Dental Appointment

The sterile smell of the dental clinic filled Luka's nostrils as he reclined in the chair, the bright examination light shining down on his face. Dr. Müller worked with practiced precision, his movements efficient and gentle as he polished Luka's teeth to a gleaming finish. The appointment had been Mendes' suggestion—or rather, insistence—part of a comprehensive "image management" strategy that still made Luka uncomfortable to think about.

"Almost finished, Herr Zorić," Dr. Müller said, his German accent thick but his English clear. "Your teeth are already in excellent condition. This is just enhancing what's already there."

Luka managed a muffled "Danke" around the instruments in his mouth, his thoughts drifting as the dentist continued his work. The man had been speaking German when Luka arrived, but instantly switched to English upon recognizing him. It was a small courtesy that Luka found both considerate and slightly annoying. His German had improved significantly—he was practically fluent and he understand all of what was said to him—but people rarely gave him the chance to speak it.

His mind wandered to the salon visit earlier that morning. The stylist had trimmed his hair with reverent attention, treating each lock as though it belonged to royalty. The manicurist had tended to his hands with similar care, filing his nails to perfect ovals, pushing back cuticles, applying a clear polish that gave them a healthy sheen. Services he'd never considered before Paris, before the hat trick, before the world's eyes had turned to him.

Truthfully, this wasn't entirely on part of Mendes.

The truth of why he'd suddenly become concerned with his appearance—a truth he barely admitted to himself—flickered through his mind. Dark eyes, a smile that seemed to know secrets, hair that fell in soft waves. The woman who'd approached him with genuine interest in Paris.

He'd been on her Instagram all morning, scrolling through photos of premieres and behind-the-scenes shots, candid moments captured between takes. Jenna Ortega. Rising star. Former footballer. A connection that had felt genuine amidst the carnival of calculated networking that had engulfed him post-match.

"Rinse, please," Dr. Müller instructed, breaking Luka's reverie.

As he swished water around his mouth, Luka silently acknowledged what he'd been avoiding: he was primping. Preening. Trying to transform himself from footballer to someone worthy of Hollywood attention. The realization made him simultaneously embarrassed and determined.

"Perfect," Dr. Müller declared, adjusting the chair to help Luka sit upright. "Your smile is now as impressive as your goal-scoring abilities."

Luka ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling their smoothness. "They feel different."

"Professional whitening brings out the natural brightness," the dentist explained, handing Luka a mirror. "Nothing artificial—just your teeth at their best."

Luka examined his reflection, noting the subtle but undeniable difference. His smile seemed brighter, more camera-ready. The kind of smile that belonged on magazine covers and promotional material. The kind of smile that might impress a certain American actress.

"Danke schön," he said, deliberately using German this time.

Dr. Müller beamed. "Bitte sehr. Ihr Deutsch wird immer besser."

"Ich versuche," Luka replied with a modest shrug. I try.

As he left the examination room, the receptionist handed him a small bag containing dental products—high-end toothpaste, a sonic toothbrush, whitening pens. "Compliments of Dr. Müller," she explained. "He's a big Dortmund fan."

Luka thanked her, adding the bag to his growing collection of gifts and freebies that seemed to materialize whenever he went anywhere these days. The dental work itself had been comped too—"for our star player," they'd insisted, despite his attempts to pay.

Outside, the February air bit at his cheeks as he walked toward the black Cadillac Escalade waiting at the curb. The vehicle gleamed in the weak winter sunlight, its lines sleek and powerful. His first major purchase from the bonus money—a 45,000 euro indulgence. While he had his vehicle in England he had none here.

Previously he didn't meet the basic requirement for driving without supervision—being 18. But now, he had someone overlooking what he was doing at the wheel.

Klaus stood beside the driver's door, his posture straight, his gaze constantly scanning the surroundings. The former military man had accepted Luka's job offer with surprising emotion, expressing genuine gratitude for the opportunity. Coincidentally, his previous security contract had ended abruptly, leaving him in financial uncertainty. The 80,000 euro annual salary Luka offered, well, Mendes offered, was generous by industry standards, but modest compared to the other security entourages Mendes had in mind.

"All good?" Klaus asked as Luka approached.

"Better than good," Luka replied, running his tongue over his teeth again. "Ready for my close-up."

Klaus smiled, opening the passenger door. "The photoshoot location is twenty minutes away. Traffic is light."

As they settled into the car, Luka felt a small thrill at the vehicle's luxury—the butter-soft leather seats, the sophisticated dashboard technology, the quiet purr of the engine. With Klaus as his supervisor, he could enjoy the freedom of the open road rather than curling up in the backseat of an uber.

