Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Santiago Ortiz. Star player for Spain’s national rugby team.
My brain doesn’t quite catch up to fully understand what I’m reading.
Words like multi-time league champion. Beloved by fans. Hailed as one of the greatest athletes of his generation.
I scroll down on auto-pilot, and the first image that catches my eye is of him mid-game, red jersey streaked with dirt, his face set in intense concentration as he charges with a rugby ball in his arms. The next picture shows him hoisting a glittering trophy above his head, a jubilant grin on his face, surrounded by his teammates in a confetti-filled stadium.
What the actual fuck?!
The article goes on and on, showing more photos of him on and off the field, including a more polished shot of Santi in a tailored suit at a charity gala, all sharp lines and effortless sophistication.
And then I see it.
A shirtless magazine cover that makes my stomach do a little flip.
His muscular frame is on full display, every defined line and ripple of his tanned, broad chest and abs glowing under the professional lighting.
The caption reads: "Spain’s Golden Boy: Behind the Fame with Santiago Ortiz."
“Oh my God,” I whisper, scrolling faster.
The articles list his accolades, his stats, his contributions to various charities, and even a few quotes from teammates about his leadership on and off the field. But of course, there’s also a tabloid streak - rumours about past relationships, glimpses of him attending glamorous events with beautiful women on his arm, and the occasional headline speculating about his private life.
I stop on a candid shot of him in a team huddle, the sun catching the sweat on his brow as he seems to be delivering instructions to his teammates. He looks fierce and commanding - nothing like the laid-back, grinning man who bantered with me over coffee this afternoon.
My curiosity gets the better of me as I go back to the search engine, and I click on a short video clip shared by the team’s official account. The screen fills with Santi and his teammates during a practice session, laughing and shoving each other playfully before breaking into a sprint. In another clip, he’s giving a post-match interview, his voice steady and confident as he speaks in Spanish about teamwork and strategy.
But it’s the candid moments that hit me the hardest. Santi hoisting a teammate onto his shoulders in victory, his face lit with pure joy, or the way he grins and waves at the camera during a locker room celebration.
I close the laptop and sit back, my pulse pounding in my ears.
This can’t be real.
Santi? A national sports icon? A celebrity?
Suddenly, every moment we’ve shared feels surreal; like I’ve stumbled into someone else’s life. I rub my temples, trying to reconcile the Santiago Ortiz on my laptop screen with the one who sat across from me this afternoon, teasing me about my work.
I move without thought as I reach for my phone and find Laura’s contact details. I press down on the video call button, and she answers after a few rings, her face lighting up when she sees me.
“Liv!” she says, greeting me enthusiastically. “How are you, angel? How’s Valencia?”
“Forget Valencia,” I say, holding up a hand. “You are not going to believe this.”
“What? Did you win the lottery or something?”
“No.” I pause, not quite sure where to start with this. “Do you remember me telling you about the guy I met at that bar? The one with the smile?”
“You mean the guy you couldn’t stop talking about for a week?” she asks. “Yes, of course. As if I’d forget! Did you see him again?”
“I did,” I confirm. “And I finally found out who he is. Laura - he’s famous.”
“What do you mean, famous?” she says. “Like, influencer famous, or actual famous?”
“Actual famous,” I reply, grimacing. “He’s a rugby player. A really good one, apparently. He plays for Spain’s national team.”
Her scream of excitement nearly makes me drop the phone.
“Olivia!” she squeals. “Oh my god, I don’t believe it - you’ve been there a month and you’ve snagged yourself a Spanish sports star! This is huge!”
“It’s not huge,” I protest. “It’s terrifying! I don’t even know what to say to him now.”
“You say, ‘take me to your rugby matches and drive me in your fancy car and let’s live happily ever after,’” Laura beams.
“Laura! It’s not like that. I didn’t know who he was, and now it just feels… weird. Like, what would he even see in me?”
Laura’s expression softens. “What?! What are you talking about? Don’t overthink this, or sell yourself short. You’re amazing, and he clearly thinks so too. Just go with it and see where it leads.”
I sigh. “Hmm. We’ll see.”
“Alright, alright - what’s his name?” she says. “Let’s see exactly what we’re working with, here.”
∞∞∞
The school day is a blur of lessons, conversations, and exam prep, but my mind keeps drifting.