"Sorry, Sayid. I was trying to..." Samir said, then stopped talking when his eyes laid on Cristian.

"It doesn't matter" Sayid said and introduced him to his friends, Cristian included.

"I didn't know you liked reading. The press never talks about it" Samir said with a glint in his eyes. He was being ironic referring to the incident that had involved him ad Cristian downstairs, but no one noticed.

Cristian offered a small smile, despite being still irritated. He had to admit Samir had a beautiful smile. The kind of smile that reaches the eyes and brightens the iris, and when the man shook his hand he felt his skin. Warm. And his grip. Firm.

"Sayid talked so much about you," Samir went on, "I also saw a few games, too bad it went wrong in Europe last year."

"We'll make up for it," Cristian replied with conviction."If we get to the semifinals, you could come and see us," he added politely.

"Cristian preceded me." Sayid enthusiastically patted him on the shoulder. "But you really should come to the stadium as our guest."

"Sure, as long as I don't have any boxing match on that day." Samir said.

That wasn't the answer that Cristian had expected. Usually people got enthusiastic when he offered them a free ticket for a soccer game.

"Soccer isn't the only sport in the world, contrary to popular belief," the boxer continued.

Just a jerk, Cristian thought of Samir. Maybe for sport celebrities like them that attitude was a jerk-knee reaction, or, perhaps, it was just the sign of a too big ego.

Samir smiled again. "I have to go," He said goodbye. His attention had been claimed by someone else. His guests didn't want to stay too long without him, and Cristian had to admit, despite the impatience and the embarrassment, that it wasn't hard to understand why. He observed Samir carefully: the lights of the New Moon, albeit dimmed, were better than the ones of the bathroom in that Italian club. He already knew that Samir was a tall man with black eyes and dark hair, brown-skinned, fit, but now he noticed the elegance of his movements, his ability to speak French and Arabic, English and Spanish. It was the result of having lived in different places, following a father, a boxing coach, who had traveled a lot to find a talented boxer, only to realize too late that he had a gold mine in his son.

Cristian startled when one of his friends touched his shoulder.

"Here you are" Patrizio said and offered him a drink.

"Don't worry. It isn't too alcholic". He thanked him and took a sip of the cocktail. Blue Champagne. It was cool and refreshing, but he couldn't take another sip. It always seemed to him that alcohol burned his mouth, his throat,his stomach. His heart. He was fed up of the crowd. He had noticed a spiral staircase between two blue velvet curtains and had sensed that it could lead to the terrace. He was right. The air was fresh and sweet together. He took a deep breath relaxing, but he felt again a sense of emptiness in his stomach, just like that morning. If only he knew how to get rid of it. Why the glamorous parties and photo-shoot weren't enough? Why not even his son and friends's love was enough?

He observed the red cherry floating in the blue liquid of his glass, the blue curacao lighting up with night glows, like a piece of sea in a glass bowl.

"It's so much better here, isn't it?" Someone had joined him.

He recognized the accent – a little Arab, a little French - before even seeing the face to which it belonged. Samir got closer to him. "Sorry for invading your space, but I needed a break too. I hope my guests haven't been too annoying".

"Not particularly. They were here for you, not for me, after all" Cristian replied.

"They were here for the free drinks." Samir smiled, and Cristian thought that maybe the man wasn't a hopeless jerk as he thought.There was no point in lying to himself: he was disappointed. He was disappointed that the other man hadn't recognized him. For Samir their first encounter in that Italian night club had been unworthy of leaving even the slightest memory. Cristian couldn't stay silent anymore even if probably was about to make a fool of himself.

"Do we really have to pretend we don't know each other?"

"We don't, but I didn't think you wanted to tell our friends we already met. They would ask when and where".

Cristian sighed in relief. A few words from Samir made his mood change. It was worrying. "Did you recognized me that night? Did you know who I was?"

"I wasn't sure, but when I met you downstairs tonight I did guess that you and Sayid's friend were the same person".

"You were rude earlier".

