by Ney, Sara
Opt out?! Who in their right mind would opt out!?
I won!
I won the trip to fabulous Las Vegas!
“Holy shit!” I shout, leaping up from my seat on the bleachers, causing a few people to look around, startled.
“Did I miss something?” asks the guy who told me the score.
“No. No, I…” I stare down at my phone, dumbfounded. “Oh my god!”
Overwhelmed with enthusiasm and excitement, I do what any rational person would do—I rush the field, despite the fact that the players are still congregating near the sidelines. I have no idea whether or not the game is actually over and I don’t care, so obliviously happy and excited I start screaming Ashley’s name, arms in the air, waving frantically like a madwoman.
Waving my phone.
If this was an actual stadium on campus, security guards would be taking me down with a taser to prevent me from getting to the players and possibly doing them harm.
I’m acting crazy and I don’t care!
“I won the trip!” I shout. “Ashley, I WON THE TRIP!”
I spin in circles.
From behind me, I hear someone mutter, “Is that girl okay? She looks unstable,” but it doesn’t stop me from leaping toward my roommate.
I scream out an excited shout. “I WON!”
I close the remaining few feet; everyone is staring at me now, but I don’t care, I DON’T CARE, I DON’T CARE.
I am going to Las Vegas!
“Dude, you can’t come on the field—the game’s not over yet,” one of the guys says.
Ashley rushes over to meet me.
“Georgie, are you okay?” He’s obviously confused judging by the way he’s holding on to me and staring into my eyes—as if he’s checking for signs of a concussion.
“I won. I won the trip to Vegas!” I dance around again, his friends and teammates looking on, breathing heavy with the exertion of their sport.
I’m breathless. Ecstatic.
Ashley hesitates. “You won?”
“I won!” I say it again for about the twelfth time, the sound of it never getting old, wanting to go home and pack a suitcase right this minute.
“Holy shite, no way!”
“That’s what I said!” Why isn’t he picking me up and spinning me in circles? This is the most wonderful news! “We’re going to Vegas!”
“What’s the big fucking deal?” I overhear a few of the guys talking like I’m not three feet away. “It’s Vegas, not Bali. That chick is crazy.”
Another one says, “Is that his girlfriend?”
“I think so.”
“No dude, that’s his roommate.”
I’m hopping up and down like Tigger, and in that moment, the excitement overwhelms Ashley too. He sweeps me off my feet and spins me around—the way I had envisioned him doing.
I begin laughing as he spins me in circles, feeling myself get dizzy but for all the right reasons.
And when he starts running with me while shouting “We are going to Vegas!” at the top of his lungs? Stewart and Will and a few other guys from his team all begin chasing after us as he carries me, running the perimeter of the playing field.
Whooping and hollering.
It’s the most ridiculous wonderful feeling I’ve ever felt.
Fun.
“I’m so happy right now I could kiss you!” I laugh, arms around his neck so I don’t fall on my ass to the ground, though I don’t doubt he’s strong enough to carry me.
I’m not worried he’s going to drop me, and it feels really good to be in his arms, having him hold me.
There’s nothing romantic about it.
Lord he’s strong.
“Put me down—you’re so gross!” I squeal with a laugh, the dirt on his arms and hands getting all over my legs and body as he dashes across the grass.
“We’re going to Vegas!” his buddies shout. “Road trip!”
The referee begins blowing his whistle and shaking his head, doing crisscross “foul” hand motions like this is all part of the game. The whole thing is out of hand and out of control. I wonder what’s going to happen when Ashley has to put me down and return to the game.
Shit.
I interrupted.
I caused a huge scene, which is so unlike me!
“Road trip, road trip,” one of the behemoth teammates is chanting. “Road trip!”
“You’re not coming along!” Ashley shouts back with a wide, gap-toothed grin.
Is it bad that I want to snuggle him?
“Like hell we’re not!” Stewart says as he runs in circles around us. “When do we leave?”
Good question.
I can’t wait to find all that out; first thing I’ll do when I get home tonight is click the link, enter all my information, and discover all the details.
Tomorrow.
Next week.
I’ll be ready.
Seventeen
Ashley
I’m going to get shite for what happened today at the match for the rest of my life. Definitely for the rest of the season.
I watch the last of the mud slide down the drain, water pouring in to chase after it, my head bent in exhaustion after a long day.
“Jones, you still in there?”
Stew is standing next to the stall, leaning against the tiled wall, staring in impatiently.
“Clearly I’m still in here—you’re staring right at me, you tosser.”
He laughs. “We want to talk to you about Vegas.”
We? Vegas?
“Go away.” Water sluices down the back of my neck, down my back.
“What are the actual dates of the trip? I want to let Allie know.”
Is he fucking serious right now?
“Mate, I don’t know the dates. She just found out tonight that she won, and even if I did know, do you think I’d tell you?” They’re not coming.
I cannot imagine a trip with these wankers around, driving me more insane than they already do. Who wants to vacation with these idiots?
