappeared into the lounge. Forcing herself back into reality, she went down the stairs, and threw away the newest collection of dirty rags.

“Adela, did you clean up the spill?” Núria asked, her nasal voice cutting through the loud music with an unnatural force. “Yes, it’s cleaned up,” she said. Wasn’t that obvious by the number of rags she’d been seen carrying?

“Ok good. Well I need you to separate the garbage from recyclable items,” she said, gesturing outside toward the two large garbage bags. She groaned softly. So sure she was going to meet Carles-fucking-Puyol in an hour, only she’d probably smell like garbage. That just made her day complete.

Once her task was over, so was her shift. She sniffed herself, paranoid that she did indeed smell like trash. She seemed to have gotten lucky, and avoided that embarrassment.

He was waiting there, smiling at her.

“Was the rest of your shift alright?” he questioned. She nodded, not wanting to really tell him that she’d been pawing around in bags of trash trying to find anything that could be recycled.

“Is Sangría alright?” he asked, holding up a glass of the bright red liquid. She nodded. She didn’t drink that often, but he was right.
She really could use a drink. She was just wondering if she would be drinking her drink on the stairs when the captain of Barça gently caught her elbow, and encouraged her to follow him up the stairs. Her eyes widened as she followed wordlessly.

Once in the VIP lounge, her eyes wondered over the crowd inside.

Sitting in the corner she saw Pedro Rodriguez and Dani Alves enjoying themselves. Gerard Piqué was laughing along with Jeffrén about something that Pinto had just said.

She could also make out Ibrahimovic, Bojan, Iniesta, and Busquets in the group. There were also some women, whom she assumed were WAGs. She felt out of place. She was wearing her white jeans and shirt, standard uniform at the club, and her hair was in a sloppy bun. And she was sure there was some possibility of smelling like trash.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing to the various seats that were scattered around.

She sank down into the plush, white armchair, the defender sitting across from her. He had a beer bottle in his hand, half gone.
“So, may I have your name?” he asked.

“Adela,” she answered, seeing no reason not to tell him. He smiled, “I’m Carles Puyol.” She couldn’t help but laugh, “Believe me, I know.” His smile widened, “So, I take it you’re not a Madridista?” The expression on her face made him chuckle. “I’ve pretty much always been a fan of Barça,” she admitted.

“I can respect that,” he smiled.

She sipped some of her beverage, ignoring the slight burn in her throat from it. It had been awhile since she’d had anything other than wine, and even that she didn’t have but so often.

The night seemed to fly by until it was well into the early hours of the morning.

“I’ll see you around,” Carles, as he had insisted she call him, said as they walked out of the exit together. “You will?” she blurted
thoughtlessly. He smiled, “You do work here, yes? We come here a lot. Hopefully no more rude run ins with teammates. But I’ll buy you another drink regardless.” With that he casually walked off, leaving her in complete shock. Had Carles Puyol just…just flirted with her?

Aye Dios…someone needed to pinch her.