Player's Ultimatum

The author acknowledges the trademarks for the fol owing products and goods: Bentley: Bentley Motors Limited

Coke: The Coca-Cola Company Corporation

Cosmopolitan Magazine: Hearst Corporation

Dolce & Gabanna:Gado S.A.R.L. Corporation

Hershey's: Hershey Foods Corporation

Mercedes Benz: DaimlerChrysler AG Corporation

Range Rover: Tata Motors Limited

Valentino: Valentino Fashion Group S.p.A

Versace: Gianni Versace S.P.A. Societe per azioni

This book is dedicated to my two favorite Brazilians, Laura R. and Juliana M. and the players of A.C Pisa 1909, thank
you for being so beautiful! And to Renee Michaels and Gemini Judson you both rock!

Roma Internazionale Football Match

Rome, Italy

“Time to put up or shut up.” In an attempt to bolster her flagging confidence, Yvonne recited Robbie’s words verbatim.

Of course, talking the talk and walking the walk completely diverged into a mile-wide chasm when faced with
Roma
Internazionale’s
friends and family box.

Nicknamed the Hen House by the press, the soccer club’s reserved seating garnered just as much attention from the teams’

fans as the rabid media camped around them.

Supermodels rubbed shoulders with socialites, actresses hobnobbed with reality stars. Their combined chatter rose above the sound of crying children and pregame announcements like a cacophony of over exaggerated impersonal nonsense.

Yvonne’s shoulders slumped. The countless photo spreads and editorials she’d pored through before today’s game didn’t do any of them justice. Akin to exotic peacock feathers the Hen House represented the ful spectrum of a multi-hued kaleidoscope, yet they shared one common denominator. Al of them, unlike her, were jaw-dropping gorgeous.

Passably cute, Yvonne knew the limits of her own looks al too wel . She might have been blessed with a curvy Coke-bot le figure and thick shoulder length hair, but her cinnamon brown skin and average looks wouldn’t cal any boys to the yard. So very few tasted her milkshake. But she was fine with that. She’d been raised that quality was so much better than quantity and safer too.

A few members of the Hen House cast her speculative looks through lashes, that were most likely fake, and then with dismissive flicks of their professional y styled tresses, they promptly dismissed her.

Used to being on the outside looking in, Yvonne brushed off their unified disregard. She didn’t take a leave of absence from her graduate studies or sublease her apartment for the rest of the year for them anyway. She’d uprooted herself at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, albeit temporarily, for Robbie. And her loyalty to her best friend helped to heal the sting of their brush-off and motivated her to get into the game.

“
Signorina, posso servirle
?” Yvonne looked up and up until final y meeting the gaze of a man who reminded her of Don Corleone’s henchman Luca Brazi
.
Boxy and wide, he blocked the reserved box’s roped-off entrance.
Why even bother
?

Nobody was getting past The Human Refrigerator!

Not knowing a word of Italian, Yvonne fumbled with the access pass around her neck, holding it up for him to see. The ‘giant’

eyed the plastic ID card skeptical y.

She almost turned around, happy to set le for the cheap seats. At least they didn’t come with a gaggle of gorgeous, but mean spirited women.

“
Scusi, Signorina. Mi scusi
,” the giant replied, stepping aside.

“
No problemo
,” Yvonne murmured in Spanish, slipping past him.

As all eyes fel on her, Yvonne felt like a freshman on the first day of high school—al pimply faced and kinky hair. Stil , she lifted her chin and smiled, hoping to win them over with her dimples. The combination of her pearly whites and twin crescents embedded into her brown skin always worked back home.

Not with this crowd it seemed as she scanned the first few rows. She took note of the unoccupied seats, conveniently located in the center of each row, and sighed. If four years of high school taught her anything, these skinny heifers would eat their children before any of them would shift over for her.

“G’day! There’s a seat up here.” Yvonne glanced up at a beautiful blond sitting several rows up and two seats from the end.