“Should I just text Georgia myself then, orrrr…”
Why hasn’t he walked away? “Are you still standing there?”
“Duh.”
“Leave me in peace, I’m tired.” And my muscles ache—not just from carting Georgia around the field in my arms, but from being hit so many times during the match.
I feel like I’m stuck in the body of an eighty-year-old man sometimes.
Stewart eventually relents, or maybe I just ignore him long enough that he gets bored and walks away, leaving me to my thoughts.
A part of me wants to stroke myself off to relieve a bit of this tension I’m feeling, but I’m in the locker room and there are still enough people around that if anyone caught me, they would think I was a giant pervert.
Which I’m not.
Usually.
My mind obviously drifts to Georgia and the look she had on her face when she came running at me today out on the field. At first when I saw her I was alarmed—honestly, the mere presence of her at my game threw me for a loop.
I saw her walking toward the field when we were mid-play but thought my eyes were deceiving me. We hadn’t discussed her coming to watch, so the fact that she showed up…
…was a surprise indeed.
Then, when I saw her climbing down the steps of the bleachers and hurrying toward me, practically running, I panicked.
Who wouldn’t think the worst when their roommate came rushing out at them in the middle of a conference rugby match? I thought someone had died. Or had a heart attack. Or there was an emergency. Maybe the house had caught fire?
Who even knows.
The last thing on my mind was good news.
The very last thing I would have expected from her was her gallivanting onto a playing field filled with dirty rugby players. Very uncharacteristic of her, but kind of a turn-on.
Never would’ve thought she had it in her to be that impulsive.
I like it.
She looked absolutely thrilled when I hoisted her up and spun her around. Laughing and giggling like a kid when I began sprinting with her around the field, hooting and hollering. And then, when my mates joined in…
Hilarious.
Absolutely hilarious.
Still, there is no bloody way I’m going to allow any of those halfwits to tag along on my holiday with Georgia. Never have I ever seen a more bumbling group of cockblocking twats.
I’ll have to lie, of course—no way is Stewy going to let this go.
I rinse the rest of my body and stick my arm out of the shower stall, fingers feeling around for the towel I left hanging next to the curtain, drawing up empty.
That fuck.
I had a towel, didn’t I?
It was there a minute ago…
Goddamn Stew, he stole it.
Shutting off the water, I stand there, dripping wet, letting the droplets fall before stepping out onto the cold, concrete locker room floor. Eyes settling on a smirking Stew, who now has what I assume is my towel wrapped around his head turban style, the rest of him fully dressed.
“You prick.”
Dick swinging, I walk to the towel rack and snatch two more up, wrapping one around my waist (it barely fits) and using the other one to sop up my hair.
“When is Vegas?” Phil Jefferson starts, but I raise a hand in the air to silence him—and everyone else.
“Don’t start. Don’t anyone bloody start on the Vegas trip. None of you blithering knobs are going. Not a one of you.”
“You sound like you’re from 1812.” Someone laughs in the corner. “None of yee blithering knobs are going.”
“I don’t sound Scottish, you moron.”
I set about ignoring them all; it’s damn near impossible. They’re gathered around, discussing all the things they’re going to do on their fictional trip. Gambling and shows and drinking at the pools on the Vegas Strip. Strippers and showgirls.
My lips press into a straight line.
I just won’t bring it up anymore; if they don’t know the dates we choose, they won’t be able to tag along, will they?
Nope.
In a bit of a rush to get home, I hurry through the task of dressing, each piece of clothing getting damp from the water still clinging to my skin.
“Can I get a ride home?” someone asks, and I immediately shoot them down with a no. I’m in no mood to make small talk or be a prisoner to more Vegas chitchat in the comfort of my own vehicle.
“Oh come on, man!” he shouts after me. “We have to plan our trip!”
That puts a smile on my face, and I smile again as I toss my black duffle bag into the passenger seat of my truck, body relaxing once I’m behind the wheel and buckling myself in.
Georgia is at the counter when I walk in the door, a sight for sore eyes, beaming for all she’s worth.
She gets up and runs over to hug me, then bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, still buzzing with energy.
“Oh my gosh, can you believe it? I could pinch myself.”
“What have you found out?” My bag gets dropped to the ground. Shoes come off too.
There are take-out containers of Chinese food on the counter, rice and whatever else she ordered, my nose twitching from how good it smells.
“We can pick our dates—it just has to be within a certain time frame. We book the flights and send them the receipts for that and get reimbursed. Rental car is paid for, we can leave whenever we want, four-night maximum. There’s a drink package at the hotel, food is paid for, and it includes tickets to one show.”
She makes an eek sound, positively red-faced.
“This is your dream come true.”
Vegas. Of all places.
Lord she’s way too easily impressed.
I wonder how she’d feel about the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
Or Big Ben in London.
Or the great pyramids of Egypt.
She’s getting all that in one place in Vegas.
I pause, the realization dawning on me—my privilege dawning on me. She doesn’t think she’ll ever see the real things in person so she’s willing to settle for what are basically theme park imitations.
