by Jessica Ashe
“Yes,” I replied, looking at Michelle from behind. “It is. You can go sit in the stands as well if you want.”
Maisie found the door and took a seat out in the ground. The executive suites were awesome, but you couldn’t beat the atmosphere of being out amongst the crowd where you could feel the tension through your body as the game ebbed and flowed.
“Are you okay?” Michelle asked me, once Maisie was outside. “About what happened back there with those boys.”
“Of course,” I said, with a big, forced smile. “It happens all the time. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not fair,” she said. “Anyone could have… you know…”
“Dropped the ball and completely shanked the kick that could have won my country the World Cup?”
“Yeah. It’s just one of those things.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
Michelle smiled at me; for one beautiful moment our eyes met and then she looked away again, back at Maisie. Michelle insisted she didn’t blame me for what happened to Maisie, but she should. It was my fault. Not because I didn’t walk them home that evening. I was guilty of far more than just not being a gentleman.
Michelle took hold of her rugby shirt and tugged it a few times to let some air underneath. The suite was a bit warm and she had a long sleeve shirt on with her normal top underneath.
“You should have bought the short sleeve shirt,” I said. “It’s too hot for the long sleeve one. Why don’t you take it off?”
Michelle looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Is that how you usually get women out of their clothes?’
“Usually they’re peeling their clothes off long before I get the chance to open my mouth.”
“Well, I think I’ll just break with tradition and keep it on.”
“Suit yourself.” Probably for the best. The image of Michelle peeling off a layer of clothing might be too much for me right now.
Maisie came back in from outside and asked the waiter for a beer. The waiter looked straight to me with a questioning glance, and I then turned to Michelle.
Michelle sighed. “You can have one beer and that’s it.”
I laughed when I saw the look of pleasant surprise on Maisie’s face. She hadn’t been expecting to get away with that one.
“And I’ll have a glass of white wine please,” Michelle added as the waiter was on his way out.
“I’d better go and show my face before the coach wonders where I am.”
“Olly?” Maisie asked before I left. “I never got your signature.”
“That’s sweet, Maisie, but you don’t need to try and make me feel better.”
“I want it,” she said. She handed me the pen she’d kept from before and asked me to sign on her back by the upper right shoulder. “You get one too, Michelle. That shirt will be worth a fortune once he’s signed it.”
“Oliver needs to get a move on,” Michelle said.
“Nonsense,” I replied. I resisted the temptation to ask if Michelle wanted me to sign on a breast and went to write my name on her shoulder in the same place I’d done it for Maisie. I rested my hand on her back and felt the heat from her body. She was burning up under that shirt, but was too stubborn to take it off.
I could smell a hint of citrus in her hair, and desperately wanted to run my fingers through it. As the pen touched her shoulder, I noticed a slight, almost imperceptible, shiver run up her spine. Was that a reaction to my touch? I’d wanted to get a reaction from her, but a cold shiver wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for.
I finished signing Michelle’s shirt and handed the pen back to Maisie. “Have fun ladies.”
One thing I’d never lacked on the pitch was motivation. Ever since my return to the game after the 2007 final, I’d needed to prove myself to everyone: my teammates, the fans, and myself. Now I had an added incentive.
Two people who meant the world to me would be sitting in the crowd. No matter what happened, today I would be giving it everything I had.
Watching Oliver play rugby was even more terrifying than watching Maisie play. None of the girls Maisie played against came close to the size of the forwards charging down Oliver at every opportunity.
The pace of the game stayed fast and intense throughout the entire eighty minutes, so Oliver never held on to the ball for longer than two seconds at a time. He would receive a pass and then either pass it sideways to a teammate or kick it down the field. Either way, he got charged down by someone who weighed well over two hundred pounds.
Tackles were a constant occurrence, but to me at least, the ones involving Oliver tended to have a little more crunch. Every time he hit the floor, there were a few nerve-wracking seconds where I didn’t think he would get up again. He always did, but that didn’t stop me being just as scared the next time he went down.
This sport was utterly brutal. I knew that on paper it was safer than football. Maisie had explained to me hundreds of times that the helmets they wore in football actually made the game more dangerous because it encouraged head-to-head collisions which were strictly prohibited in rugby. That made some kind of sense, but I still wished Oliver were down there in some sort of padding instead of being completely exposed.
Mind you, having Oliver’s legs on show offered some advantages. My god, those legs had an unnatural and unhealthy impact on me. Just looking at his thighs made my own legs weak, not to mention what happened between them if I lost myself to a daydream. Oliver’s team valued his legs for how they kicked the ball, but they had a completely different kind of value to me.
The dirtier his legs got as the game wore on, the more I wished I were in the changing room after the game to help clean them up. I crossed my own legs in my seat to try and control my lust, but it did little good. My short skirt left me feeling exposed, and that just fueled the desire inside.
I should have worn pants, but it was a hot day, and a short skirt would help keep me cool without needing to take my top off. That was the plan anyway, but then Oliver had insisted I wear a rugby jersey so now I was sweltering under two layers.