Her smile stretching in gratitude and resisting the urge to thumb her nose at the hens, Yvonne took the steps two at a time. But as she drew closer, a feeling of déjà vu stole over her. The other woman seemed vaguely familiar with her slender frame, high cheek bones, wavy blonde locks and doe like chocolate brown eyes.

Yvonne gulped. Her savior was the face of Al ure cosmetics! Only last week the woman’s gamine profile had convinced her to buy the cosmetic lines’ Go-On Sheer-Stay-On Sheer lip gloss in jazzy pink.

“I’m Keitha MacDonald,” the woman volunteered, holding her hand out for a friendly handshake. “And no my father’s name isn’t Keitha, damned
Flight of the Concords
.” Deep throated, yet lyrical, the other woman’s Australian accent poured over Yvonne like sunshine, a welcome respite this deep in the month of January.

“I’m Yvonne Floyd,” she offered taking Keith’s hand in hers. “It’s nice to meet you.” Glancing down at the seats below them, Keitha winked at her. Although the hens didn’t look directly at them, their chatter had died down to monosyl ables. Only the children kept up their raucous caterwauling.

Keitha pretended to clear her throat. “I’m Freddy MacDonald’s bal and chain,” she said, her voice rising with each syl able.

“Which player are you cheering for?”

Her perfectly, arched eyebrows lifted, prompting Yvonne to play along.

“I’m Robbie Gutierrez’s fiancée.”

Satisfied she hadn’t come to the match to cheer on one of
their
men, the chatter in the box resumed.

Keitha settled back into her seat, the black handkerchief-style sweater she wore draping elegantly over her long limbs. “Now we can talk without an audience.”

She tipped her head to the side and eyed her curiously. Disconcerted, yet relying on her script Yvonne steeled herself.

“So…you’re Robbie’s fiancée?”

Yvonne nodded afraid she might say too much too soon.

“Can I tel you a secret?” Keitha leaned in, her chocolate brown eyes boring into hers. Without waiting for her approval, the other woman continued, “no offense, but we were al wondering when a Sheila would final y show up. Robbie's just too good-looking to be single. Don’t get me wrong. I’m deeply in love with my Freddy,
but
if I were single I would have gone after Robbie myself.”

Although she hated to deceive this beautiful creature, who’d welcomed her while the others had shunned her, Yvonne knew when she’d signed on for this role she would need to jump into the deep end with both feet.

“Well everyone’s curiosity should be satisfied because Robbie Gutierrez’s fiancé is here now.” Yvonne inhaled deeply and then released it with a heavy dose of guilt. “In the flesh,” she said, then plastering a smile bigger than Texas on her face.

“About time.” Keitha playful y slapped Yvonne’s hand. “Footballers at ract women like flies to buttermilk, as you wil —” Keitha lip-synched the rest of her sentence because the crowd suddenly went wild; erupting into a riot of cheers and cow bel s as two dozen soccer players wearing red and black jersey’s and black knee-length shorts trotted onto the field. As if on cue,
Roma Internazionale's
fans began to sing the team’s fight song while their footbal idols jogged around the perimeter. Even a few of the hens joined in, chanting the anthem with awe-inspiring enthusiasm.

One young woman in particular sang louder than the rest. Sporting dark tresses professional y streaked with platinum and fal ing to the middle of her back, her throw-me-a-sandwich frame supported a pair of snug jeans and thigh-high boots.

Obviously, number sixteen had wedded and bedded her because the halter top she wore had been cut from one of his soccer jerseys. His name and number were emblazoned across the front, instead of the back.

“That’s Nicky Merchant, she’s a famous pop star in the U.K. or
used
to be,” Keitha snorted, rol ing her brown eyes heavenward. “Have you ever heard of her?”

Even though Yvonne considered herself rather hip and quite familiar with pop culture, she hadn’t heard of her. At her blank look, Keitha snickered.

“No worries. No one else seems to remember her fifteen minutes of fame either. You’l see and
hear
a lot of her, she’s a press hog and she tries to sing at every gathering. Hopeful y, she won’t sing at tonight’s gala.” Keitha winked before turning her attention to the coin toss.

