The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas (novels for students .TXT) 📕

lump stuck in my throat. “Focus on pretending you are crazy about me, all right?”

I heard him hum; it was a low and short-lived sound, but it was enough to make me step back, so I could look at his face. His eyes held that determined edge I knew so well.

“Trust me, I am focusing on only that.”

Before I could say anything else, Aaron started jogging back. “And remember,” he called in the distance, “all is fair in love and war, bollito.”

Almost everybody around turned their eyes on me. My gaze met my sister’s, and she was grinning so widely that I was scared her mouth would inevitably hurt on her wedding day.

Reluctantly, I smiled back at all the onlookers, pretending I was cool and chill and not trying to gather my wits. “Oh, he’s so silly,” I told them. “No need to remind me, cosita mía!” I called back to Aaron.

But Aaron had already shot up, running after the rest of his team. Leaving me standing there, watching how all the polished muscles on his back danced with each of his strides and wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean.

My eyes narrowed.

“All is fair in love and war.”

It was in a way, I guessed. What I had trouble making sense of was, how did that apply when love was fake, and adversaries were left no choice but to join forces?

Chapter Seventeen

Against all odds, we were close to the end of the soccer match, and both teams were tied.

One would think that having to play against a group of shirtless dudes was disconcerting. But I was related to a big chunk of them. I had already seen everything there was to see about one of them—Daniel. And out of the two remaining men, one was about to marry my sister. So, that reduced my distractions considerably.

My main and only source being just one.

One that I usually did a pretty good job at ignoring when we were in our real-world roles. Contrary to the roles we were currently playing, where I, as the girlfriend, was allowed to gawk. And where Aaron, as the boyfriend, was apparently allowed to look like a man shooting a Sports Illustrated cover.

Because that was exactly how a sweaty, shirtless Aaron looked, running across the green field after the ball.

And that was exactly where my two very shallow and very stupid eyes had been all the time. Following him around like two dumb bugs irremediably drawn by an irresistible light. And just like the bug, my eyes had no self-preservation instinct. By the end of the day, the images would be burned into my retinas, and there’d be no way I’d ever be able to get rid of them.

Hell, I already felt a little like a charred insect. Sweat was running down my back, and my skin was on fire from being under the sun. On top of that, my hunger had turned into starvation, and no matter how hard I tried to stay focused on the game, my attention always shifted to Aaron’s long legs, striding from one point to the next. To how the muscles across his torso strained and relaxed as he moved. To the little drops traveling down his chest, across those glorious pecs. To how my blood seemed to simmer and swirl every time our gazes met.

So, yeah, I felt icky and bothered and hot. In no particular order.

And yet, somehow, Team Bride had still scored as many goals as the guys. Baffling really, but what did I know? I had been too busy, ogling my flawless, glistening fake boyfriend.

Gonzalo’s voice boomed across the field, all the way to where I was. “Vamos! They cannot win this!” He accompanied each of his words with an aggressive clap. “Five minutes! We’ve got five minutes, guys! We need to win this shit!”

As the men regrouped on their side of the field, I noticed how Daniel approached Gonzalo and Aaron, gesturing with his hands and pointing at our goal.

“Madre mía,” Isabel said from her position as our goalie, a few steps behind me. “I think they are making strategic changes. This doesn’t look good, hermanita.”

As I took in the men’s motions and consequent change in positions, my sister’s suspicions were confirmed.

“We are screwed, Isa,” I assessed without turning to her. “They are switching Aaron to the front. They are using him as a striker.”

“Mierda. Clark Kent is going to be the one attacking?” My sister came to my side and narrowed her eyes in the direction of our opponents. “Quick, take off your shirt too. That will distract him.”

I scoffed. “What? No.”

“But, Lina—”

“I’m not taking my shirt off. What the hell are you talking about?”

“But your bubbies will distract your boyfriend.”

“They won’t, trust me.” Realizing what I’d said was not exactly girlfriend-like, I explained, “He’s already seen all there is to see. So, forget it.”

“Then, dance or wiggle. Do whatever rocks his boat.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “No.”

“Fine. Then, we are going down.”

“Not without a fight,” I assured her and then brought my hands to my mouth and proceeded to do the same with the rest of the team. “Vamos, chicas! Todavía podemos ganar!”

My words of encouragement were naive; there was no way we could still win the match. Not with Aaron striking. And certainly not if I flashed him, like Isabel had suggested.

Turning back to my sister, I pointed a finger at her. “Remember this moment when the losers, which no doubt will be us, are dancing for everyone tonight. Next time, if you want to bet and jeopardize my rep, pick quiz night. Not stupid soccer. Now, let’s try to finish this with as much dignity as we can.”

As I faced the other team, all the guys clicked into action. My gaze focused on the ball, passing from one player to the next, all of them leaving every Team Bride member helplessly behind. Soon enough, I was witnessing how the ball landed at Aaron’s feet, who, for