I’d deflected Oliver’s suggestion that I take my top off by pretending that he was trying to undress me, but he’d noticed how odd my comment was. At some point he’d also notice that I always wore something to cover my arm, but I planned to keep making excuses as long as possible.
I didn’t want him to see the burn on my arm. He didn’t know about that. No one knew about it other than Maisie, Mom, and a few close friends, and I intended on keeping it that way.
With a few minutes to go, Oliver attempted a long drop goal but it missed just past the post. It didn’t make any difference to the game, and he’d already put twelve points on the board, but I heard a fan nearby mutter “typical” under his breath.
I glanced over at Maisie who had heard it too. She looked pissed. Not much made Maisie angry, but she didn’t like hearing Oliver insulted. He’d shrugged off the insult from the boys earlier, but that had to have hurt. Maisie had helped by asking for his autograph, but to have that one mistake from eight years ago still following him around was unfair.
People still blamed him for one mistake he’d made at the age of eighteen when the expectations of an entire country were on his shoulders. I was doing the same thing. I was just as bad as those boys earlier and the one sat in front of me now.
Oliver had changed since he acted like a jerk to me, just like he’d changed on the pitch since he missed that crucial drop goal. I couldn’t keep him at arm’s length just on the off chance he might be nasty to me again.
It dawned on me; I was scared. Scared he would treat me badly again. Scared he wouldn’t want me when he saw me naked. Scared I would still want him after the summer was over and we went home.
I glanced over at Maisie again and saw a girl who was never scared. She wasn’t scared when she was on the field. She wasn’t scared to meet people even though she was regularly bullied because of the burn marks on her face. If my younger sister could handle wh
at was thrown at her then I sure as hell could too.
“Will you be okay on your own tonight?” I asked Maisie.
“Sure, why?”
“I was thinking of grabbing drinks with Oliver tonight. We should probably catch up. If he wants to that is.”
Maisie smiled. “I’m sure he’ll want to.”
“You can come too,” I offered, although it was probably obvious I didn’t want her to. “We’ll do dinner instead of drinks if you like.”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll hang out with him another evening. It’s about time you let your hair down.”
“What will you do?”
“Well… I suppose if Olly is out with you, then Shaun will be bored. Maybe I’ll hang out with him.”
“I suppose I walked into that one,” I admitted. “We’ll have to see what Oliver says. And Shaun may not want to; he seems like quite a shy kid.”
“I’m sure I can bring him out of his shell.”
“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that and carry on watching the game.”
“Good idea.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself from laughing at Maisie’s confidence and sheer joy for life. I could do with taking a leaf out of her book. Maybe tonight I would let my hair down and have fun for once? I was due a good night out and I had a feeling Oliver was more than capable of showing me a good time.
So much for being brave. I couldn’t even find the courage to ask Oliver if he wanted to go for a drink. Fortunately, Maisie did it for me by saying she wanted to hang out with Shaun and that Oliver and I should do our own thing. Neither of us took much encouragement.
“We could do dinner if you like?” Oliver asked. “You wouldn’t believe how hungry I am after that game.”
“Let’s just go to a dive bar and grab some wings or something,” I suggested. “I’m not dressed for anywhere fancy.”
“You’re in England now, remember. I doubt we’ll find a bar that specializes in wings and American beer. And if we do, I’m not going anywhere near it. I know there are jokes about rugby players drinking piss for dares, but we don’t go as far as drinking American beer. We’re not animals.”
“Alright ‘smartarse,’” I said, emphasizing the ‘arse’ in my best English accent. “You choose where we eat.”
I genuinely didn’t care where we ended up; I just wanted to spend the evening looking at Oliver. He had that glow of someone who had worked up a sweat and then showered, but was still hot and a little sweaty. He’d crammed himself into a suit to do a quick post-match interview, but had removed the tie and had a button undone to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his chest.
“So shall I go to your house and hang out with Shaun?” Maisie asked. She tried to sound more casual about it in front of Oliver, but she still came across as obvious. That girl did not know how to do subtle.
“Yes,” Oliver said, “but it won’t be just the two of you.”
“Thank God,” I muttered.
“I told Shaun to invite some friends of his round. He may be shy, but he does have a few close friends.”
“Oh, okay, that’s fine,” Maisie said casually. “A party’s cool with me.”
“It won’t be much of a party,” Oliver said. “Not if I know Shaun’s friends.”
“Great,” Maisie said, less enthusiastically.
I smiled at her. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time with Shaun and his friends.”
I would have a much better time knowing Maisie was not on her own with a boy she liked. Shaun seemed perfectly nice, but I was responsible for Maisie this summer and I didn’t want to encourage her to have too much fun.
With Maisie sorted, I was truly ready to let my hair down. “Come on then, let’s drop Maisie off at your place and head out. I’m in the mood for a cocktail.”
-*-
When we dropped Maisie off at Oliver’s, Shaun already had a few friends round, and they were just hanging out playing video games. With any luck, Maisie’s evening would be less exciting than she was hoping for.
Oliver and I jumped in a cab and went to a pub not far from the stadium. There were a few fans in the pub drinking to celebrate the victory earlier today, but most of them left Oliver alone after a pat on the back and kind words for his performance.
