Page 6 of Bound and Blitzed

Avery grips the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “Look, Valentina, I’m sorry.” He rolls his lips together, uncertain. “I…I’ve had stalkers in the past and…” He slides onto the barstool. Looks me directly in the eyes. I draw in a breath, taken aback by the apology that swims in the depths of his dark irises. Charcoal gray. “I shouldn’t have come at you like that.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, polishing off my wine.

“At least let me buy you a drink,” Avery says, flagging down the bartender. He gestures for a refill and tacks on an order of shots.

My head swims and while I’m mostly certain it’s from the alcohol, part of me wonders if it’s from his proximity. I’d have to be dead—something Carla has accused me of several times—not to notice how attractive Avery is.

Tall, muscular, and imposing. His light brown hair is neatly trimmed but is still long enough for him to run a hand through. His eyes are piercing and intense. The kind of eyes that pin you in place and see below the surface.

His body hums with a restless energy, coursing just below his skin. It’s one I’ve recognized in Ale. And, at times, Papá.

It emanates from him—both drawing me closer and keeping me at arm’s length.

It calls to me as much as it warns me away.

But it’s more than that. With Avery, there’s an edge that my brother and father don’t possess.

The scent of his cologne washes over me—spicy and expensive. He’s dressed in navy dress pants and a white button-down shirt. The sleeves are rolled up on his forearms and I glance from his elbows to his fingertips, realizing that those arms are responsible for more than one Super Bowl win.

Now that my frustration has ebbed, I’m overwhelmed by his presence. Not because he’s an athlete—God knows I’ve been around them—but because he’s a man who is looking at me like he sees me.

Wants to know me.

It’s confusing and heady and…I fan myself, feeling flushed and uncentered.

“You okay?” Avery asks. The concern in his tone tugs something loose in the center of my chest.

“I don’t usually drink this much.”

“Sorry.” He winces, gesturing to the bartender again. “Don’t drink the wine; I’ll get you a water.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s fine. I’m…wallowing tonight.”

Concern tugs his eyebrows into a V over the top of his nose. “Bad breakup?”

A breakup?I laugh. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then, what is it?”

I look at him and shake my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He smiles. “Because I’m a football player who thinks the world revolves around me?”

I grin back, relieved he’s not holding my words against me. “Because you’re an American passport holder,” I clarify.

He snorts. “You keep surprising me, Valentina. I feel like I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”

I chuckle. “No one has ever said that about me. I’m the predictable Garcia.”

Avery shrugs. Grins. “That’s not my impression.” He uncaps the bottle of water the bartender sets down and passes it to me.

I take a small sip before placing it down and wrapping my fingers around the stem of the wine glass. “I’m not having a great night,” I admit.

“I gathered that.” He glances around the bar. “To be honest, I’m not either.”

I clink my glass against his pint and take a sip. The dry white rolls down the back of my throat, further numbing my feelings of anger and replacing them with…a different kind of heat. One I rarely allow myself to indulge.

I scrunch up my nose. “Bad date?”

---