Yvonne had been warned footbal was an obsession in Europe, but she’d never seen this much passion and zeal. Not even at one of her cousin Ray Ray’s Pop Warner footbal games.

From the initial kick-off, the crowd grew frenzied with every faint, punt and drive. And each time a team entered the goal area, the crowd came to their feet. But in spite of all the flying sweat, grass and curse words, neither team scored a goal at the end of the first half.

That al changed when Robbie took charge of the bal midfield. Yvonne glanced over at one of two jumboTrons positioned at opposite ends of the field and sighed.

Robbie had always been a cutie pie, now he eclipsed just handsome and bordered on gorgeous.

His skin, a warm cocoa brown, glistened with sweat that intensified his exotic coloring and the tat oos running down his muscular arms. He’d cut his natural y curly hair short on the sides and the top like a fresh military recruit, drawing attention to his perfect angular features. If he hadn’t fol owed his dream to be a professional athlete, Robbie could’ve easily graced the cover of any male magazine.

Keeping the bal close, he drove down the middle of the pitch, pul ing the other teams’ players behind him like water down a drain. His lightning speed carried him past the Edmonton Druids and an open shot at the goal. Several yards out, he set himself up, took three quick steps, drew back his foot and made contact with the bal .

Along with everyone else in the stadium, Yvonne jumped to her feet. Thousands of cel phones and cameras flashed in unison.

Their thunderous clicking and the nervous shuffling of feet overshadowed any other sounds as everyone within a five mile radius seemed to hold their breath.

His eyes on the bal , the Edmonton goalie moved into place. He dove to the left, but the bal suddenly curved out of his reach, slightly grazed his fingers and then crashed into the net’s upper right side pocket.

While thunderous cheers erupted around him, Robbie opened his arms wide in triumph, a silent scream parting his lips. He spun around and ran back to the center of the field and his waiting teammates, his arms trailing behind him.

“Gutierrez. .Gutierrez. .Gutierrez,” the crowd roared as his teammates scooped him up and lifted him in the air.

“Are those church bel s ringing?” Yvonne wondered aloud.

“Of course, the Pope’s a big fan of RI. Come on. Let’s beat the crush and meet the boys in the tunnel,” Keitha yelled, tugging on her shirt sleeve.

Yvonne fol owed the other woman out of the sky box and along the upper mezzanine, to a service elevator guarded by two security guards practical y dancing with one another over the team’s one point victory.

“
Ciao, Bruno e Antonio
.”

The men stopped celebrating and came instantly to attention.

“
Bonjourno, Signora MacDonald,
” both of them chorused.

“Great match, no?” One of the guards asked, while the other pressed the elevator button.

“
Si
, it was, Bruno. Hopefully, the rest of the season wil be just as stel ar.” Keitha slid her arm through one of hers. “Speaking of victorious let me introduce you to my new friend, Yvonne Floyd. Robbie Gutierrez’s
noveo
.”

“Gutierrez!” Each of them took turns shaking her hand.
“Bienvenuti a Roma.”
As Yvonne thanked them, the elevator doors dinged open as they slid open. With broad grins, the guards stepped aside, al owing them to pass. In moments, the elevator dropped to an underground tunnel beneath the stadium. Wild whoops of victory echoed off the tunnel’s concrete wal s, drawing both of their attention. Once again, Yvonne fortified her nerves.

“They look like a bunch of boys,” Yvonne commented, somewhat leery of the men barreling towards them, Robbie stil held aloft on their shoulders. Spot ing her, he yelled for his teammates to stop and let him down. Like fine china, they careful y set him on his feet.

Walking toward her with a slow, yet confident swagger, Robbie gifted her with a dazzling white smile. Despite their charade, her heart did an unconscious pitter patter.

So, this is what being gay did to a man?
Amazing how being in touch with one’s feminine side, could make a man seem inordinately more handsome. Yvonne, like everyone within ear shot, couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“Hey gorgeous,” Robbie purred, pul ing her into his arms. The faint scent of expensive cologne intermingled with grass and sweat tickled her nose. Slanting his head to the side, he crushed his mouth against hers.