Eighteen

-Neymar-

I ran my fingers through my hair as I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. Donned in my best pair of (non-creased) slacks and the only formal button-up I have, I looked, to be honest, ridiculous.

Ever since Bruna packed her bags and moved out, I stopped (well, she stopped, but that’s kind of beside the point) ironing my clothes so more than half my wardrobe is filled with creased shirts. I started sending all the clothes to the wash dobby nearby, which meant more expenses.

Sadly, I am quite a sexist man—I cannot the laundry. It would make me look feminine. And a will ruin my manly reputation of being that sexy, non-laundry-doing Brazilian footballer who smirks like a God.

Hey, just saying.

Also, the tie that hung loosely around my neck looked stupid. I had no idea whatsoever how to do a tie. I mean, come on, and cut me some slack. I’m a footballer; I rarely dress up. I had tried fiddling and fumbling with the red tie, but no matter what, I looked like an immature guy with no social life that cannot do his tie without the help of mommy/Bruna.

I groaned aloud and decided to take off the ridiculous tie but shoved it into my pocket before I shrugged on the jacket that was fresh from the wash. Checking myself once more in the mirror, I decided I looked appropriate to go for dinner in one of the finest diners in Barcelona; but barely bordering the line that separated decent and bad.

I went out and hauled a cab, and remembered that once upon a time, I would rent out a limousine, all for my dear Bruna.

Maybe one day I will do that again. One day when I get her back.

Or will I do it with another girl, with another love?

I looked out the window and thought about all that I had done. Well, perhaps not, but maybe in a different life.

But I can’t tell yet. I’m not God. But I do wish I am, because then, I make it up for Gabriela and maybe, just maybe, turn back time.

But wishes rarely come true.

After paying the driver (with a signature for his football-loving son and two daughters—and, of course, playing the role of the influential dad, himself), I stared at the six-starred restaurant and then eyed the menu scribbled out professionally on the blackboard by the glass door.

Scanning my eyes over them, I looked for anything interesting: steak, raw salmon, crab…

Crab!

Excitedly, I rushed into the door, smiling slightly at the maître d’, who obviously recognized me and nodded his head at me, opening up the door for me.

“Thanks,” I barely muttered before rushing off to the semi-full table, looking for any crab.

“They haven’t served yet, Neymar, stop drooling, you look like you just seen a pretty lady walk by!” Pique hollered out, making the table reserved by the players in the game burst out in laughter. Even the ever-so polite and kind Mrs Pique found it hard to suppress her laughter.

I blush before trudging towards the seat with my name on it. Toni sat in front of me and she offered me a kind smile. Apparently, Messi was so angry that he’d forgotten to mention to her about my ‘incident’ with Gabriela.

“Nice to see you, Neymar,” She said charmingly, “You played well today. Good hat-trick.”

“Thanks,” I said, offering a polite smile before I looked to the empty seat beside mine. Frowning at why there wasn’t a name tag placed on the table, I then realized that the person must’ve already come. I hoped that it would be someone nice to spend the night with. Hopefully not Stegen; the stubborn boy hasn’t bothered talking to me since the ‘who doing who’ incident.

Then, out of the sudden, as I was trying to peek over to the seat next to the empty one to see who would be sitting there, a fresh waft of familiar perfume entered my nostrils and I looked back, only to gape in surprise.

“Excuse me,” Gabriela, in all her glory, muttered uncomfortably.

-Gabriela-

It would unfortunately, be a lie if I said my prayers to God worked.

Apparently, my prayer (‘please, please, please, God, please make him have a last-minute stomach-ache and diarrhoea so that he can’t come’) isn’t good enough.

Damn. I should’ve been more religious.

“Excuse me,” I muttered as I avoided eye-contact with Neymar. Why did he have to look so good? The top two buttons of his shirt were unclasped, making him look even sexier, and I didn’t even know that was possible. His hair was messy and untangled and always.

