Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: It's Saturday!
Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180). I always add/change stuff before I post though, so any remaining mistakes are all mine!
Chapter 6. Prainha Beach
After a much needed ten hours of sleep, I wake up feeling renewed. I can't say Bella didn't cloud my thoughts all night, but at least this time, the thoughts were pleasant enough not to keep me awake, and they also distracted me from other, very unpleasant, thoughts.
Throughout the morning, I continue to avoid my team. I am not ready to talk about the fiasco that was yesterday's game. I stick to Emmett since I appreciate his lightheartedness. He only makes one comment about my "nice shiner" and then lets it go.
The flight to Rio de Janeiro is short. I keep my hat and Ray-Bans in place as we are attacked by press and paparazzi at the airport. My mental block is on as well, aided by my noise cancelling headphones, refusing to hear any comments about me.
Once we are settled at the hotel, I hit the gym. The team is taking it easy today — there's one intense day of training ahead before the semifinal game that I'll be sitting out. I haven't met with Waylon yet, but I'm hoping he's going to let me train regardless.
We'll get a couple hours for ourselves after lunch; we're supposed to use them to relax, rest and medi-fucking-tate, before strategy planning tonight. Well, I'll be having none of it, but Waylon doesn't need to know that.
I sneak in for lunch earlier than the rest. Our meals are booked, so I can't really skip it — I don't need to give Waylon any more reasons to be on my back.
Hoping to stay unrecognized for the day, I get dressed in my own clothes for a change. A pair of chino shorts, blue t-shirt on top, and my run-down-used-to-be-dark-blue Vans.
I stay in the car, following Bernard's advice, as he waits for Bella outside. When she finally comes out, my breath catches in my throat. She looks nothing like when she's working. No tight skirt. No heels. No tidy bun on top of her head. Instead, she's wearing tiny denim shorts, a loose tank top and flip-flops. Her hair is in a braid, which she flips over her left shoulder as she smiles broadly at Bernard. I've never seen anyone more beautiful.
"Thank you, Bernie," she says as he opens the door for her.
Is he… is he smiling? I don't think I've ever seen Bernard smile — ever.
"Hey," she says to me, bouncing on the seat as she gets in.
"Who are you? And what did you do with Miss Swan?"
"Ha…ha…" She swats at my leg. "It's my day off, so no ankle-breaking heels, thank you very much."
I have to admit I'm slightly nervous, bordering on uncomfortable, inside the car. Bella isn't like other girls I've been with. She seems genuine, like she's not even trying to impress me, and I'm really lost on how to approach her. I rearrange my hair inside my baseball cap as she taps her fingers on her thighs to the beat of the music softly coming from the speakers behind us.
I peek at her through my shades and she turns to face me as if she could feel it. When she smiles that pretty little grin of hers, I decide to just relax and enjoy the fact that she agreed to spend some time with me.
When we get to the restaurant, she thanks "Bernie" again as he opens the door for us, and I chuckle when I look at how hard he's trying not to smile.
"Oh my God!"
"What?" I look at her, confused.
"I'm reconsidering the heels."
"Why?"
"I look miniature next to you!" She points at our reflection in the restaurant window and how her head is at my chest level.
I stand up tall next to her, making the difference more obvious, and circle my arm over her shoulder and around her neck. "Don't worry, I'm very gentle." I smirk at our reflection in the window as she scowls at me, and her hand pulls at my arm. We disentangle awkwardly, and I move to open the door for her. Once we step in the restaurant, we are greeted in Portuguese by a small woman.
"Table for two," I tell her, but by the look she gives me, it is clear she doesn't speak English. I'm starting to regret my idea of going to a truly authentic, where locals eat, kind of restaurant. I dig in my brain for my limited Spanish, thinking it must not be that different.
"Tablo para dos, por favor," I say, smiling at Bella, hoping she's impressed by my multiculturalism.
When I look back at the waitress, she stares blankly at me. I scratch my neck, a little lost — that's about all the Spanish I know. Maybe I could go get Bernard; he might be able to help. Bella's eyebrows rise before she starts laughing. I gape at her, dumbfounded, when she addresses the waitress in what sounds to me like perfect Portuguese.
We follow the waitress inside, and when she stands by a table in the middle of the restaurant, Bella shakes her head and tells her something else. We are then taken to a more private area by the back.
"You speak Portuguese?" I move her chair back as she sits, and then walk around to my chair in front of her.
"Sim." She winks at me.
I shake my head and smirk at her, a little embarrassed.
Since we are in a private corner, I take my hat and glasses off, running a hand through my hair, trying futilely to tame it.