"You too. You did a mess with my cocktail and my jeans, but I apologize for my rudeness", Samir said, a mischievous smile on his face. Cristian wondered if he could take him seriously or if Samir was making fun of him. He chose the first option.

"Apologizes accepted. I'm sorry too" He vaguely pointed to the stain on the man's jeans.

Samir raised his glass to seal their peace. "Do you dislike alcohol or just that cocktail?" The boxer pointed to Cristian's glass, still full.

"It's just a lot of unnecessary calories," he replied, looking away at the city lights.

"I avoid it too, but sometimes ..." He didn't finish the sentence, and Cristian wondered if he had gotten lost in some memory that he didn't want to share. "Sayid told me you're leaving New York in a few days." Samir emptied the glass and placed it on the railing. He left him there, hovering.

"Unfortunately. We have an important game to play. I'm sorry to leave this city, it has always fascinated me".

"I like it too". Samir turned away from the railing, as if suddenly he got tired of looking at the road and at the other buildings. "We seem to like the same things, don't we?"

Cristian found himself unable to speak, he felt intoxicated by the Samir's spicy and warm scent, but Samir seemed not to notice or pretended not to, because he continued: "Maybe what is fascinating about this city is that it changes constantly, it makes you think that you are different too. Every time you come back you can imagine that you're not the same person who messed things up the last time".

Cristian was tempted to ask him if he had messed things up a lot and how, but for some reason the question sounded too intimate. He realized that their conversation stopped being just a polite exchange of pleasantries. They were talking for real. "I always thought it was nice to mix and walk among people without being considered special," he said instead.

Samir looked at him skeptically. "Sure? Would you like everyone to forget who you are?" he asked as if he had caught a kid lying.

"Just for a few days or weeks," Cristian admitted.They exchanged a glance. Silence fell between them. Cristian tightened the cold railing to forget the tension that hung between them, his heart that was beating fast, to forget that he would have kissed him again, if only he had a little more courage. Usually he didn't lack that kind of courage.

When Samir slid his hand over his and left it there, his heart leaped into his throat. He leaned forward imperceptibly, holding his breath.

Samir walked away. "My break is over, I don't want my guests to think I caused troubles again. Are you coming back with me?" he asked with cold courtesy.

"In a few minutes". Cristian looked away and felt stupid.

"See you later, then." Cristian couldn't help but look at his broad shoulders, at his back, at his arms that moved under his blue silk shirt, changing in the light of the street lamps, the buildings and the moon. I can find a thousand others like you, he thought. After a few minutes, he joined the party again. He ignored Samir for the rest of the night.

*******

Cristian came back to the hotel that night. "Eleven o'clock" he said to his teammates.

"Just in time for the curfew" Sayid joked, yawning.

Cristian said goodbye to him and went to the room he shared with the team's captain, Patrizio. His friends looked happy, and for a moment Cristian got jealous of them.

Patrizio slipped in his bed. "It was funny, wasn't it?"

"If you say so".

"Well, Samir looks like a good guy, don't you think?" Patrizio insisted.

"He looks like the classic boxer who hate all soccer players because he thinks we don't work hard but get all the money and the attention," Cristian replied without thinking. God, he should have just taken a shower before letting his frustration getting the better of him.

"Are you alright?" Patrizio asked.

Cristian nodded. "I'll go and take a shower. It's OK if I leave the lights on? I need to check my emails".

"Sure, no problem. Night".

Cristian went to the bathroom hoping that the jet of the water would relax him. It worked just fine.When he returned to his room he was definitely more relaxed. He intended to reply to emails and go to sleep. He took the laptop, turned it on and put it on his knees. He stared at the screen for a few seconds, then, against his common sense, opened the search engine page and typed Samir's name, took a quick look at the pics before opening another link to his biography. The encounter with that man had left him wanting to know more, he wondered what he would find about him, behind the mask of the successful and arrogant boxer. His eyes read fast and greedy the lines.

"Fuck," he whispered.He closed the laptop quickly.