Omegle | Cristiano Ronaldo

40. OHMYGOD HE'S GOING TO KISS ME

She tried to slip her hand a bit and of course he caught on. He probably thought that it was an accident because he looked at her warmly, (or lovingly awww-SHUT UP, brain please) and just entwined his fingers around hers.

It was huge relief when the assistant doc asked Cristiano if he could have a word with him, "Can I just talk to you for two minutes? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. That is if the lovely lady doesn't mind."

Cristiano seemed like he was about to refuse the man. He didn't want to let Zarine be lonely at a party he'd brought her too and she sensed that. Hurriedly she said, "Oh it's perfectly fine. Cris, I'll be here. Go listen to him. It's seems very important."

Phew I can now hide somewhere in the corners. Like everybody here is old and attracted to Cristiano talking about things that are going way over my head. How does Cris endure it? He's so sweet, talking kindly to everyone. Well, I'm not. This center of attention thing is tough. Where are the footballers though? James and Gareth better be here.

She weaved through the people she didn't know, renowned politicians, designers, businessmen and football royalty-all esteemed guests of Perez. And suddenly, just as she pushed past a group of extremely beautiful men and women talking fast, sexy Spanish, she came face to face with-OH MY GOODNESS WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL KARIM BENZEMA!?

She immediately ducked her head and back stepped into the crowd. Trying to calm down her alarmingly fast beating heart she stopped beside the bar, from where she could have a good view of Karim. He's just like in the pictures. Except the tux suits him better than the kit. Is Raphael anywhere nearby? They look cute together. They better be together. I wonder if I could click a candid picture? I wonder if I could take a selfie from here with Karim in the background? Should I go to him and talk? I need to tell him I'm a huge fan. I love his passes. Wait, is that-HOLY SHIT TONI KROOS IS HERE!?

"Are you okay, ma'am?" the bartender asked politely. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No," she said, without paying him any attention. "Alcohol is haram, bruh."

His hair looks so blonde and soft. No, don't even think about touching it. Don't even think about yelling, MY BABY. He is not your baby. Don't don't don't. Awww, he's smiling mischievously. He's fixing his hair. Cutiepie.

After that it was pretty much, mental fangirling, heart racing, internal screaming as one by one she began to identify people she knew. Raphael looked dapper in his brown suit, Arbeloa was in causal jeans and jacket. Isco was wearing a bow tie with his suit. Marcelo was happily joking and guffawing with Zidane. Pepe and Vasquez were in deep conversation with Cheryshev. Navas, Jese, Nacho...woah, Pique was walking towards Pepe!! She vaguely remember Cristiano telling her that Perez had invited the Barca team too since El Clasico was just a day away and they were in town.

Madrid players. Omg Madrid players. They're there. They're all real. We're in the same room. And I'm not dreaming. No, this is a dream come true. No, this is a miracle. A fangirl miracle. The craziest thing was that instead of going up to them, as she had imagined herself doing, she was transfixed to her spot. They all looked so important and talented and handsome and confident while she felt small and insignificant. Besides, it wasn't as if an opportunity was ever present. They all seemed to be preoccupied, constantly looking for someone, all of them converging near each other again and again as if to check something. Who are they looking for? Probably James or Gareth. They aren't around. Fashionably late, really?

"They're looking for this chick," someone stood beside her.

She jumped slightly, breaking out of her thoughts, realising she'd said the last part aloud, "Which chick?" She turned to the man, "Oh-uh-hey umm, Neymar."