Madrid Girls || piqué

[ dos ]

[ dos ]

They had just finished exchanging phone numbers when Milan arrived from practice at with his football team, FC Barcelona, where his father used to play. He was freshly showered and dressed in a clean set of training uniform with the FCB logo on it. He walked right towards his younger brother and greeted him with a hug. "You're finally back from your world tour, Sasha."

Impressed, Aimée asked, "You were on tour?"

Sasha shrugged his shoulders modestly. "I just got in last night. But my parents really wanted me to be here. They said I need more friends since I spend most of my time in concerts, music studios, or writing songs."

"Well hello, bonita." Milan grinned at Aimée, barely having noticed the beautiful girl talking to his younger brother. He had been too distracted moments earlier, thinking up an excuse to get out of there. Milan didn't like family gatherings all that much and he knew this was exactly that, a family gathering. They weren't related to him by blood, but the older ones had known each other for so long that they were almost considered family.

Aimée looked down shyly and greeted him with a small wave of her hand. 

Both brothers were very handsome.

"I'm Milan, what's your name?" The smile was still present on his face. Sasha watched the two of them, his smile dropping. His older brother always seemed to have a way with women.

"Aimée Kroos." She replied with a smile.

"I remember you vaguely. Your and your family used to visit Barcelona a lot, didn't you?" Milan asked as a childhood memory came to him. He and the other boys would play football while the parents talked, and the girls would play with their dolls. She had once tried to play football with the boys and they wouldn't allow it.

The blonde nodded her head. "I remember you too. You always used to make fun of my pig tails until-"

"Until you took your shoe off and threw it at me." Milan finished her sentence with a laugh, she soon joined in.

The three turned when they heard a scolding voice calling out to the Barcelona footballer who had just arrived. "Milan, how rude. You don't even go say hello to your own mother."

Her hands were on her hips, but a smile tugged at her lips when he turned around. "I'm sorry, mare." Mother, he said in Catalan. The footballer pulled his mother into his arms for a warm hug. Aimée thought the height difference between them was adorable. She was a tiny woman, and her two sons were tall like their father.

When they pulled away and she took a look at her training uniform, she added, "I told you to come well dressed."

He gestured to his gym bag that hung by his side. "I brought clothes to change into."

"Well, go change right now." She said, pushing him forward while her son let out a groan.

Sasha was left alone with Aimée once more, but it didn't last him long because his phone rang, with a text message from one of his record producers. His mother was the one that did his managing, but he also liked to do a lot of things himself. In this situation, he would have preferred for his mother to be bothered with his business. All he wanted to do was rest and talk to Aimée.

"Have to go?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He nodded, "Yeah, I'm already working on my next album and my producer wants to hear the new stuff I've written."

"You write your own songs?" Aimée wondered, once more impressed by him.

"Yes. I mostly write boleros about love." He smiled proudly, adding with a wink, "I might just write one about you, querida."