"Can I?" Luka asked, gesturing to the steering wheel.

Klaus nodded, switching places with practiced efficiency. "It's your car, boss."

The term still felt strange to Luka's ears—this man, nearly twice his age, deferring to him with such respect. He had asked him numerous times within the short time-span he'd been hired to refer to him as Luka but the man insisted otherwise. He adjusted the seat, checked the mirrors, and pulled smoothly into traffic, feeling the power of the engine respond to his touch.

As they drove through Dortmund's streets, Luka's mind drifted to the financial reality that had made this all possible. His bank account now held approximately 1.5 million euros—a combination of his basic puma salary, commercial income and performance bonuses. Additionally, he had roughly 2 million in Puma stock options and still, there was his unaccounted assets like his home and cars.

Yet it all paled in comparison to the numbers Mendes had whispered in Paris. Seventy-five million for a signature.

"Klaus," Luka said, breaking the comfortable silence, "what would you do if you had more money than you could ever spend?"

The security professional considered this for a moment. "Start a business, probably. Something with longevity, something that could grow beyond me."

"That's what I've been thinking," Luka admitted. "Football careers don't last forever. Even if everything goes perfectly—no injuries, consistent performance—I've got maybe fifteen good years. Then what?"

"You're thinking far ahead," Klaus observed.

"I have to," Luka replied, his voice taking on an edge of seriousness. "This could all disappear tomorrow. Do you how many footballers have had their careers ended from just a simple bad tackle?"

They slowed at a traffic light, and Luka took the opportunity to send a quick message to his father and Mendes:

Lets talk about those business ventures again when you're finished with your meetings.

The reply from Mendes came almost immediately:

Already on it. Have proposals for you to review. Real estate, tech startups, fashion brands. Your Brand has value beyond the pitch.

Luka frowned slightly at the screen. His brand. It seemed like Luka Zorić the person and Luka Zorić the commodity were diverging more each day.

"You know," Klaus said, noticing his expression, "your generation has advantages we never had. Social media, global reach, instant recognition. You could build something meaningful with that platform."

Luka nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe clothing? I've got the Puma connection already. Or vehicles—I've always loved cars."

"Whatever you choose," Klaus replied, "do it because you're passionate about it, not just for the money. That's the difference between a business and a cash grab."

As they pulled into the parking lot of the studio where the Puma photoshoot would take place, his phone buzzed with a notification. An Instagram alert. Jenna Ortega had posted a new story. His heart quickened as he tapped to view it—a short video of her with friends, laughing, doing some popular TikTok dance challenge. The location tag read "Amsterdam, Netherlands."

Klaus caught his expression and smiled knowingly. "Someone special?"

Luka quickly locked his screen, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "Just checking messages before we go in."

"Right," Klaus replied, his tone suggesting he wasn't fooled. "Well, your adoring public awaits, Herr Zorić."

«—»«—»«—»«—»

The Amsterdam hotel suite buzzed with activity as Jenna collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted from a full day of press interviews for Scream. Her castmates were scattered around the room, some ordering room service, others scrolling through their phones, all of them riding the peculiar high that came from hours of repeating the same anecdotes to different journalists.

"I swear if one more person asks me about my 'favorite scary movie' I'm going to scream for real," she groaned, kicking off her heels.

"At least you're not getting asked about your aunt every five minutes," Melissa Barrera replied with a sympathetic smile.

Jenna's phone vibrated with a notification from her agent. She scanned the message quickly, then sat up straighter, suddenly energized.

"Everything okay?" Mason Gooding asked, noticing her change in demeanor.

"Yeah, just... schedule changes," she replied, trying to sound casual. "I have to be in Germany from March 1st for some photoshoots and promotional stuff."

"Germany?" Jasmin Savoy Brown raised an eyebrow. "That's random."

"It's for that cosmetics brand," Jenna explained, which was true, though not the whole truth. The timing—allowing her to be in the country for the Champions League return leg on March 9th—had sparked a small thrill she wasn't ready to acknowledge publicly.

"You were just in Germany, weren't you?" Mason asked. "For that football match you wouldn't stop talking about?"

"That was France," Jenna corrected him. "Paris. And it wasn't just any match—it was Champions League."

"Right, with that player you met," Melissa chimed in, her tone suddenly interested. "The one who asked for your number."

Jenna felt her cheeks warm. "Luka. Yeah."

"Luka Zorić," Jasmin clarified, showing her phone screen where she'd clearly been searching the name. "Seventeen-year-old football prodigy who just scored a hat trick against Paris Saint-Germain. Currently being called 'The Young Eagle' and 'football's next global superstar.'" She looked up with a mischievous grin. "Also, extremely cute."

