Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.

A.N: You guys are amazing! Thanks for everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and added to alerts. Gives me all the fluffs to know you guys are in for the ride.

The MoV team: Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) preread. Mel (mcc101180) betas. Wouldn't be here without them.

Chapter 2. Breaking the rules.

"Suck it, Ronaldo." I barely get the words out before I guffaw.

"Fucking hell!" Emmett drops the controller on the chair as he stands up. "Rematch?"

Our star goalkeeper, and the oldest of all of us, is a sore loser, especially on PS3 FIFA13, when he's trying to make Real Madrid beat Barcelona. We've been at it for most of the evening, trying to keep ourselves from dying of boredom.

Today was a slow day, mostly strategy planning and weight training, but not nearly enough work to burn me out. We're supposed to be resting, relaxing, meditating, and I don't know what other fucked up idea of torture Waylon came up with. What am I supposed to do with all this energy threatening to drive me insane? "Ohm"? Is he serious with that shit?

My laughter slowly dies down while I get up from the chair, searching for the air-filled, leather-covered distraction at my feet. Kicking the ball up with my right foot, I start juggling it from right to left. I can do this for hours — at least it keeps my feet moving and my mind busy.

"Can I play now?" Seth comes from behind the chair and reaches for the controller. Clearwater is the baby of the team. He only just recently started playing professionally with L.A. Galaxy after leaving the IMG Soccer Academy. The kid's got amazing speed and instincts. Even though we haven't played together that long, our connection on the pitch is rock-solid, like we can read each other's minds, as we showed in our match against the Portuguese.

I shrug at the kid and start bouncing the ball on my knees, controlling it with my chest.

"No! Cullen, c'mon! Last one. Don't be a pussy."

My eyes are focused on the ball I'm bouncing now on my forehead, so I can't really see Emmett's probable beseeching stare. "Sorry, Em. As much fun as kicking your ass is, I'm sick and tired of this room and your ugly faces. I need to get out of here."

"You know the rules..." Jasper says from the back couch, where he's reading one of his sissy stories. Even though he's my age, he has always had this older-brother attitude toward me. The Whitlocks have been friends with my family for ages, so Jasper and I kind of grew up together.

The rules… the fucking rules. No outings. No distractions. No fun. We got some much needed rest yesterday morning and then spent the rest of the day travelling from Manaus, North Brazil — where we played, and humiliated, Portugal — to Sao Paulo.

"We've been locked up in this hotel the whole day!" I bring the ball down to my feet again so I can look at him. "Let's go have some fun!"

"No, thanks." Jasper returns his gaze to his book.

I settle the ball under my foot and look at Emmett — he's already starting a new game.

"That shit's gonna give you a seizure," I say, but he ignores me.

I really need to get out before I go bat-shit crazy. I rub a hand over my bare chest, where sweat is starting to form. The AC in this place sucks — it's so fucking hot! I guess I could go swimming again, but my arms and back are already sore from this morning.

I grimace, realizing I have only one choice left. "Seth?"

The kid turns to look at me with wide eyes.

"Who, me?"

"No, not you, I meant Seth, my ball's masseur."

"What?" His lost expression is genuine. Kid's got no clue.

"Jesus fucking Christ, kid, are you coming or not?"

"Where?"

"I don't know. Out of here? We're in fucking Sao Paulo, for fuck's sake. Let's go to a club or something."

"I-I..."

"Edward..." Jasper warns again from the couch.

"We'll only be gone for a couple hours. Relax."

Jasper looks at Emmett, but he's already into his game and ignoring us all.

"What do you say, Seth?"

"O-Okay."

"Well, thank fuck! I'll meet you in the lobby in thirty."

Seth is out the door enthusiastically before I even finish, making me chuckle. Kid's got some spirit. "At least someone else in here remembers what it's like to have fun." My words cling in the air as both of my teammates ignore me.

I kick the ball up again from under my foot and control it with my knees as my eyes shift from Jasper to Emmett to Jasper again.

