How hard can it be to fall in love with a football player when you're afraid of footballs...?
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Helping out her best friend by playing the lead in that music video project for university had seemed like an easy enough feat for art student Lorelai...
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She was getting drunk.
Neymar could see it from where he was standing with Stella at one of the bar tables in the hall. There, right in front of him, a few beach chairs down from where he was, Lorelai sat, appearing to have the time of her life with a group of people. Laughing, joking, drinking, even flirting. Not only once had she gotten to the dance area to shake her petite body to the beat with that tall and really muscular guy, whose shirt was going to rip open any moment, Neymar was sure of it.
He tried to have fun. Really, he did. And it had worked for some time — Stella wasn't so bad, once you got to know her a little.
Since that run-in with Lorelai in front of the toilets, his mood had turned from dark to hell and all he'd really wanted was to get his jacket and go home. But before that whole disaster, one of the party planners, a girl with black short hair and a bright yellow bathing suit under what he could only describe as a huge beach see-through towel or something wrapped around her body — Carla was her name, he thought —, had approached him. Her question: was he willing to appear on stage with the band that would perform the song of the music video later that night? His mood had demanded of him to say no and just go home. But his image... well. So he'd agreed to it. Now, he couldn't just leave like he wanted to and break his word.
The burden of being famous.
At the very least, it really did sound like something he was going to like; he'd done stuff like this before several times back in Brazil. So he made himself work on enjoying the rest of this evening as well. He happily obliged to selfies and kindly rejected girls asking him to dance (he was here with someone, after all, even though it wasn't the person he actually wanted to be with). This ultimately led to he and Stella dancing here and there, because people left him in peace then. He even talked to some guys about recent matches and whatnot.
To sum it up, he was doing everything in his might to have a good time.
That had worked for about an hour or so. Then he'd seen Lorelai at the bar getting a bunch of shots, two of which she'd drowned right as soon as the barkeeper had put them in front of her.
Who was looking after her? Who would let her drink so irresponsibly? He hadn't seen her best friend Jane around either. She must be here somewhere, right? His search for the tall redhead turned out to be fruitless for now, however. That left him with one option — he needed to watch out for her himself.
Easier said than done, however, what with their last conversation having sounded rather... well... final. But despite everything that had happened, he couldn't help it; he had to have an eye on her. Discreetly, of course.
Naturally, Stella had needed about five minutes to realise her date wasn't paying any attention to her anymore. How did girls do that anyways? Find out the guy wasn't really being there with them? Neymar thought he'd had the »I'm listening to you and nicely nod along to everything you say« thing down to a nudge. It was as if Stella had a sixth sense for that. Or maybe that was a girl thing in general.