“Y-you,” he said, gaping as he leaned back to his chair, “You look,” he seemed to be trying to find a word to use. I sat down on my chair, trying to look as ladylike as possible. “You-uh…”

“Gee, Neymar,” I said as I looked away from his beautiful and irresistible light brown eyes—and that, ladies out there, deserves an award, because it is nearly impossible to do that. “If I’d looked that bad, you don’t really have to say it. Like they say, if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say it.”

“No,” he defended. “I didn’t mean it like that! You look beautiful.” He blurted out, and I took my whole will to stop myself from blushing. No, Gabriela, stay strong; you can’t let him hurt him, for the third time.

I seem to lack a lot of self-discipline, don’t I? But I did manage to go through a one-month alcohol fasting last time.

Maybe it was just because… because of those eyes… those lips… those smirks… that hair….

Him.

I looked down at my suddenly interesting, freshly-manicured nails, trying to avoid the prying eyes of Neymar as much as possible. He sighed, realizing that I wouldn’t be looking up soon.

“My son is still with Bruna, you know,” he chuckled. “I think she’s holding her captive.”

There we go again. Not that I don’t like Bruna (she is my best friend, so to speak, seeing that I only have one girl friend), but Stegen was right. Neymar cannot have one single conversation without mentioning her, could he?

“Really?” I asked, hoping that he wouldn’t see the uninterested look on my face as I let my fishtailed hair be the divider between me and Neymar.

“Yeah,” Neymar chuckled lightly. Great; he didn’t. “Which is fine by me, to be honest; they used to have their bonding times at the fun fair. I remember one time-”

I stopped myself from screaming out ‘I don’t care!’, and just continued to nod to whatever he was saying. What he was saying?

Oh I don’t know. It might have involved a wide range of topics. Maybe it was about football, or it was yet again Bruna. Oh, but leave me out of the range of topics.

I guess I’ll never be in there. The range of topics, I mean.

And let’s not forget Neymar’s mind.

I had gone out to take a breather. The crab was absolutely wonderfully, but I couldn’t stand sitting beside Neymar, who was shamelessly flirting with a petite brunette who was part of the FC.

“He doesn’t know you love him?”

I looked behind. Pique was making his way to me.

“What?”

“He must be blinder than the three blind mice.” Pique said as he took a step beside me. “He’s a douchebag. But he’s known to be an idiot at showing his emotions; he’s got a different way of showing affection.”

“Yeah?” I asked as I looked up at the starry night. “Like how? By flirting with another girl in front of me?”

“Yes, yes, maybe,” Pique said.

I gave him a small smile. “I doubt it,” I flashed him a small smile.

“I hope that he’ll stop being so blind one day, then. It shows. Your love, I mean.” Pique said.

“Funny,” I said. “Love is blind.”

Pique rolled his eyes. “Please. It’s intangible, abstract, and odourless too. It’s nothing but blind. How do you think I would’ve known?”

I thought about it. Maybe he was right.

-Neymar-

I took another gulp of the beer and then grinned as me and Sánchez sang aloud. “Glory, glory Man United! Glory, glory Man United!” We giggled loudly like crazy high-school drunks.

We laughed before I fell off the stage, landing on my butt.

I’m drunk, as you can see.

“I want to pee!” Sánchez hopped onto his feet suddenly before dashing off to the men’s toilet. I laughed at him.

“Hey,” Tally, the brunette that I was talking to just now, said as she came up to me, offering me her delicate hand. I took it. It was smooth, but I felt like Gabriela’s ones, calloused from playing football, was better than hers.

“God,” Tally said, “How much had you drunk?”

“Three bottles… Oops. Maybe f-four?” I giggled. Tally just laughed. I frowned. If it was Gabriela, I bet she would’ve been worried.

Stop comparing every single person with her. What happened to loving Bruna forever?

But, right then, I didn’t even know if I really loved Bruna.

Hope you guys like that? My update is a bit late… so…. Sorry! Please leave me a nice little comment for me to read as well as a nice little star (also known as a vote, but I like it starred). Tell me what you think about Neymar?!