Cristian fixed his eyes on the mirrored surface of a skyscraper and on the clouds that were reflected there, a piece of sky between buildings made of concrete, glass and steel. He wasn't paying attention to the other players's conversation, on the terrace of their New York hotel. Their voices came to his ears like an annoying rustle. He hated getting used to a different time zone, he always became distracted, sleepy and without any ability to concentrate for more than five minutes straight. Yet they had already been there for six days, they had left Rome on the 19th of July.

It was one of those days. He had the impression his life was going too fast without letting him know where the hell he was heading. There were two things he would never change: his kid and his job. Soccer, he knew, was inextricably part of his destiny, even if it forced him to travel so often, to change time zones in a few days, to travel to eastern countries where the temperature sank to ten degrees below zero, even if it forced him to hide. He pushed those thoughts away. He ran a hand behind his neck. He felt his muscles tense. He should have kept training even during the holidays. He imagined Marc scolding him for taking too many hikes or too many baths in the last month. Marc was always so interested in his career, maybe because Cristian was everything he couldn't be anymore. The stadium they visited a few hours before came to his mind. It was such a big structure, something you could never find in Italy. It had seemed nice to him at first, then it had occurred to him that such a big place would always be partially empty. What stupid thoughts.

He forced a smile on his lips, a relaxed expression on his face.

"Are you listening to us?" Sayid, a German defender of Tunisian origin, asked him.

He nodded and sat down at his table next to Patrizio, the team's captain.

Sayid adjusted his brown hair in a ponytail and kept talking "Samir can't wait to meet you."

"Did you tell him we'll meet him at the reception?" Cristian tried to take part in the conversation. Sayid nodded, and Cristian tried to recall what his friend had told him about Samir. Sayid had told him that he was well known in Tunisia and in Europe in the boxing world, but for those who remembered the famous French actress Vivienne V., Samir was above all famous for being his son and, it was rumored, the reason why she had abandoned the glittering world of Parisian entertainment to move to Tunisia and raise him with her husband Masood.

"This morning Samir won his match so tonight we are going to celebrate at the New Moon. It's a new night club in Manhattan".

Cristian heard about it, it was on his to do list in New York. He loved the city, because he had the impression he could just mingle with the crowd and just be himself. Just Cristian. Not a famous player. Not the son of a man who loved gambling more than his family. Just a guy he wanted to have fun. He pulled out the phone from his shorts' pocket, maybe he could look for Samir on social media, see what he looked like, read more about his life to avoid gaffes. He was about to type his name when Patrizio caught his attention.

"Shall we get ready together tonight?" he asked.

"Without your wife you're really lost, you don't even know what to wear" Cristian answered.

"It's not that, I want your help because you're the only fashionable one on this team, and I'm sure there will be paps tonight. I hate to look bad in the photos."

"Don't listen to him, it's just an excuse to borrow your clothes," Sayid said. "Wear whatever you want, but I'd like if you didn't do a bad impression on Samir".

"We didn't know you had a crush on him," Cristian tried to say seriously, but Patrizio had already started to whistle ironically. Cristian saw Sayid getting up and going back to his room. What is it so special about Samir? He had never seen him and doubted he was really as famous as his friend had been saying for days.

"Isn't this boxer going to be all muscle and no brains?" he let out.

"A bit like you?" Patrizio leaned back, enjoying his friend's appalled expression before bursting out laughing.

That evening Cristian took one last look at the mirror in the car that they had rented to go to the New Moon. He had chosen a black shirt and a pair of black jeans and had fixed a pair of rebellious tufts of his hair with gel, creating a studied disheveled effect. Not bad. Patrizio, on his advice, had chosen light jeans and a white shirt. He wasn't bad either, although the blond man wasn't his type. Before getting out of the car he opened some buttons of his shirt earning a grunt of exasperation from his friends. He ignored them. There was nothing wrong with showing off the body he obtained with so much training and sacrifice, he thought, looking at the sculpted bibs and at the skin - tanned more than usual from the recent vacation - that everyone could glimpse through the open buttons of his shirt. The newspapers would write that he wanted to show off. He didn't care and tried to offer his best side to the paparazzi that were crowded in front of the club.

The bright vertical sign caught his attention; next to the white letters he saw the moon represented in its various phases. The building had a terrace. The New Moon was nothing more than a two-floors building, once an old library, saved from the abolition, but transformed into a trendy venue. Popular too, judging by the long line of people waiting to enter. The only sign of its past as a library were the shelves that occupied a corner of the ground floor, the one reserved for those who wanted to sit down to eat and read some books.

Cristian walked slowly to take everything in. He let Sayid and Patrizio go upstairs, where Samir was surely partying hard, and took the opportunity to immerse himself in the warm and welcoming atmosphere of the ground floor. The wooden furnishings and people who immersed themselves in the books with their cups of coffee on the tables made him feel at home. Even those who were busy chatting kept their voice low, helping to create a plush atmosphere. He was sure that upstairs the atmosphere would change dramatically.

His attention was soon drawn to the books, sorted by the colors of the cover. Like a rainbow bookcase. His hand touched the orange backs arranged on the second shelf. He picked one and realized that he had never read it. Pride and Prejudice. He opened it to give it a quick glance. He took a few steps, eyes focused on the pages, uncertain if he should take the book with him upstairs. He stopped abruptly when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. He literally bumped into a man.

"Be careful," the man said. "What a mess". He pointed to his stained jeans, part of his cocktail was on the floor too, the glass half empty, and it was Cristian's fault.

"I'm sorry," Cristian apologized.

"What a bloody disaster" the man muttered again.

Cristian wasn't listening to his reproach anymore though. He was mesmerized by the man's piercing black eyes. He already knew them and could never forget them. He stared at his mouth, then at his hands. He definitely knew several things about that man, including how he bit his lips during an orgasm. He was ready to apologize again, when the man said to him, "If you want to read, you should choose a table and sat there".

"And you'd better drink the cocktails upstairs", he replied annoyed.

"Apparently I'll be forced to do that to avoid distracted readers like you."

Cristian was tempted to reply again, but then resolved it was better to join his friends at the party. He put the book on the shelf and turned his back on that man, ready to get upstairs to the cocktail bar. He hoped not to see him again. The world was full of sexy man with piercing black eyes – OK, maybe not full – but the point was Cristian didn't want to waste his time with rude people.

Entering the party room was like being catapulted into another world, the warm color of the wood was replaced everywhere by blue and its shades. The lights were blue too. A man peeked out from one of the cobalt blue velvet curtains that covered the wall on the right, then came out followed by a woman who was still pulling down her dress. Cristian met her satisfied and embarrassed gaze, an unmistakable sign that behind the curtains were hidden the private rooms where people could fulfill their not so secret desires protected by prying eyes.

The music was loud, almost irritating, certainly different from the barely audible songs played downstairs. Cristian counted about fifty guests. He saw a set of tables, a group of ten or fifteen people grouped there, partly seated, partly standing. Some were busy drinking, others talking to each other. In plain sight two bottles of champagne lying on ice cubes, waiting to be uncorked, and a series of glasses full of blue liquid ready for the guests. Curacao. Blue is the new black, he thought. Or something like that. After a few minutes he spotted Sayid.

"So, the famous boxer?" he asked.

"He was here just a moment ago, then he went to the bathroom. Ah here he is". His friend pointed to someone, but Cristian couldn't see anyone. He just hoped Sayid's friend was nicer than the guy he had met before. A man came closer.

"Samir!" Sayid patted him on the shoulder.

Cristian bit his lips. Fuck, Samir couldn't be nicer than the man he met downstairs considering they were the same person.