Fuckers, both of them ignoring me.

With one flick of my foot, the ball is flying right into Jasper's book which smacks on his chest, and I'm on the floor laughing the next second.

"What the fuck!" Jasper throws the ball at me, and it hits me on my arm. "Fucking grow up, Edward!"

"Fucking grow up, Edward," I say, mimicking his tone and laughing as I get up from the floor and head out of the entertainment room.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"Crank that shit up," I order Bernard as he fumbles with the AC controllers. How could it still be this hot past eleven at night?

I roll up the sleeves of my white button up and unhook the top buttons as I turn to eye Seth who's looking like a scared puppy.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yes... um... won't we get recognized out there? If Coach finds out..."

"He won't. Look, it will be fine, kid. Bernard here found us one of the best night clubs in the city — back entrance, VIP room. No one will see us, don't worry."

Seth doesn't look completely swayed, but he relaxes into the seat nonetheless. I, on the other hand, am convinced we will be fine.

Bernard has been working for me for four years since I signed up with Manchester United. He's my security manager, my bodyguard, my go-to guy. His only flaw: he's a die-hard Chelsea fan. I bring him with me everywhere I go, even though our national squad has its own security team. As it happens, tonight it paid off.

"This is so crazy. I never imagined being here... with you of all people!" It seems Seth has calmed down enough to start his yammering. I swear the kid can talk through anything.

"Better get used to it and fast, kid. Your life will change after this World Cup." I remember feeling like just a kid on my first World Cup, four years ago — a fucking scared-shitless kid. But now, after playing in Europe — I'm at the top of my game. I'm bringing this cup home.

"I feel like it already has. I used to dream about meeting you, getting you to sign my jersey, and now... now I get to pass you the ball, I get to watch you play video games with your name on it! I get to go out clubbing with you… Pick up some chicks. This is all so freaking surreal." His arms flail all over as he speaks.

"Okay, calm your tits, Seth. We're only going to a club, not starting a bromance."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I start to second guess myself once we arrive at the club. Even though the windows are tinted, I still sink on my seat as I take in the chaos outside. There's a line of people that goes around the corner, while big names are going in through the front doors. There are paps everywhere — it's a fucking nightmare.

However, when we round the back, I start to relax. There's virtually no one back here, except for the two security guards that come out of the black door next to where we parked. Bernard makes his way around the car and opens my door. We go in quickly, surrounded by security.

Once inside, I begin to unwind. Seth trails behind me as we round the main dance floor and go up the stairs to the VIP area. The place is packed. The music is pounding, which helps mute the hammering already going on in my chest.

I laugh my ass off when Seth's eyes almost bulge out of their sockets as a sexy Brazilian, easily five inches taller than him, presses herself onto him against the stair rail. Some women move against me too, but I'm sure as hell not as impressed as Seth. I've been exposed to this life before... on numerous occasions.

The room upstairs overlooks the main dance floor through paneled windows. It's also crowded up here, and I recognize many famous footballers, mostly Brazilians. They have a set of tables reserved and have women with very little clothing on crawling on top of them.

Seth and I make our way to the bar, and I order two beers.

"We're drinking?" Seth's voice breaks nervously.

"No, we're just going to nurse them until they get lukewarm."

"Oh..."

I stare at him but he doesn't smile.

"For fuck's sake, Seth, of course we're drinking!"

"But, I'm nineteen."

"Welcome to Brazil. Drinking age: eighteen." I hand him a beer which he takes and sniffs like it's fucking scotch. I can't help but smile as I tip mine over.

I savor the refreshing bitter liquid and let it work its calming magic on me. This was a good idea. It will help me get my mind off things and relax. I am aware that there are certain risks that come with breaking the rules, but I'm being smart about it. We'll have a couple beers and then we'll head back — no harm done.

I'm surprised to see some of the Irish players here as well, given that they were eliminated today. It seems they didn't take it too badly. When Liam, who plays for Manchester United as well, sees me, he comes over to say hello. We share a beer and discuss some of the games. We agree to catch up when we are back at Old Trafford.

