Chapter 16: Xavier

Chapter 16: Xavier

I probably shouldn’t say anything to her, but getting a female take on the situation wouldn’t be a bad idea. Plus, she just called me boo, which is a little adorable.

I’m used to women trying to be over-the-top sexy to get my attention. Who knew cute as a button was intriguing?

"Right, so it’s long and convoluted."

Ophelia smiles. "I’ve got time. In case you forgot, I was supposed to be on a date. I’ve got no other plans, other than drowning my sorrows in this glass of wine and reading a book." She holds up her glass of wine and then takes a sip.

"Well, to start with, I have to get married."

It’s Ophelia’s turn to spit out her drink. A horrified look crosses her face as she hastily cleans off her phone.

"Good, now we’re even."

"That was not at all what I was expecting. And this comes from a woman who discovered an exposed member at her dinner table tonight. I didn’t even spit my wine out then. But go on." She waves her hand, urging me to continue.

"I guess that’s not the proper start, anyway. The proper start is that I’m being benched on the Baltimore Terrors. They’re looking to terminate my contract. And if I don’t play, and then get cut eventually, it doesn’t bode well for another team picking me up."

She nods. "Following that, but not the married thing."

"Hold on a minute. I’m getting to that. Because I’m an international player, I’m not eligible for trade until after the season starts in March. My former coach is up in Boston, and the Buzzards organization wants me. They’ll trade for me. But they need me before the season starts."

"Why can’t you be traded before then?"

"The USSL wants to cultivate American talent to make them more competitive on the world stage. Therefore, they’re limiting the number of foreign players on any one team and limiting the trade possibilities to make American players more desirable."

"Okay, I guess. I mean, it seems discriminatory but whatever."

"The Global Games are the biggest football tourney in the world. The US Men’s National Team hasn’t even qualified for the past two sets. It’s embarrassing for the US, really. So they’ve spent the last three years really building up their internal programs."

"So it’s like the Olympics for soccer?"

"Exactly. In order to be traded to Boston now, the only way for me to do it is to become an American citizen."

"Okay. I mean, I’m sure it’s a pain and there’s a lot of paperwork, but it seems like a simple solution."

I frown.

"What’d I say that’s wrong?" she asks. "I can tell from your face I said something wrong."

"I don’t want to become American. I mean, no offense."

"None taken?" Her voice rises to a question. "Why not though?"

I shrug. "I’m a Brit. It breaks my heart that I can’t play on my own soil, but that’s a story for another day. And to have to renounce my homeland and my family, well, it’s got me gutted."

"Well, why don’t you go and play for England then? No one is forcing you to stay here."

Her words, though innocuous in intention, cut through me like a sharp knife. "That’s not an option. So, I become an American, or my career is over."

She watches me thoughtfully for a moment. Finally, she takes a long sip from her wine glass. "But if your career is done, then you can’t help your family out."

"Right." I can’t believe she goes right to this. Most people would talk about losing the fame and fortune and glory. That’s not what it’s about for me. I love the game, and I love my family. I take my own drink. If she’s going to get pissed, I might as well too. "Plus, I can’t imagine my life without football. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do from the time I was a schoolboy."

"Okay, I think I’m following, except for the marriage thing."

"I’ve only been here and had my green card for four years. In order to apply for naturalization, you have to have been here five. Unless …" I take another long sip. And then one more for good measure. "My spouse is a citizen, and then you only have to be here for three years."

The pieces click together for her. "So if you get married to an American, you can become a citizen sooner."

I nod. I’m glad we’re on FaceTime, so I can see her reaction. I haven’t talked about this with anyone in person, so it’s nice to get someone else’s take. "The only thing is, I don’t have a fiancée. I don’t even have a girlfriend. I’m not sure I even have a friend who’s a girl. No matter how you slice it, getting married seems as impossible as walking on the moon."

Ophelia lifts her glass in a toasting motion. "You and me both, brother. Now you understand my position."

I salute her with my glass and finish it off. Yes, tonight is definitely a night for getting pissed. At least with Facetiming Ophelia, I don’t have to say I’m drinking alone.