"Ouch." She winces as she looks at my eye.
Fucking James…
My eye is a bit bruised but at least it's not swollen. I guess it could have been worse. My hand throbs as I fist it under the table — the thoughts of what went on yesterday attacking me — even though I was able to take off the bandages, it's still a bit achy.
"It looks worse than it feels," I say with a shrug, taking a deep breath to try to keep the anger from bubbling. I don't want to think about James, or yesterday's game for that matter.
The waitress comes back and hands us two menus. Bella studies hers, while I don't even look at the thing. I already ate, but it's not that. My eyes are fixed on the woman in front of me. On her delicate hands and the way she holds the menu. On her full bottom lip and how it's trapped between her teeth. On her thick eyelashes as she looks down and scans the menu. On the braid she has her hair in, how it falls over her shoulder and ends in a little curl next to her breast. Her breasts... in that tank top...
Bella clears her throat. "Eyes up here, soccer-boy."
I'm genuinely laughing when the waitress comes for our orders.
"Do you already know what you want?" Bella asks me.
"I always know what I want." I keep my eyes on hers the whole time.
"You didn't even look at the menu."
"Oh... I'm not eating."
"What?"
"I'm on a special diet." I wink at her. She must know our diets are controlled.
Bella raises one eyebrow at me before she turns to the waitress and places her order. I stare hopelessly at her lips, enraptured — Portuguese has officially become my favorite language.
Once the waitress leaves, Bella turns to look at me again. "So you brought me here to watch me eat? That's kinda creepy."
I can't help but laugh again — it feels so good.
"No, I brought you here to spend time with you." I hold her scrutinizing gaze. When she stares at me like that, it feels as if she's trying to see through me, to figure me out — it does things to me.
The waitress is back with water for me and something that looks like iced tea for her.
"So, Portuguese, huh?" I ask as Bella drinks her tea and gives me a little shrug. "That's really impressive."
"I know a bit of Italian and Spanish too."
"Now be careful, Bella, you don't want to come off as a pretentious and arrogant… what was it? Asshole?"
"Hey… I find languages fascinating." She twirls the straw in her tea, swirling the ice around.
How is it possible that I find that sexy as hell? My leg starts bouncing under the table, struggling to stay put in my seat, as Bella tells me about her last summer vacation in Mallorca.
When the waitress comes with her food, Bella grabs the fork and points it at me. "You talk. I eat," she orders, and I laugh again.
"Okay, Tiny Terror…" I blow out a breath exaggeratedly and her eyebrows shoot up. "What? You called me a pretentious and arrogant asshole. I think Tiny Terror is me going easy on you." She smiles and shakes her head at me. "It makes sense too, 'cause you're tiny, but when you get going you can be pretty frightening."
"All right now…" she warns.
"Okay, I started playing when I was—"
"Sorry..." She lifts one finger up, interrupting me. "I know everything about you and soccer. How old you were when you started playing. Which clubs you've played for. How many goals you've scored. How many awards you've won… that's part of my job. But I'm not working right now, am I? I want to know about you."
My eyes widen in disbelief at the fact that she doesn't care about that side of me — it's equally liberating and scary as hell.
When she sees the expression on my face, she chuckles and adds, "See, Cullen, despite what you may assume, I do way more homework than you think."
"I see…" I say guiltily as she throws back at me what I accused her of in our previous press conference encounter.
"So, tell me about you," she insists.
"That's the thing, Bella. That's me." I rub my neck as I look down.
"I don't believe that. There must be other things you like."
"I don't know..." I don't have time to really like anything else.
"I know you like fast cars and easy women," she says teasingly.
"I do like fast cars," I say, peeking up to see her. "But I can't say I like anything easy."
I leave that hanging there, waiting for her to push the topic.
"Yeah, I'm not going to fall for that one." She sticks a forkful of food in her mouth and smirks. She's eating, which means I should be talking.
"Well... I... I like the beach." I can't believe how timid I sound. I don't really like to talk about the real me. My comfort zone is the soccer superstar — the character I've created — but I'm lost at this kind of stuff.
She nods and chews, making me smile.
"That's one of the things I miss the most about California. My parents live by the beach. My sister and I used to be out playing in the sand all the time…" Even though England is mostly surrounded by water, there's never any sun and the water's always freezing.
Bella continues to eat, looking intensely at me and hearing out my story. Somehow my leg stops bouncing, and I relax. I tell her about going for a swim every morning, enjoying the smell of the ocean when you wake up, going for runs on the beach with my dog…
Bella's food is cleared, and I realize I haven't stopped yammering the whole time.
