𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 － pablo gavi

𝟐𝟓 - 𝑺𝑳𝒀 𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑶𝑭 𝑨 𝑩𝑰𝑻𝑪𝑯

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𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝟐𝟓
—sly son of a bitch

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'Don't tell anyone about this, please.'

She had woken up to this message the next morning.

At least he had been polite enough to add a 'please' before sending it.

It was no surprise.
She was aware that it was safer if no one knew about it.

Really no one — not even Ainoa.
She would probably strangle her with her own hands if the whole thing ever came to light and she didn't already know.

But it was for her own and for Pablo's good, so she appeased him by writing a note promising not to say anything.

She didn't feel well about it — though in general she didn't feel well. This whole situation was abstract and so unpredictable that it felt as if the last few hours had been just a dream.

Not a nightmare as she felt it, but this could all turn into one very quickly.

Why her, exactly?

Well, Pablo has certainly turned the heads of many, even if not on purpose, but in her seemed to have interest — even if he showed this in a funny way.

There had been three boys in her life so far and three times she had been bitterly disappointed.

She had opened her heart and it was broken anew each time.

She didn't fall in love quickly, but when she did it was right, and that was her mistake, because that's how you can make yourself strongly dependent on a person, so strongly that you are completely obsessed.

So it was clear that Cayetana was not quite in the mood when she sat with the others in the afternoon in a typical Spanish café, like the ones you know from movies.

The three of them had all their study material spread out on the table and were absorbed in their work — in complete contrast to Caye.

The girl had brought her laptop with her to at least not seem lost, but what exactly she was going to do with it was not entirely clear to her herself.

She stirred her vanilla latte macchiato in deep thought and stared at her screen.

Last night kept running through her mind.

The desire to be near him made it almost impossible to think about anything else.
It was pure horror.

Unconsciously, she gnawed on her lower lip, continuing to stare at the blank page of her document. Instead of studying, she had wanted to use the time to write down her thoughts.

A kind of diary, like she had often kept in the past. She loved writing, had often described it as one of her passions, but the older she had become, the less she had concentrated on writing.

There came a point when she didn't even read anymore, because she simply had more important things to do.

Now she was here in Barcelona. She was no longer playing soccer and had more than enough time left over.