I stand up and get another beer. I see Ophelia refill her wine glass. Yes, this is good. We’ll get sloshed together.

"It should be easy for you to find someone. You’re totally hot." Ophelia says and then lets out a little giggle. Perhaps it’s not going to take her as long to get tipsy as I thought.

I smile. "I don’t know about that."

"Oh, come on. Get over yourself. You’re smoking. And I bet you have like ten percent body fat or something ridiculous like that."

"Actually, it’s seven and a half in season, but I might get as high as nine percent now." I’m not saying it to be boastful. It’s a lot of hard work that keeps me that way.

Ophelia groans. "I probably only have nine percent muscle, so I understand why guys don’t like me."

I frown at her response. Why does she say such things? She looks well proportioned to me, with the exception of her chest, which looks big for her petite frame. I’m not being a perv, but I am a man with eyes. Long brown hair and bangs that frame her dark blue eyes. Sweet nose and a wide smile. She does smile a lot. It’s a good thing. "I’m sure that’s not the issue. You’re lovely."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh come on. But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. You’re a smoke show. You are super hot. You’re a professional freakin’ athlete, so you’re probably raking in the cash."

I hold up my hand. "Actually, that’s a misconception. Only the top players make that kind of money and most of an athlete’s income comes from endorsements."

"Are you a top player?" She raises her eyebrows.

"I’m toward the top, but I haven’t had an endorsement since before … in years. My agent is supposed to be working on that, but then this bloody mess came up, and getting me on a team where I actually play is the priority."

Lucky for me, Ophelia doesn’t notice my gaff, so she doesn’t question me on it.

"Plus, I’m a professional athlete. That means, essentially, I’m owned by my team and my league. Work comes first. Above everything, even family. I’ve missed out on so much. But at the end of the day, if you ask me to pick football or a girl, the answer will always be football. That’s not an easy pill for most women to swallow. They want the perks of being with an athlete, but really what they want is the lifestyle and the bragging rights without the sacrifice."

And there it is in a nutshell. Why I’m single. I’m sick of gold diggers and users. Alycia springs to mind. And I’m sick of having fight after fight about why football is more important than she is. It’s exhausting. And why, other than this blasted stunt, I have every intention of staying single.

"So what I need, really," I continue, "is someone who agrees to be my wife but without actually needing a husband."

"IT’S MY FAVORITE TROPE!" Ophelia jumps up, screaming. I’m fairly certain she knocks over her bottle of wine in the process.

"What? And did you just spill your wine?"

She looks down. "Nah, it’s empty." She sits down on the edge of her striped couch. It’s rather hideous, shades of blue and orange that were never meant to go together. "No, this is like my favorite trope. In romance novels. A marriage of convenience. It’s where the main protagonists have to get married, even though they’re not in a relationship. It’s so romantic." There’s a wistful edge to her voice and a dreamy look on her face.

"How is that romantic?" I don’t understand how any of this is romantic.

"Because obviously, even though they enter the marriage for business reasons or whatever, they fall in love. Duh."

"In every book?"

"Yeah." She nods. "You don’t read much romance, do you?"

"Can’t say I do."

"What do you do when you’re traveling?"

"Listen to podcasts. Usually true crime."

"Okay, well, I’m going to get you listening to romance novels. You’ll be hooked."

I have to laugh. I can only imagine being on a plane and whipping out some beat-up grocery store novel with a bare-chested pirate on the cover.

"I’m not so sure about that, but thanks just the same. Plus, if I don’t figure out a way to get myself traded to Boston, there won’t be any more trips for me anyhow."

"Boston?"

"Yes, all of this is so I can be traded to the Boston Buzzards."

Ophelia jumps up again. "I live in Boston."

I laugh at her enthusiasm. "I know. I asked you to meet up with me last week when I was there, remember?"

"No, let me finish." She’s literally bouncing up and down. "I live in Boston. You’re trying to get traded here, but you need a wife to do so. Make me your wife! Marry me!"