As soon as Liam leaves, a hot brunette makes her way over to me. She has tanned skin and luscious lips. She's wearing this barely-there white dress, which by the way I don't mind since it accentuates her pretty impressive, voluptuous curves.

"Oy, querido." She swings her waist-long, curly hair behind her shoulder enticingly.

I smile back at her with a nod and decide to order a third beer, hoping that maybe she'll ignite the long-lost fire in me.

She starts talking then... She's a model, of course. She says she wants to move to the US and work for Victoria's Secret. She asks the usual questions about my club, my awards, etc., and I get impossibly bored. There's clearly no fire. No connection. I stifle a yawn into my hand, the wear of the day finally getting to me, as I wonder if the right woman will ever come along.

I turn to check on Seth, deciding we should probably get going, and find him with his back pressed against the bar, a tiny dark-skinned girl possibly sucking on his neck. He looks like he's about to jizz in his pants. I'm laughing hard when I feel hot brunette's hand running down my chest and stopping at my belt.

I turn to look at her as my hand closes around her wrist, and I smile.

Sorry, honey, not gonna happen.

I am so sick and tired of women throwing themselves at me just for the chance to be my arm candy at some event. I can't deny it'd be nice to be able to relieve some tension that way... but just thinking about it kinda turns my stomach. I can't do it, not anymore. I swore to myself I wouldn't. There's nothing worse than that empty feeling after you realize they've only used you as you were using them. No connection. No fire. No feeling. Nothing.

Before I can dismiss her properly, my attention shifts back to Seth and the commotion around him. Two of the Brazilian players are towering over him, yelling what sounds like profanities in Portuguese.

"Why don't you gringos go back home?" I recognize Gustavo Kaure — 6'4'' Brazilian defender who plays for A.C Milan in Italy. We've played against each other before, already gotten into a couple of fights. He has a mean tackle, and he likes to talk too much.

"Hey, what the fuck is your problem?" I get in between him and Seth. Gustavo was easily towering over Seth, but since we're the same height, we stand face to face.

"Oh, but if it isn't Edward Cullen, football superstar, or should I say soccer?"

"Who cares what we call it? It's the same fucking ball, asshole."

"Who you calling an asshole, Armani-whore?"

And that's about all it takes for me to snap. No time for deep breaths, rubbing my neck or counting to ten — I'm pushing him and he pushes me back. He goes for a hook, but I duck and he misses, and then we are both being pulled back.

Seth is struggling, pulling at my arm. I see Bernard already coming behind him. "Edward, walk away," Seth begs beside me as I try to jerk my arm free.

"Yeah, Cullen, why don't you listen to your little pet and both of you get the fuck out of here?"

My breath is coming hard through my nose, but I manage to plaster a fake smile on my face and yank my arm away. "I'm okay," I say through my teeth, looking at Bernard.

"Pussy…" The sound comes from behind me, and before Bernard can get to us, or Seth can grab my arm again, I turn around and my fist connects with Gustavo's jaw with a loud whack.

It's all curses in Portuguese then, and I manage to throw a couple more punches before Bernard pulls me back. I think I get hit as well, but the adrenaline flowing through my body does not allow me to acknowledge any pain.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A couple hours later, Seth and I sit at the police station while Bernard is on the phone with our team's lawyer. Some fucker called the police, and they raided the place. It turns out hot brunette as well as some other girls there were prostitutes, presumably paid by the Brazilians. The cops have pictures of her with a hand on my pants and me smiling at her, as well as the other one sucking on Seth's neck. It was quite embarrassing — Seth has already vomited twice.

We don't make it back to the hotel until almost four in the morning. I get rid of my clothes and face dive on the bed — no time to think about what the aftermath of the club bust will be. At least one thing I accomplished today — I am completely and royally burnt out.

T-minus two hours to training.

A.N: Oh, Edward...

What do you guys think, would he get in trouble or get away with it?

See you next Tuesday!

Ronnie.