Dang.
Now I feel like a colossal arsehole.
“You still want to go, right?” she says hurriedly, pulling out a barstool at the counter for me. “I mean—I know we made the bet that I wouldn’t win, but if you don’t actually want to go, I totally understand. You’re busy. Plus it’s the middle of the semester—this is crazy.”
She gives her head a little shake.
“I’ll go.”
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”
That almost makes me roll my eyes; she practically bamboozled me into this trip in the first place by betting me she wouldn’t win and using my attendance as the stakes.
“Do I look like the type of bloke who gets forced into doing things he doesn’t want to do?”
Georgia rakes her bold gaze up and down my body, landing on my legs, tattooed arms, and chest before returning to my eyes.
“No?”
I sit at the island and begin spooning up rice, broccoli, beef, and shrimp. An egg roll, sauce. Load it up as if I haven’t had a meal in days and the food is going to run out.
“Thanks for dinner.”
She nods, helping herself to food. “I thought it was a good way to celebrate—not having to cook. Not that I cook, ha ha.” Georgie is babbling nervously. “I’m just so”—she squeals—“happy!”
I lower my head to fork rice into my mouth, hiding my smile.
“So when do you want to go?” I chance asking, knowing the question is going to create an onslaught of more rambling.
“As a matter of fact, I already checked my schedule because if I have to wait five months, I’ll die. Plus, it’s so hot in Vegas in the summer, so like, soon. If you can go—soon, that is.” She giggles nervously. “I feel like I’m being a freak.”
Kind of.
But I don’t mention it; don’t need to make her feel self-conscious.
“My season isn’t done until the end of the semester, but I can tell you what weekends we don’t have matches. I think there’s a bye week coming up.”
Georgia nods, staring at her mobile. “And I’m free two weekends from now, and then next month.”
Another squeal.
My glance shifts to the fridge—to the calendar hanging there with my schedule—eyes trying to read it without having to haul my arse off this stool.
I give Georgia a look. “You checked to see when I was free, didn’t you?”
She blushes prettily. “I might have.” Laughs. “I’m sorry, but I’m so excited. I couldn’t help myself!”
“It’s fine.” Pause. “So, when can I go?”
She clears her throat. “Well, it just so happens you’re also free in two weeks—but if that’s too soon, I get it. I mean who just goes on a trip in two weeks without any notice?”
Plenty of people, I want to point out, at the risk of sounding like a pompous windbag.
“I can seriously go in two weeks?” Shite, that does feel soon.
But if we wait any longer, there’s a chance I’ll change my mind, get lazy, and want to stay back, forcing her to scramble and find someone else to tag along on this free ride.
“Yup.” Her head dips in a nod. “You’re free in two weeks. Unless there’s something you forgot to put on your calendar?”
I don’t forget anything, and there’s hardly anything else to put there.
Rugby.
Class.
Those are the two things I do, rarely deviating.
Parties don’t count; those are last minute. I don’t have parents who pop in to school to visit, no holidays to go home for.
It’s too much work.
Too
far.
Too expensive, not that cost has ever been a factor.
Lucky me, born with a silver spoon in my gap-toothed mouth.
That sobers me up.
“And we’re sharing a room?”
“Yes, but…I think I read that the room has a sleeper sofa?”
“Um. What’s that?”
She cocks her head. “A sleeper sofa? It’s a couch that converts into a bed. Haven’t you seen one?”
Um, no. We never had those at the two-hundred-year-old estate where I grew up—wouldn’t have gone with the gilded décor.
“No.”
“Oh. Well, the room has one and we can toss a coin to see who has to sleep on it.” She gives me a megawatt smile. “I can’t afford to put you in your own room.”
Pretty.
So goddamn pretty and happy.
“It’s fine—I’ll suffer through it.”
I bury my head again, wanting to avoid her huge blue eyes and the freckles on her nose and her pink lips.
How the fuck am I supposed to spend a weekend with her in Sin City and not think sinful things about her?
You’ll survive; it’s only a few nights. “How long will we be there?”
“How about two nights? We can’t really miss any classes, and we definitely cannot miss practice.”
Nope, we can’t.
Plus, Vegas is fine in small doses.
Two nights will be plenty before it becomes too much.
“Sounds good to me. Can you text me the dates so I won’t forget?”
She picks up her mobile, head tilted down. “There. Sent.”
More smiles. More giggles.
She’s so utterly cheerful it’s practically oozing out of her pores. “Should we watch a movie tonight, or…” Her eyes travel my face. “Oh gosh, your lip!”
Reaching forward, her fingers go to the corner of my mouth—to the gash there. It’s already been cleaned and dressed, but I imagine it looks terrible.
The new cuts always do the first few hours, blood-stained skin and all that.
I jerk my head away from her prying fingers, knowing if she touches me, it’ll sting my skin worse than any cleat could.
“It’s good—I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? It looks terrible. I could…”
“No, I’m good. It’s good.”
Everything hurts, but I’m fine.
