Mercifully, Elise downed the last of her champagne and they stepped out into the members’ balcony area.
The vibe outside was entirely different, and the din that rose up from the crowd was full of excitement and anticipation. Jasmine’s heart immediately slowed, the pressure in her chest easing as she located two spare seats. She wrapped her coat around her shoulders and crossed her arms as she sat, popping the collar to protect her neck from the chill.
‘You OK?’ Elise touched her arm.
Jasmine nodded. Now that she was outside, away from the dismissive glances and claustrophobic atmosphere of the Long Room, she felt marginally better.
Still, she’d prefer to be at home with a blanket, a good book and a cup of hot chocolate. Not here, freezing her butt off in a dress that seemed to be too dressy and yet not dressy enough. But Elise could be a bulldog when she wanted to; sometimes it was easier to give in rather than indulge her Goldilocks complex about her wardrobe.
More members piled out of the Long Room and into the balcony seats. They were mostly men in suits; the women seemed to be staying inside, except for a group of younger girls with extra-long hair extensions and too-short dresses. They occupied the front row, giggling and pointing as the players took to the field.
It was match time, and the fans were chomping at the bit. The Jaguars had won the coin toss and the players now jogged into position. The noise level in the stadium swelled. Even Jasmine couldn’t help but get caught up in the rush...just a little.
For some reason her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing Grant out there. She jumped as the siren sounded and the game began. A centre bounce set the ball into play and the crowd was on the edge of their seats from the first few seconds.
‘It’s going to be a close game,’ Elise said, her tone serious. ‘The Jags lost by a point last time they played the Suns, and only by two or three points the time before that.’
‘Since when are you such a football expert?’
‘Since there are hot guys in tiny shorts.’ She laughed.
Jasmine nodded. ‘Where’s Grant?’
She scanned the ground, looking for a familiar head of thick blond hair since that was about all she’d be able to see from the balcony. The players were quick, running at full speed as the ball flew from the centre towards the goalposts at one end. There was a mad scramble and the ball went out of play.
‘He’s the full forward.’ Elise pointed to the other end of the field. ‘Number eighteen.’
Jasmine spotted Grant’s hulking frame, his arms bulging in the sleeveless Jaguars guernsey. His muscles rippled as he moved, tense and ready to spring into action. She noticed one of his shoulders was covered in tattoos—something she hadn’t seen beneath the T-shirts he wore to her lessons. His blond hair shone under the stadium lights, and even at such a great distance she could see the focus on his face.
Her stomach clenched.
He was so masculine out there. So powerful. He moved with all the strength and grace of the big cat his team was named after. Each movement was practised and precisely executed. He tracked the other players effortlessly, moving to cover and dodge with incredible agility.
She swallowed, pushing down the attraction humming through her. He was so...virile.
The ball hurtled towards Grant. He sprang into action. It bounced, there was a flurry of arms and legs, and then he got his hands on it. He kicked. The ball sailed into the air, straight through the goalposts in a single graceful arc.
Around her the crowd roared; flags and scarves waved in a blur of black and green. She jumped to her feet and cheered. The air rushed out of her lungs as she shouted his name.
The players clapped one another on the back and Grant looked up towards the members’ area. Jasmine was certain he was looking straight at her. OK, so maybe she did get the appeal of the footballer...
FOUR
Grant’s muscles were freed, tired and a little bruised—just the way he liked it after a good massage. Most of the guys in his team booked their treatments around the schedule of a pretty brunette masseuse, but Grant much preferred the stout, middle-aged woman with knuckles of steel.
He gave his shoulders a tentative roll. They moved better than they had an hour ago, but he was tender to the touch. The game against the Suns had done a number on him. He’d pushed himself harder than ever, stretching himself beyond where he’d thought his limits were.
And all because he’d known Jasmine was watching.
Pushing thoughts of her from his mind, he walked into the reception area. People huddled at the front door, waiting for a break in the weather before they made a dash out to the car park. Rain pelted against the glass doors and lightning flashed amongst heavy clouds, illuminating the small patches of sky peeking through.
He smiled at the receptionist as she handed him a form to sign, her eyes inviting him to linger. He didn’t bother. He was far too preoccupied to engage in flirtation.
His mind was on other things—namely the fact that he couldn’t get a certain ballet teacher out of his head. It had been years since he’d felt genuine attraction to a woman—years since he’d had the urge to pursue a woman for something other than sex...though sex would definitely be involved.
When his ex-fiancée, Chelsea, had left him, abandoning their five-year relationship, it had felt like losing his family all over again. Since then he’d reassessed his approach to women. She’d departed with nothing but a scrawled note. He’d responded by limiting himself to a string of football groupies who were more about scratching an itch than genuine attraction. If he didn’t invest in a relationship then he couldn’t have it thrown back in his face. They all wanted to use him for something, so he kept them at a distance. He kept everyone at a distance.
Grant glanced back to the group of people waiting at the door and noticed a slender figure with a long black ponytail. Jasmine.
