LOVE'S GAME (BWWM)

2||NICO

15 years later

I had recently finished showering and had draped a towel around my waist when the doorbell to my penthouse rang. I made my way downstairs, opening the door with my left hand. To my surprise, it was my coach who had come barging in.

"Hey, coach," I greeted him as he followed me upstairs to my room.

"What's your fascination with skinny white models, Nico?" My coach's words hit my ears as he tossed a tabloid magazine onto my bed.

"Relax, Coach. I just like their pussy that's all," I responded casually, giving a shrug.I couldn't deny that I enjoyed those light skinned pink vaginas.

Light skinned but pretty loosed.

"The paparazzi's are going wild with the photos that were taken of you at the club last night. You should be more careful Nico, you should be thinking of settling down not being a playboy" he remarked, his hand brushing against his stubble. "You need a good woman mi hijo, and not some reckless gold digger who's only after your wealth" he added.

Ever since Coach Manuel picked me up from the streets at fifteen and saw me through the junior league, his protectiveness had been evident. This care persisted as he took me under his wing when I transitioned to the senior league.

He was like the father I never had.

At twenty-eight years old, I remained skeptical about love, seeing it as burdened with excessive complications. My upbringing involved my mother's care until her passing in a robbery attack by those damned Negros when I was merely thirteen.

I spent two years on the streets after being evicted from the cottage my mother and I shared in our village of Cuenca, while she was still alive. My means of survival was limited to shining shoes until Coach Manuel discovered me playing football with some kids.

I hated them, those black skinned people, all of them. I hated them so dang much for taking away my mother. I hated them for making me suffer.

My father was an enigma to me; my mother often mentioned he was a high school sweetheart who she loved but he denied the pregnancy after she got pregnant.

Love indeed, such a silly thing

Since then, my focus had been solely on my football career. The fame and attention that came with it only seemed to amplify my reservations about relationships. I had seen many of my teammates fall victim to gold diggers and manipulative women who were only interested in their wealth and status. But I also had some of them who had great families.

But that wouldn't still change my perspective on love. I hated love. Dang. I hated the word and everything that revolved around it. All I wanted was a good time with a "guera" . Even though the ones I had met had pretty loosed pussies.

I didn't think there was ever an innocent girl In the world. I believed all of them could be bought by money or something else.

"I don't need to settle down with a woman, I'm perfectly content with my single life," I said with a dismissive shrug. "After all, there's a unique kind of pleasure in having a woman at your beck and call without the burden of commitment," I added, smirking.

He shook his head at my last statement, a clear sign that he had temporarily abandoned his attempts to convince me to settle down.

"So, are you ready? for the big game in two days?" He asked.

"Yeah, I guess," I replied while pulling my shirt over my head.

There was going to be a football match between our team and a team from the English league in two days, and I was excited about it. I was already looking forward to the English girls who were going to grace my sheets after the match.

"Training is tonight. You may be the best player, Nico, but that doesn't exempt you from the training ground. No excuses, and definitely no parties," he warned, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay, I'll be there," I responded, raising my hands in mock surrender.

"I have a lunch date with the organizers so I'll catch you and the boys later," he added before exiting my room.

I put on my boxers and then my sweatpants. I headed over to my bed and picked up the tabloid magazine that coach had dropped earlier, flipping through its pages. A photo of me and a supermodel named Thalia was prominently displayed. We were on my luxurious yacht, lost in a passionate kiss.

'Damn paparazzi, they don't know what's called privacy.'

I tossed the magazine aside as I walked downstairs into my living room. I opened a bottle of my finest wine and poured myself a glass. I desperately needed a release from all the pent-up stress. The sound of my cellphone ringing interrupted my thoughts.

"Hello, Lorenzo, what is it?" I asked my personal assistant on the phone.

"Ah...uhh, good day, sir, I—"

"Get to the point, Lorenzo, I don't have all day," I interrupted him sharply.

"I'm sorry, sir. The UCFA office sent a volunteer chef over. She'll be starting work at your penthouse shortly," he finally said.

"Okay, go ahead," I responded tersely before hanging up.

I slumped into a chair, intending to rest my head when after some minutes, the door to my penthouse opened. I deliberately ignored the person entering, knowing it was Lorenzo.

"Sir, she's here," I heard him say.

I glanced at Lorenzo before turning to look at my new chef.

My eyes clashed with a sight that commanded my attention in a way nothing had before. Before me stood a woman who looked to be in her early 20s.
Her eyes hovered around my face and even though she wore glasses which I perceived to be medicated, I could see that her eyes were dark and deep, they sparkled with a zest that was infectious.

My eyes drifted to her high cheekbones and her dark lips. And then I made the greatest mistake when I allowed my gaze to travel downwards. I had never seen curves like this in my twenty eight years of living. Her form was like a sculpture, each curve a stroke of a master artist's brush.

She was breathtakingly beautiful.

And then my senses kicked in, she was a freaking Negra.

"What the hell?" I blurted out immediately, my voice coming out much louder than intended. My soon-to-be-chef cleared her throat and averted her gaze.

"Lorenzo, meet me upstairs," I instructed harshly as I made my way out.