"How long 'til you have to go back?" Bella sets her napkin on the table and looks at her watch.
"I still have a couple hours."
"Let's go then."
"Where?"
"To the beach."
"What, now?"
"Do you know where you are? This is Rio de freaking Janeiro! The beaches here are a-mazing!"
"You want to go to the beach right now?"
"Yeah... why not? Can't your gorilla drive us?"
"Uh... yeah... I guess." I scratch the back of my neck. I can't deny going to the beach right now with Bella sounds very, very tempting.
I look at her and she smiles.
Screw the rules!
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
"Hey, Bernie, take the coastline going west." Bella props herself between the front seats.
"Where are we going?" I ask once she sits back.
"Prainha Beach," she says with a broad smile.
"That sounds scary."
She laughs. "It means small beach. Praia means beach and prainha means little beach."
"Bella, I can't—"
"Hush, it's secluded — it's always empty. Don't worry about it."
We drive for about half an hour while Bella tells me how much she loves the ocean and the beach as well. She tells me about fishing with her father and building sand castles that always ended up looking like piles of "poop."
"Hey, Bernie, can you stop here for a sec?"
Bernard eyes me questioningly through the rear view mirror as we slow down.
"What are we doing?" I ask her.
"We need suits, unless you plan to swim in your underwear," she explains and I grin mischievously at her, completely up for swimming in our underwear, which has her backtracking. "Forget I said that. We need suits."
"Bella—"
"The store is small and totally off the beaten path. No one would know you here."
"You underestimate how much people love soccer in this country. I'm kind of a big deal." I really don't care about being recognized. I just don't want to be photographed out again, or I'll never hear the end of it from Waylon.
"Okay, Mr. Big Deal, wait here. I'll be right back." Her mocking tone and the way she teases me don't go unnoticed; however, I don't want her going into that store alone — it looks kind of sketchy.
"Wait," I say, getting my cap and glasses on. "Let's do this."
The store is small and cluttered — there's even stuff hanging from the ceiling. Bella is already chatting with the guy behind the counter. She turns to look at me, her eyes travelling to my waist.
"Trinta e quatro," I think she says. Numbers I know. Thirty-four — my pant size. I smile.
"Try these on," she says to me.
"I don't appreciate being ordered around," I deadpan.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Big Deal. Would you like to try these on?"
"Much better," I say, grabbing the shorts. "I want this one on you." I take the little green thing that caught my eye from the rack.
Her eyes widen at the scant fabric on the bottom piece.
"Not a chance."
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
I get out of the car in a flash. "Holy shit! Look at this place!"
I can't find words to describe the view in front of me. There is no road that actually gets to the shore, so we park on a cliff overlooking the beach. Prainha is a small, crescent-shape, white-sand beach. There is virtually not a soul here, except for a couple of surfers. The water looks crystalline, although the current seems strong. If you could take a picture of heaven, it would look like this.
"What did I tell you?" Bella stands next to me, hands on her hips, overlooking the beach from the cliff.
"This is amazing!"
"I know, right?"
I turn to look at her — the wind blows some of her hair on her face. "You are amazing."
She completely disregards my comment with a small smile. "C'mon, let's go. We don't have a lot of time." She grabs my hand and starts heading down the trail.
Once we make it to the beach, I take off my shoes and toe the sand, loving the feeling of the warm grains under my feet.
God, I missed this.
My shirt is off next, and when I turn to look at Bella, she's getting rid of her shorts.
"You went for the green." I swallow hard.
"It's not the same one though." She turns around to show me her mostly covered butt, peeking at me from over her shoulder.
I've dated models, supermodels, even a Miss Universe once, but none compare to Bella. Her beauty is not portrayed in height or big boobs, but it comes from within — it radiates from her. Her smile is real. Her eyes are deep. She's confident. She's funny. She's smart. She's absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful through and through.
"Bella, you can wear a potato sack or nothing at all, and you'd still look stunning. I vote for the latter."
"Stop that," she says, turning around, getting rid of her tank top.
"Stop what?"
"Okay..." She waves a hand toward the water, dismissing me. "All yours, Beach-Boy."
"Stop calling me names, Bella."
"Or what?" She stands in front of me, her neck stretching as she looks up. "I'm not scared of you."
My laugh comes from deep within my chest. "Boy, you really shouldn't have said that."
I bend over, my shoulder pressed into her stomach, and my arm wraps around her legs, under her butt. In the next second, I have her over my shoulder, squealing and laughing, hitting me in the back, as I walk into the ocean.