He scrawled his name on the form with haste and handed it back to the receptionist. He walked to the front of the room and slipped into the group until he stood directly behind her. She titled her head to the side and her ponytail swished against her back like a thick band of silk.
‘Don’t tell me you walked today.’ He leant forwards, his lips all but brushing her ear. The flowery scent of her perfume immediately made his stomach flip.
She turned. Her cheeks were flushed and a black smudge ran across her upper cheek.
‘I learned my lesson last time.’ She managed a smile, but it didn’t crinkle the corners of her eyes as it usually did. Her arms were crossed tight across her chest, though it was stuffy and warm inside the waiting room. Her mouth was a harsh line, the corners downturned slightly.
‘Is everything OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
Grant didn’t miss the way her body stiffened next to his.
‘Somehow I don’t believe you.’ Something within Grant shifted as Jasmine looked at him, her face a mask of forced composure.
‘Great game, by the way.’ The catch in her words made him want to wrap his arms around her. He fought back the urge and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘You killed it out there.’
‘The Suns didn’t stand a chance.’ He grinned, puffing his chest out. ‘And nice attempt at changing the subject.’ He nudged her in the ribcage with his elbow.
‘Am I that transparent?’
‘Yeah.’ He reached out and ran his thumb along the black line on her cheek. ‘Plus you have a little smudge on your face.’
‘I’m fine.’ Her eyes were wide, cheekbones flushed where he’d touched her a moment ago. Her breath hitched.
‘Don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re clearly not.’
She shook her head, looking towards the doors. He had the feeling that if he didn’t grab on to her then she might bolt through the clinic’s entrance into the
rain. Usually it was he who had the itch to run, but not now.
He slung an arm around her shoulders as though they were old friends. The gesture should have felt platonic, safe...but the way she automatically pressed into his side felt anything but safe.
‘Let me take you for a coffee. It’ll make you feel better.’
Her faced tilted up to his. ‘That’s very sweet, but I’m OK. Honestly, I don’t need your help.’
‘You know you’re only supposed to say “honestly” if you’re telling the truth, right?’
She poked her tongue out at him.
‘Just coffee, then, and I won’t try to help.’ He grinned. ‘In fact I’ll be actively unhelpful if that makes you feel better.’
‘Persistent, aren’t you?’ She rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.
‘Yes.’
‘Is there any chance you’ll take no for an answer?’
‘Never.’
‘I guess I could use the caffeine.’
He took the opportunity and linked his arm through hers. ‘Let’s make a break for it. We’ll go in my car.’
Pushing forwards, he opened the doors against the raging wind and held Jasmine close. She shrieked as the rain hit them head-on, and they rushed down the pavement towards the car park. The ground was slippery and he held her tight so that her body bumped against him as they sprinted.
‘Quickly!’ she cried, her black hair whipping around her face like wet ebony ribbons.
He pulled her towards the second row of cars and fumbled with his keys. Jasmine let go of him, dashing around to the passenger side. The doors slammed loudly as they fell into the car in a rush, their breathing fogging up the windows of the Mercedes. Jasmine’s laugh was a punch to his gut; even drenched and puffing she was a vision.
‘Bloody Melbourne!’ Grant rolled down the driver’s windows and backed the car out of its spot. ‘I can’t see a damn thing!’
‘It’s freezing.’ Jasmine rubbed her hands together, breathing on them. ‘I swear it’s going to snow this winter.’
‘Fat chance.’ Grant pulled the car out onto the street. ‘I’ve never seen snow in the burbs.’
‘Are you always so literal?’ Her voice was teasing and Grant glanced at her sideways. A smirk passed over her face.
‘Men are wired that way.’ He laughed. ‘Simple creatures, we are.’
‘Yeah, you are pretty simple.’
He gave her a mock wounded expression. ‘I’ll have you know I’m a man of many skills.’
‘Such as?’
‘I solved a Rubik’s cube once.’
‘Really?’ She raised an eyebrow at him.
‘Yeah. I may have peeled off some of the colours and stuck them back down so the sides matched...’
‘That’s resourceful.’
‘I was four.’
‘I’m surprised your parents didn’t get you admitted to Mensa with skills like that.’
‘Who says they didn’t?’
‘You’re a clown.’ Her laughter was like bells tinkling. ‘And here I was, thinking that all footballers were big oafs with more brawn than brains.’
‘That’s a bit judgmental.’ Grant pulled the car in front of a café. ‘I’m rethinking this offer.’
It was an idle threat; no way was he giving up the opportunity to get into Jasmine’s head. She was too much of a puzzle for him not to have a go. He wanted to see what she was all about underneath the defensive exterior.
‘Too late.’ She grinned at him and leapt out of the car.
The café was one of those too-trendy-for-their-own-good places, with a coffee menu that had more options than a pizza joint had toppings. Grant normally avoided them like the plague, but he couldn’t deny how amazing the coffee was. Besides, a small part of him wanted Jasmine to be impressed with his taste. Outside the studio he had the opportunity to be her equal rather than her student.
