Page 44 of Set Play

If Mateo does react, what does that mean? A fake boyfriend wouldn’t care, would he?

I know attending this game was part of Garrett’s plan, but now that I’m here, it’s overwhelming. The tunnel is swarming with people: reporters, staff, and family. And then there’s me…standing alone over here.

I’m desperate to get this over with already; several reporters are huddled together and looking over at me, making my skin itch. If the snippets of conversation I can hear are accurate, they’re talking about the “joint” statement that Mateo and I released the other day.

“This is not the introduction we wanted to make for our relationship. However, recent events have painted a warped image, and it is something we need to correct.

First, we have been together since late January. The Valentine’s Day photos were taken while Mateo was enjoying a private dinner with family. While we won’t provide clarity on who the woman is, we will say that she is a part of the Reyes family and that there was nothing clandestine about the evening.

The second claim is almost too absurd to dignify, except that Élise does not wish to leave it unanswered. A private remark made by Henri Clément, taken out of context by someone not involved in the conversation, has been framed as “proof” of physical abuse. Allow us to set the record straight. It is not.

Élise would like to be direct: “Mateo has never hurt me. My brother loves me and was caught in a private vulnerable moment. I ask fans not to use his words, or my silence, as ink for a story that was never written. I am perfectly healthy and would be grateful if we could get on with our lives.”

A hand on my face startles me, and I bite back a yelp. His soothing smoky citrus scent fills my nose before my brain comes back online to register the person touching me. I look up into two amused, but slightly concerned, stormy blue eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Chispita. You okay? You kind of zoned out.”

I give him a light shove and scoff, “Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t scare me; I was just shocked that you smell good for a change.”

His lips curl into that damn seductive smirk, and he leans one arm against the wall beside me. Does he realize how sexy the one arm lean is?

Lazily, he trails his eyes down my body, stopping to admire my legs in these shorts before moving up to the jersey and then jumping back to my eyes.

Waiting for him to finish ogling me, I rest my shoulder next to his arm, making our position look infinitely more intimate. “Turn around.” His words are hoarse, as if scraped over broken glass on the way out.

When I don’t move, Mateo leans in and grazes my ear with his lips. “Turn around. I need to see my name across your back, Chispita.”

Like a cartoon character following a delicious smell, I start to lean toward him. And then his words register and I stiffen in place.

Shit! The girls were right?

“Oh, uh, that’s really not necessary. I mean, you’ve seen your jersey like a million times!” Too high.

My voice is way too high from the hysteria climbing my throat.

The amusement vanishes from Mateo’s eyes, leaving behind a sea ready to throttle a fishing boat. His large hands lightly grip my shoulders, warmth seeping through the fabric and loosening my muscles, and turn me toward the wall. As he slowly gathers my waves, I swallow thickly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know th—” I start but his sharp intake of breath cuts me off.

I can’t turn my head fully with my hair still locked in his grip, but I see his left eye twitch ever so slightly. Mateo tightens his hold on my hair, using it to pull me back to his chest. “That,” he chastises, “is not my name.”

Unable to speak, I shake my head. He clicks his tongue in thought for what feels like forever before speaking again. “You, mi querida Chispita, will pay for this later. Next time you come to my game, wear my jersey.”

I try to object, but he spins me to face him and backs me against the wall too quickly. “Big Shot, I—”

He slams his lips over mine in a dominating kiss. One hand stays in my hair, while the other moves to my hip to pull me against him. I’m lost to the flood of sensations as I loop my arms over his shoulders.

A small voice reminds me that this is only a show for the cameras flashing behind him, but it feels too good for me to care. My lips chase him when he draws back until his chuckle stops me.

“Later, Chispita.”

Then, with a wink, he heads onto the field, leaving me breathless.

I am so fucked when it comes to Mateo Reyes.

Chapter 23

Mateo

“Teo, behind!” Cillian’s warning comes just seconds before I hear the pounding feet of Phoenix’s stopper. Scanning the field, I catch Theo signaling an open passing lane with a hand in the air and quickly pivot to pass to him. My heart seizes when a defending midfielder comes out of nowhere to try and intercept it, but then he oversteps, allowing the ball to pass through his open legs.

“NUTMEG!” My teammates on the bench rocket to their feet, making the word sound more like a war cry than a cheer.