Oliver ordered a huge plate of chicken, bacon, fries, and two fried eggs, and added a side of vegetables for good measure. I stuck to a baked potato—called a jacket potato here apparently—with a portion of beans and cheese. The combination sounded utterly bizarre, but Oliver insisted I would enjoy it, and he was right.
Once Oliver had satisfied his huge appetite, we grabbed a pint each and found a small corner table that afforded a degree of privacy. I took the bench and Oliver pulled up a chair.
“I know you asked for a cocktail,” Oliver said, passing me a pint of dark, room temperature liquid, “but I want you to try a pint of bitter. It’s a bit of an acquired taste, but it grows on you.”
I gingerly took a small sip and then a slightly longer one. The taste was… inoffensive, I suppose. Bland would probably be a better word, although the lack of fizz meant it slipped down a lot easier than the heavily carbonated American lagers I had to serve back home.
“What do you think?” Oliver asked, eagerly eyeing my reaction.
“I think… I’m looking forward to my cocktail.”
Oliver rolled his eyes, but didn’t seem overly surprised. It’s not like everyone in the bar was drinking the stuff. Most of the women had wine, and the men were more often than not drinking a lager, albeit not usually an American brand.
“Do you like the pub at least?”
“Yes. I could definitely get used to this place.” The pub was busy enough that most of the tables were taken, but it didn’t feel loud and rowdy like the ones I’d worked in back home. “The bar staff look a lot less stressed than I usually am at work,” I remarked. They poured pints at what appeared to be a glacial pace, but no-one seemed to mind.
“You’re stressed most of the time,” Oliver said. “You need to let your hair down.”
“That’s what I’m doing now,” I said. As if to prove a point, I picked up my beer and drank as much as I could in one go. I put the glass down expecting it to be nearly empty, but saw that I’d barely drunk an inch.
“Good effort,” he said, with a slow nod of the head. “But you’re never going to finish that. I’ll go buy you something else.”
My eyes followed him as he walked to the bar. It was like his ass and my eyes were magnetically linked. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I suddenly felt guilty for scolding men who perved at my chest. Sometimes you just couldn’t help but stare; a work of art deserved to be appreciated.
If I’d been paying more attention, I might have noticed whoever it was who stole Oliver’s chair right out from under me. Shit. I looked around, but there were no spare seats.
“Is this your way of getting me to sit on your lap?” Oliver asked, standing over me with the drinks. “That’s fine with me, but I warn you, I’m heavy.”
“Sorry, I was a million miles away.” I moved up and made room for Oliver on the bench. He sat down and managed to fit about three quarters of his ass on the chair and needed to squeeze up next to me in the process.
“This one is a lager top,” he said, passing me a much more golden-colored beer this time. “It’s about three-quarters lager and then topped up with lemonade.”
“Lemonade? Lemonade with beer? That sounds gross.”
“It’s not the lemonade you’re thinking of. It’s like Sprite, not the freshly squeezed stuff. I guess you could ask for a lager and Sprite but it would sound odd. No one here describes it that way.”
I took a sip and this time I genuinely enjoyed the drink. It was remarkably refreshing and couldn’t have tasted much more different to the previous beer.
“It’s good,” I said. “Still not a cocktail, but it’s good.”
I kept checking my phone to see if Maisie had been in touch, but there were
no messages. That was good I suppose. She only got in touch if it was an emergency.
“You worried about Maisie?” Oliver asked.
“No,” I lied. “Well, maybe a bit. I just hope she doesn’t do anything silly.”
“She’ll be fine. Shaun’s a good kid.”
“I still can’t believe you have a child,” I said. “I mean, I know he’s not yours as such, but still, it’s kind of incredible.”
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “It’s certainly that.”
“You’ve done a great job,” I said. “With Shaun. That can’t have been easy taking him in after his parents passed away.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
“You don’t want to talk about it?” I asked. I recognized the signs of someone trying to avoid a topic of conversation. I’d done the same thing often enough.
“It’s not that,” he said. “I’ll talk about Shaun all day. He’s a huge part of my life. But the circumstances leading up to that were… not pleasant.”
“I know the feeling. How did we both end up as parents to fourteen and fifteen year olds in our early twenties?”
“You’ve been a parent to Maisie ever since I’ve known you,” Oliver said softly. “She wouldn’t be the woman she is today without you.”
A light feeling of nausea washed over me as it always did when I contemplated my part in what happened to Maisie.
“I didn’t mean the burn on her face,” Oliver said quickly, reading my mind. “That’s one hundred percent on me. I mean that she’s an excellent athlete and a phenomenal young woman. That’s down to you.”
“Thanks.”
“Sorry, I keep saying the wrong thing, don’t I?”
“Let’s just talk about something else. We’re in a rugby pub aren’t we?”
Oliver gave a gentle shrug of the shoulders. “It does tend to get a lot of rugby fans and amateur players.”
“In that case, why don’t you teach me some of these drinking games you lot play. I promised myself and Maisie that I’m going to have fun tonight. Getting drunk with you seems like a good place to start.”