‘Oh, I’ve been meaning to come here,’ she said, shrugging off her coat and unwinding her scarf.
Grant bit back the desire to touch her as she exposed delicate ivory skin. She was utterly sensual even when doing the most mundane thing.
‘It gets great reviews on a bunch of coffee blogs.’
The smooth porcelain of her neck begged to be touched, to be marked with the hunger of his kiss.
‘It’s good.’ Grant signalled to the waiter that they wanted a table for two. ‘If you can put up with the hipster vibe.’
The café was filled with people in skinny jeans and ironic T-shirts, sporting all manner of moustaches and thick-framed glasses. It certainly wasn’t somewhere where he’d fit in, but he’d put up with the pretentious patrons for a decent macchiato. Plus, he was unlikely to be recognised somewhere like this—somewhere where football wasn’t the religion of choice. The last thing he wanted was anyone interrupting them.
‘I might not be able to read the menu.’ She followed him to an empty table by the window. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever heard of syphon coffee before.’
‘It’s lighter than regular espresso ’cause the beans are roasted at a lower temperature—it’s good stuff.’
‘Wow.’ Jasmine looked impressed. ‘You should have gone with the coffee facts instead of the Rubik’s cube story.’
‘I stand by my choice.’
An awkward silence descended on the table. He rubbed a hand along his jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble against his palm. The café buzzed around them, full of people escaping the weather. Their table had a view of the empty rain-drenched street, and tucked away in the back he could pretend it was just the two of them.
Jasmine toyed with the single flower that sat in a jar in front of them. Her fingers brushed the blood-red blossom and the petals sprang back into position as she moved her hand away.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ The words came out of Grant’s mouth before he could stop them. She looked out of the window, her eyes shadowed.
‘I thought you said you weren’t going to help.’ She turned back to him with a small smile. ‘I distinctly remember the words “actively unhelpful” being uttered.’
‘I did say that.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Jasmine quietened as the waiter took their orders. ‘It’s not something you can help with, so I don’t see the point of going over it.’
‘Try me.’
He couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or if he was finally breaking through. Her eyebrows were knitted together and she tapped her fingernails against the edge of the table. Each nail was a glimmering pale pink. Perfection right down to her damn fingernails.
She was getting to him, making him want to see what secret she kept so close to her chest, what pain she hid from the world. He was drawn to her in some primal, uncontrollable way. But there was nothing he could do to sate that desire—not unless he wanted to cross a line he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. Jasmine was complex. She played her cards close to her chest and she hadn’t asked him for a single thing. That put her in a special category all of her own, and that meant he couldn’t treat her the way he treated others.
‘You are persistent, aren’t you?’ she said.
‘It’s one of my many qualities.’
Her dark lashes fluttered as two dots of pink formed on her cheeks. ‘I am familiar with your other qualities.’
‘What have you got to lose?’
Would she put up a wall between them and close him out? He wanted so desperately to delve beneath the surface, to see past the barrier she put between them. Most of all he wanted to see how far down that feminine blush of hers went. Grant fiddled with the hem of his jumper.
‘Why are you so curious?’
‘Why are you so guarded?’
Jasmine had
to laugh. If there was one thing she could say about Grant it was that he was like a dog with a bone. The waiter set two coffees down in front of them and she eagerly reached for hers, wrapping her hands around the warm terracotta-coloured cup.
The familiar clutches of grief tugged at her chest, closing their cold hands around her heart and lungs—making it difficult to breathe.
‘Remember how I told you that I’d been in an accident?’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded.
‘I caused it. I’d had a few drinks and argued with my boyfriend. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have been driving.’
She remembered the swirl of her silk gown as she’d rushed to the car. The tears and champagne blurring her vision. The world as it tilted around her when the car rolled. The pain as she’d tried to drag herself to freedom through the driver’s window.
‘I don’t know what to do.’ Her voice was devoid of emotion. ‘I can’t stand the sight of alcohol anymore and I can’t even take painkillers because I’m afraid to lose control.’
She held her breath, waiting to see if he would miraculously provide the solution to her problems. He didn’t.
‘Why do you think that taking painkillers will make you lose control?’
‘You know, I’m not actually sure.’ She shook her head. ‘I think it started as a little game for myself when I was first recovering. I tried to wean myself off, thinking that if I could do without the painkillers then it meant I was better and I’d be able to dance again.’
‘But it didn’t work.’ His face softened, blond lashes dropping to cover his eyes for a moment before he looked back up at her.
‘No. I tried to tough it out for six months at the ballet company before I gave up. That was the worst six months of my life. I had to watch someone else dance the part I’d been given the day before the accident. It was my first lead role—a small contemporary ballet—but it was a sign...a sign that my career was going in the right direction. A sign that maybe I could make it all the way to Principal.’
Only the Brave Try Ballet Page 5