"It's not like that," Jenna protested, though the flutter in her stomach suggested otherwise. "He's seventeen and I'm nineteen."

"Which is legal." Melissa murmured under he breath, eliciting a eyeroll from Jenna.

"We just talked about football. I used to play, remember?"

"Sure, that's why you're blushing," Melissa teased. "Because of football."

Jenna threw a decorative pillow at her friend, who caught it with a laugh.

"Come on," Mason prodded. "Spill the details. What's he like? Is he arrogant?"

Jenna considered this, remembering their brief interaction. "Actually, no. He seemed... grounded. Almost uncomfortable with all the attention. There were all these executives and businesspeople trying to talk to him, but he seemed more interested in just talking casually."

"So he's talented, chill, and looks like that?" Jasmin scrolled through images on her phone. "No wonder you're rearranging your schedule to be in Germany."

"I'm not!" Jenna protested, though the coincidence wasn't lost on her. "The cosmetics deal was already in the works. It's just... convenient timing."

"Convenient," Melissa echoed skeptically. "Right."

Jenna's phone buzzed again—another message from her agent confirming details for the German trip. She'd be in the country for ten days, including the date of the Dortmund-PSG match. Her heart quickened at the thought.

"Listen," she said, addressing her friends' knowing looks, "I know what you're thinking, but it's complicated. My schedule is insane right now. After this promotion tour, I go straight back to filming for 'Wednesday. I barely have time to sleep, let alone start something with someone who lives on another continent."

"But?" Mason prompted, sensing there was more.

Jenna sighed. "But... I don't know."

"Just text him," Jasmin suggested simply. "Tell him you'll be in Germany."

"It's not that simple," Jenna replied, though she'd already drafted and deleted several messages while they conversed over the past days. "He's in this crazy moment right now. Every club in the world wants him. He's probably busy twenty four seven. The last thing he needs is some actress complicating things."

"Or maybe," Melissa countered, "what he needs is someone who sees him as a person, not a commodity. Someone who gets what it's like to have your life change overnight."

Jenna considered this, remembering how genuine their brief conversation had felt amidst the calculated networking of the post-match reception. How his eyes had lit up when she mentioned playing football herself, how he'd seemed to relax when they'd talked about something normal.

"Maybe you're right," she conceded, reaching for her phone. "I'll think about it."

As her friends returned to their earlier conversations, Jenna opened Instagram, scrolling through Luka's profile. His follower count had exploded since the match—now over nine million—more than hers. but his content remained surprisingly unchanged. Not that there were training matches, highlights or team photos—no. Besides his stories there was only one photo. Luka holding the man of the match in his hand.

Still, it meant no flashy lifestyle posts, no sudden influx of luxury brand partnerships.

She navigated to her messaging app, staring at their brief previous exchange. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard as she debated what to say.

Hey, just found out I'll be in Germany from March 1st for work. Would be cool to catch up if you're around.

Simple. Casual. No pressure. Her finger hovered over the send button for a moment before she pressed it decisively.

The message showed as delivered, then almost immediately shifted to "read." Three dots appeared, indicating he was typing a response. Jenna felt a flutter of anticipation, surprised by her own reaction. She'd met countless celebrities, worked with major stars, yet here she was, nervously awaiting a text from a teenage footballer.

His reply came through:

That's amazing timing actually. I do have a few matches but we could probably meet up before the PSG game.

Jenna smiled, typing back:

I'd like that. Good luck with your preparations. Been watching your highlights from your league. You're ridiculous.

The conversation flowed easily from there.

By the time Jenna looked up from her phone, her friends were watching her with knowing smiles.

"Just talking about football?" Melissa asked innocently.

Jenna rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her smile. "Shut up. We're just... connecting."

"Well, your 'connection' is trending on Twitter," Jasmin said, showing her phone screen where fan accounts had already begun speculating about Jenna's presence at the Paris match and potential links to Luka.

"Great," Jenna groaned. "I definitely shouldn't have made those tweets."

"Welcome to 2022," Mason said with a sympathetic pat on her shoulder. "Where two famous people can't have a conversation without becoming a ship name."

"What would that even be?" Melissa wondered aloud. "Juka? Lenna?"

"Stop," Jenna pleaded, though she couldn't help laughing. "It's not like that. We're just... friends."

"Friends who are both coincidentally going to be in Germany at the same time," Jasmin noted.

"Well," Melissa said gently, "famous or not, you deserve someone who sees you for you. If that's him, famous footballer or not, then go for it."

<>

patréon.com/c/SincereRoses

Link Will Be On My Profile

If searching ensure 'see r18' is on

https://discord.gg/QsfGErNX