Oblivion {James Rodriguez} {Book ONE}

bend it like beckham

Picture: Raphäel Varane, Real Madrid defender. So beautiful...

James' POV

"What do you mean the membership has expired?" I exclaimed at the desk lady. "I joined two weeks ago!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but your ID number is not registered in the system." Her tone was flat and monotone, and it felt like I was talking to a programmed robot instead of a secretary who was supposed to appeal my inquiries.

What was taking Raphäel so long? I sent him inside to clear the punching bag that we always use, and he's taking ages. Normally the punching bag isn't occupied, but I guess it was now.

"Can I just go and call my friend from inside?" I asked her.

"Quickly, though." Her eyes were still glued to the computer.

I rushed in, immediately spotting the tall 6'3 Raphäel. He seemed to be talking to someone, but I couldn't make out who it was because he was towering over them.

"Rafa, dude, what's taking you so long?" I called at him.

He turned around. "Someone was already using the punching bag." He said and moved out of the way so I can get a proper look at the person who's been stalling him.

"You can't book the punching bag, you know. So you can take your fellow footballer friend over here and use the treadmills or something." She said angrily as she crossed her arms. Raphäel looked at me with a "what now?" expression.

"When are you going to be done with it, then?" I asked her calmly.

"When I'm done," she shrugged and went back to throwing punch after punch of powerful blows. I made a mental note not to ever get in a psychical fight with her.

"So now what?" Raphäel turned to me.

"Now we just use something else," I replied like it was no big deal.

"Dude, are you serious?" Raphäel said to me. "Are you really going to stand like this and let her boss you around?"

"Are you stupid or something? She used it first, now let her be done with it. It doesn't matter."

Raphäel sighed and clenched his jaw. "I'm going to find a treadmill."

"I have to go, my card was declined." I told him.

"Seriously?"

"I know. I'll see you later." I said, but my eyes trailed over to where Mia was still abusing the punching bag. She looked so determined and concentrated that I figured a goodbye wouldn't be necessary.

"Alright then. I'll see you soon." Raphäel said. We did our handshake and I made my way out of the gym and into the parking lot.

The weather was strikingly warm today, about 34 degrees Celsius or so; and I suddenly found myself missing the humble weather of Madrid. Thankfully, I had only four more days left here in L.A before heading back home for La Liga.

"And did you see that other guy with him?" A loud female voice spoke up as she came out of the gym.

"Yes! He was so tall and absolutely gorgeous!" Another female voice replied. I recognized who the voice belonged to, though. It was Lola! The one that hosted the dinner last night.

"I know. I died for, like, three minutes. Mia, you're so lucky he talked to you!" The other unfamiliar voice spoke up. It may or may not have been that Melissa person, but I wouldn't have known since I made sure that my back was facing away from them the entire time. The last thing I wanted now was for them to recognize me.

"You guys, it wasn't that big of a deal." That voice definitely belonged to Mia. "Besides, it wasn't like it was a friendly encounter or anything."

"How?" Lola asked. From the corner of my eye, I could see that they were heading fast towards what I assumed to be Melissa's car.

"Well-" I decided to stop eavesdropping at this point, because I honestly did not want to stick around and listen to Mia's harsh opinions about me.

I waited until they were well out the road, before hopping into my own car and swerving out of the gym parking lot.

As I was driving back, I received a text from Raphäel. Luckily, I was just pulling up to the Hilton hotel.

I grabbed my phone and locked up my car before heading to the grand entrance of the hotel. I swear, this hotel always managed to blow me away every single time I walked through its doors. It was as if I couldn't still comprehend it's luxury.

I did the normal check-in procedures and headed up to my room.

I checked Raphäel's message as soon as I showered and changed.

"Want to hang out tonight?" His text read.

I replied to him with the most polite refusal I could manage. As I mentioned before, I wasn't really keen on going out on a rave in a foreign city. And besides, the Spanish media was very extreme, so if any kind of PR disaster happened while I was out, Ancelotti will bench me forever and then sack me afterwards.

Raphäel didn't reply to my refusal, so I just assumed he already arrived back in his hotel room to get changed and go clubbing immediately. What could I say? He's French. Don't they love their nightlife?

After a while of pointlessly lounging around the room and playing FIFA here and there, I decided to get out and actually do something. Except clubbing, that was a definite no.

It was only 4 PM, and I had an entire afternoon plus a night to spare.

I finally decided to visit the stadium to do a few extra training before the match in a few days. I knew that most of the players would probably be out having fun or staying in with their families, so there wasn't really someone I could call to train with me.

I could drag Varane along, which I thought was a pretty good idea until I remembered there was a very high chance he could be drunk out of his mind.

Iker would probably be at home spending time with his wife and son, as he loved them more than anything in this world and dedicated every day off possible to be with them.

"Who to call?" I sighed to myself.

After a while of sulking and contemplating the scarce possible options, I decide to just go train alone. Besides, I had the patience to withstand only myself that night.

I changed into my usual training attire and left the hotel for my car. The sun was setting as the sky filled with brilliant shades of orange and fading yellow. The previous dry, warm breeze was replaced by an ocean-cooled one. Perfect time for training.

I parked into the empty parking lot, locked my car and headed straight for the shortcut entrance to the changing rooms. I deposited my items except my phone and water bottle in the locker, and made my way towards the entrance leading to the massive stadium.

The view was incredible. Such massive, empty space... All that I could use. The possibilities were endless, and I found myself getting fueled by pumping adrenalin and immense energy.

There were some spare balls to the corner next to the benches, and I wasted no time in jogging to the pile and taking the nearest one using my foot.

I adjusted the ball in a comfortable position below my foot and gave myself a few seconds to contemplate my shot.

After I've figured the dynamics of the shot, I pulled my leg back a far as I can, and swung it forward with my whole might. Much to my satisfaction, the ball did exactly what I wanted it to do: it flew to the side of the goal, almost hitting the post, then suddenly curved and hit the middle instead.

I smiled to myself contentedly. I jogged to the goal net and was just about to retrieve the ball, when I heard slow, constant clapping behind me.

I turned around...