The water is cool and refreshing as I submerge us both, shifting Bella from my shoulder to my lap. The current is strong, and my arms wrap around her protectively.
When we come up for air, Bella's holding herself on my shoulders but keeping herself at arm's length.
"Over or under?" I ask as I see the wave coming.
"What?" she asks as the wave hits us. When we come up, her hair is rustled forward, over her face.
I back up closer to the shore as she pushes her hair back.
"I think I can reach the bottom here," she says as the water is at my waist line, but I still haven't let her go.
"I don't know… you're so short."
She smacks my shoulder, and I let her go gradually, my skin prickling as she slides down. Before I can reach for her again, she ducks in the water, smoothing her hair back.
We swim for a while; every time I try to get closer to her, she ducks in and moves away.
Once we're walking out, I drop on the sand.
"Let's see those piles of shit castles you were bragging about."
"Piles of poop." She kneels in front of me, giggling. "Okay, so… you dig a hole," she explains, bending over as her hands start digging.
I'm very distracted by her breasts jiggling in the green bikini with the digging motion.
"Once it fills with water, you can grab a fistful of sand, like this…" she holds her little fist over the sand "…and you let it drip." Water with sand trickles from it, leaving little globs of sand on its way down.
"It does look like shit!" I laugh and she throws a fist of sand on my chest.
"Hey… okay, let me try." I stick my hand in the hole she dug and start making my castle of droppings.
The activity is actually hypnotizing and very relaxing. We stay like this for a while, in silence, making little piles of poop.
I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. "Thank you, Bella."
"C'mon, it's nothing." She shrugs as she continues playing with the sand.
"It was just what I needed to forget about all this shit."
"It's going to be okay, you know?"
"Everyone hates me now."
"They don't hate you..."
"Fans were fucking booing me yesterday!"
She lets go of the blob of sand and wipes her hands on her knees, looking at me.
"Because they're passionate, they're so into this. You've given them hope that this is really going to happen for us. And then you almost took it away..." she smiles "…on a temper tantrum."
I drop the sand from my hands into the hole with a splash and glare at her. "A... a temper tantrum?!" I feel the anger burning inside of me. My hands turn into fists that shake next to my sides.
"Yes..." she says unapologetically, sitting on the heels of her feet, right in front of me. "Like the one you're about to have now."
"I... I'm not... I wasn't... Fuck!" I run the crook of my elbow down my face, trying to control myself.
Bella moves closer, and her hand reaches for my face. "Don't let the anger control you, Edward." I close my eyes and lean into her touch. "Channel it into something else. Own up to what happened — deal with it. Move on and make it better."
My hand mimics hers as I open my eyes and pull her face closer, but before I can kiss her, her hand drops from my cheek to my chest and she lightly pushes me away.
I groan. "I'm just trying to channel my anger."
"Don't. Not that way anyway." She is quickly on her feet. "C'mon…" She pulls on my arm for me to get up. "Let's rinse all this sand and go."
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
I sit silently in the car and look at the window — my mind going over what Bella said. I need to own up to what happened. Deal with it. Make it better so I can move on. Whether the ref was a blind motherfucker or not, I made everything worse by acting on it, by letting James get to me. Not to mention if I hadn't been so tired, or if Seth had been playing, the game would have been a completely different story.
So part of it was my fault… some of it… well, most of it. My temper's fault — my fault.
The drive back goes by in a flash, and we are in downtown Rio in no time. I look at Bella, embarrassed that I wasted all this time, lost in my thoughts, but she seems deep in thought as well, staring at the window.
Once we are at her hotel, I break the silence. "Please, can I see you again tonight?"
"I don't know, can you?"
"I'm not supposed to, but I want to."
"Maybe you should try to stay in Coach's good graces for now."
She's right. We're having a strategy meeting and then I'm meeting with Waylon. I also want to make things better, with Seth, for starters.
"Will you be at the press conference tomorrow after training?" I ask and she nods, her hand on the door handle. "There's something I want to say."
"Okay." She gives me a small smile. "Thanks for today." She twirls her hair between her fingers nervously. "Thanks, Bernie." And then she's gone before I can thank her.
T-minus eight hours until I start to make amends.
A/N: All right, he's trying… yay?
Prainha Beach is a real place in Rio de Janeiro, and it looks like this (bit . ly /NpEEC8) (get rid of the spaces) And if you have never made sand drip castles (bit . ly /OhLBwr) you are missing out on a LOT of fun! ;)
Oh, and Sim means yes in Portuguese, but table in Spanish is mesa not tablo. *shaking my head at WorldCupWardo*
Can't wait to hear what you guys think!
Ronnie.
