Page 31 of My Spanish Love Affair

“Touché,” he smiles before he leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to tell me a secret. “Fine. I’m just a guy who likes rugby, good food, and spending time with his family.”

“That’s it? No dark secrets or wild stories?” I tease, narrowing my eyes playfully.

“Not tonight,” he says with a wink, his grin infectious. “I have to maintain an air of intrigue, no?”

“Convenient,” I reply, laughing. “Keeps you off the hook.”

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Maybe you’re just fishing for scandal. Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” I say, feigning innocence. “I’m just... curious.”

“You are a curious little thing, aren’t you?” he smirks. My heart skips a beat at that. “Curiosity’s not a bad thing, though,” he continues, his tone softening. “It’s what brought you to Spain, right?”

I pause, his words striking a chord. “I suppose it is.”

A beat passes before Santi tilts his head, a mischievous spark lighting his eyes. “Speaking of curiosity... did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Do your research. Now that you know my name.”

His smirk is teasing, but there’s a challenge there, too. I feel heat rise to my cheeks as I set my glass down carefully.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” he repeats, leaning in again, his voice full of mock accusation. “That sounds suspiciously like a yes.”

“Okay, fine,” I admit, laughing softly. “I may have looked you up.”

He raises a dark brow at that. “And?”

“And… I didn’t expect it, of course,” I admit. “Lots of articles about games and awards. Some overly enthusiastic fan pages, too. But nothing too juicy.”

He laughs - a genuine, light sound - and his eyes crinkle at the corners. I can’t help but think of how handsome he is.

“Overly enthusiastic, huh?” he says. The comments seems to have tickled him, and I smile, too. “You should see the comments on my instagram.”

“Oh, I have,” I say, laughing as he shakes his head from side to side. “Apparently, you’re quite the heartthrob. There were literal debates over your best feature.”

“And what are your thoughts on that?” he asks.

The question catches me off guard, but I don’t want to seem phased. “Personally, I think the eyes win.”

It’s hardly a lie - those green eyes of his are just gorgeous.

“Good choice,” he says smoothly, his easy grin widening.

“But seriously,” I say, shifting the tone slightly, “it must be… weird. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but you just don’t seem like the type of guy who wants all that attention.”

He shrugs, his smile fading slightly but not completely. “It comes with the territory,” he says simply. “I try not to let it get to me. Family keeps me grounded, and the rest… well. Tómalo con pinzas.”

“Tómalo con… Huh?” I repeat, my brows furrowing.

“Take it with a grain of salt,” he smiles softly.

“Ah. I see,” I nod. “That makes sense. Still, it must be kind of exhausting.”

“Sometimes,” he admits. “But I love what I do. When I was little, all of my friends were more interested in football, but rugby was my life. My uncle would take me to the matches, and I would see the players - these big, strong men - and I wanted it for myself. I dreamed I’d be here one day, and the game… it has given me so much. I wouldn’t trade it for anything - social media comments and all.”

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