Sure Thing • Gavi

Chapter 4: Getting To Know Each Other

🎶 Slow Hands — Niall Horan 🎶

"Someone seems to like you" Ricardo, one of the cameramen, said to me after Gavi had left with my card.
"He's just trying to not make himself unpopular with the media" I said and shrugged.
"No, no, he likes you. Didn't you notice him grinning at you all the time?" Ricardo insisted.
"He was happy that they just won a major tournament, don't read too much into it" I replied.
"Man, you girls can be so dumb sometimes" he said shaking his head and continuing to pack away his equipment.

"Sooo... what's this party? Brief me quickly, us politics reporters are not exactly popular with politicians so we don't get invited to their parties usually" I asked.
"The winning team usually hosts a party back at their hotel, press and media is invited unofficially and we also stay silent about what happens there. Many players later flock out to local clubs and continue their night there, but they rarely invite us to come along too" Ricardo explained.
"So you say that if the scandal of the year happens there I'm not allowed to report on it?" I asked.
"Well, you could, there's no contract or so stopping you, but it's like a gentleman's agreement and all of Spain's press would be pretty pissed at you when they never get invited again." Ricardo chuckled and I nodded.

We drove back to our hotel and I looked back at the evening. Even though I wasn't a camera person, I had fun and I had been lucky that the TVE guys had been so friendly to me. Many other broadcasting channels had way unfriendlier employees, especially when it came to how they treated women.

And fuck, I had given a player my number. Well, it wasn't my actual phone number, but, still. I carried my work phone around with me pretty much everywhere and one could usually reach me there. I could understand now why everyone was so infatuated with Gavi. He wasn't just handsome, he was fucking hot and fit. It did feel a bit strange to think about an 18-year-old guy like that, but then, he didn't really behave like an 18-year-old. I had given him really tough questions and he handled them really professionally. Football players usually didn't have a clue about politics (except maybe the German ones, and look where it got them), so I didn't expect clever answers from him - but hell, did he deliver. I was now picturing little boys all around Spain, wearing their red Spain jerseys and dreaming to be like Gavi one day.

When we got back at the hotel, I immediately rummaged through my suitcase to find something to wear. As a journalist, you never know where you may get invited to and so I always had different outfits packed for all possible dresscodes. I found a silver sequinned skirt that I could wear with the black top I was already wearing. Then I went to the bathroom and applied a bit heavier make-up and after a glance at my watch I saw, that I didn't have any more time to do something special with my hair so I just combed it quickly, took my small black clutch in which I had thrown my phones and my wallet and hurried downstairs, where the TVE guys were already waiting for me.

We took an Uber to the Hilton hotel together and we were let through after showing our press badges. The scenes inside the hotel were unreal. Everything had been adorned with red decorations and a huge Spanish flag was hanging in the lobby. The receptionists indicated us that the party was on the first floor and when we got there, the drinks were already flowing but it was mostly only staff, family and friends and journalists - the players hadn't arrived yet. The TVE guys were immediately greeted by their colleagues and hit the bar while I just stood awkwardly in the room. A waiter passed and I quickly took a glass of champagne from his tray and downed it in the blink of an eye.

Fuck, what was I even doing here. Just because a football player told me he would have a drink with me later I was now standing here in a room full of people I didn't know - and I even fell for it. He had probably already forgotten about me and DMed some local chick for some fun night out.
"Hey, you alright? You look a bit lost?" a girl who had just walked up to me asked.
"Um - yeah, it's my first time at a party like this and I don't really know what I'm doing here" I chuckled nervously.
"Yeah, I can see. Whose girlfriend are you?" she asked.
"Oh, no, no, no, I'm a journalist. Well, not a sports one but... it's a long story" I said and laughed.
"Oh sorry, you just look so pretty and... um, natural that I assumed you were here as a girlfriend." she replied.

"Aurora!" someone shouted and she turned around to wave at the person.
"Sorry, I have to go. Hit the bar and find the kit guys, they're usually fun to hang out with!" she said before being dragged away by some other girls.
She seemed to know how things were going, so I followed her advice and went to the bar where I asked for a mojito and tried to eavesdrop the conversations around me, if one of the groups were the kit guys she was talking about. Hell, I didn't even know what kit guys were.

Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder and there he was, freshly showered, in an oversized t-shirt with jeans and dunks on his feet: Pablo Gavira.
"Hey, so... what do you want to drink?" he asked me and gave the barkeeper a signal.
"Um... Another Mojito for me please" I said.
"Make that two" he told the guy and turned back to me.
"Sorry again for making you wait before" he said.
"Don't worry. I don't know what it feels like to win a football tournament but I guess facing an annoying journalist isn't the number one thing on your mind" I chuckled.
"What kinds of tournament did you win?" he asked.
"Tennis. I was, well I'd say I still am, pretty good" I replied. Why was this getting so personal?
"Cool. So, I know that you're working at Vanguardia from your card - do you live in Barcelona?" he asked and grinned.
"Yes - as do you" I replied, knowing that I couldn't ask him where he lived as that would have been really, really dumb.
"As do I. Have you always lived there?" he asked.
"I just moved away for uni but then I came back" I replied and smiled.
"Oh, right, where did you study?" he asked curiously.
"Madrid and then I did my master's in London" I answered and he made a gagging face when I mentioned Madrid.
"Please tell me you haven't become a Madridista" he said, sounding almost as if he was begging.
"No! My dad and brother are die-hard Barca fans. Though I fancied Chelsea quite a bit when I was living in London, they did have handsome players" I chuckled and his face became a bit more serious.
"Yeah, who's your type?" he asked.
"Azpi? Kepa? But Kepa mostly only because I felt sorry for his girlfriend breaking up with him at the time." I chuckled.
"So you like Spanish guys" he grinned.
"Yeah, definitely not the British, they're too stuck-up-" I started but he interrupted me.
"Wait - Azpi?!?! He's like 80!!!" he said agitatedly.
"I highly doubt that. He didn't look like eighty when he was running on the pitch at Stamford Bridge" I replied.
"Ok, but he's like... old and married!!" he said. He was so agitated, he took like five or six long sips on his drink.
"Yeah, that's my type: calm, loyal, a leader, no scandals. You asked me who my type was, not who I fancied" I said and grinned.
"Ah, you got me there, beat me with my own weapons. For a moment I thought you have daddy issues" Pablo laughed and I joined in. We stayed at that bar for ages and had one drink after the other while getting to know each other better.

At some point though, a few of his teammates came up to him chanting and shouting and started dragging him away. He tried to stay as he looked like he wanted to tell me something, but it was too loud for me to hear and he disappeared quite quickly. I chuckled. After a glance at my watch I saw that it was three in the morning, definitely way past my bedtime and I decided to call an Uber to get back as I didn't see the TVE guys I had come with around anymore.