A Whole New Ball Game Page 5

  I hated that I loved how that sounded.

  He’s a cocky football player. And football players are bad news.

  ‘It just feels like I’m being dishonest though, you know? Trying out for a team that I can’t possibly play in.’

  Tahlia bit her lip, staring down at the grey mug on the floor in front of her. ‘Well, I can understand that, although millions wouldn’t. You’re a good person.’

  I made a face. ‘Not like I’m curing cancer over here.’

  ‘No.’ She reached over the armrest and placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘But you’re trying to soften its blow.’

  Emily.

  ‘Listen, the way I see it is this: they’ll have heaps of people try out. You haven’t got your referral from work yet—you haven’t booked your flights. Until the job is locked in, why don’t you keep going with this? If you stayed, you’d play, wouldn’t you?’

  I nodded. Was she crazy? ‘Of course! Playing Aussie Rules, for money? It’d be like …’ Like a dream.

  Like a dream I’d once given up everything to help someone else have.

  The idea I could have it for myself …

  ‘So then what’s the harm? I’m sure they’d be sad if they chose you and you had to decline, but aren’t you the Zoe Taylor who puts herself first? Who doesn’t let other people dictate her career?’

  I laughed. ‘I guess.’

  ‘So stop it with the guilts! Go tackle that sexy football player to the ground and play your little heart out.’ Tahlia winked, right as her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the screen, then picked up her tea. ‘Mum. I’ll be in my room.’

  She walked away, leaving me feeling infinitely lighter than before. She was right. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. And if I was honest with the selectors from the start, then no one would get hurt.

  Because I had to try.

  I had to show Emily that you could do anything if you set your mind to it. You could play Aussie Rules professionally as a woman.

  You could even beat cancer.

  She has to beat cancer.

  I pulled out my phone, ready to try and set up the other favour I offered.

  Zoe: How’s the most fabulous Aussie Rules player going training for the biggest game of the season?

  Sawyer: I don’t know. You’d have to ask Leigh himself.

  I laughed at Sawyer’s reference to his captain.

  Since we’d met, I’d done a lot of research on his team. For Emily, so we had something else to bond over, I’d told myself at the time, but even I knew that the hours I spent on that website, clicking through action shots of past games, reading articles that mentioned Sawyer ‘Bennie’ Benson were slightly more than innocent.

  Ever since that training session two days ago, this feeling of—something had settled inside me. Something like like. Something like hope.

  Something like teenage lust and a recipe for a broken heart, my brain corrected me.

  Zoe: That’s actually what I was messaging you about. Emily went through a really rough time today, and I was thinking it might do her some good if I could perhaps get some kind of souvenir from Leigh? It would absolutely brighten her day.

  Sawyer: So I’m not good enough?

  Zoe: You are such a typical male. You’re amazing, fantastic, blah, blah, ego-stroking blah, now can I please have Leigh’s autograph?

  Sawyer: You cut me real deep, Zoe Taylor.

  Sawyer: You can have it, on one condition.

  Zoe: What’s that?

  Sawyer: I want you.

  My heart thumped a little quicker. He wanted me?

  Sawyer Benson? Professional Aussie Rules player and total hunk?

  My mind raced. That body … those eyes … What would it be like to feel his lips on mine? Would he kiss soft and slow, or would he take what he wanted like he did on the field, possessively claiming me in a moment that was all heat, all passion?

  Sawyer: I want you to come to the game on Sunday. My sister usually comes to these things, but her dog has a broken leg and needs round-the-clock care to stop him from running around the place and doing more damage. It’d be nice to see a friendly face on the sidelines.

  I managed a wry smile. Of course. He wanted me to come to his game.

  But why send that flirty message first?

  Because he’s an arrogant arse, and he thinks he’s God’s gift to women.

  Maybe he did.

  Or maybe he felt what I felt the other night after we trained. That moment outside the church when he’d stood beside me, his body so near to mine, his eyes stormy, like the ocean at night …

  Maybe he was as intrigued by me as I was by him.

  I read the text again.

  A friendly face. I was a friendly face.

  He wasn’t interested in me. He thought I’d be supportive—like the person who brought the oranges for half-time training when you were a kid. I was simply providing a service—bringing the hypothetical oranges.

  I needed to do this for Emily. And finals tickets were hard to come by, especially when the game was played at home.

  Zoe: Let me make sure I have this straight: you want me to come to the finals and watch a game that I love in order to get a free gift for a little girl who needs it?

  Sawyer: Yes. If you’re keen, I can leave you a ticket under your name at the box office.

  Sawyer: Don’t make me beg, Zoe.

  My phone rang and I swiped to answer straight away, unable to stop the grin that spread over my face.

  ‘Is this the part where you beg? Because I’m really looking forward to it,’ I teased, sinking back into the comfy couch.

  ‘Is this Zoe Taylor?’

  I froze. Oh, shoot.

  I really should have looked at the screen.

  That was not Sawyer Benson, that was for sure.

  ‘Uh, yes. This is she.’ Lord, kill me. Kill me now.

  ‘Hi, I’m Jarren Wetherley. My father gave me your number—said you were the lady I should discuss the nursing team with,’ he said.

  ‘That is correct. How can I help you?’ I tried to establish a brisk, professional tone.

  ‘As you know, Dad thinks it’s essential I have a grip on every part of the business before I start my role early next year. I was thinking we could discuss your role and that of others like you over dinner next week,’ he said.

  ‘Dinner sounds good.’

  ‘Fabulous. Say, Monday night, eight o’clock? Number Thirty-Five?’

  Wow. I mightn’t have ever eaten there before, but I knew the restaurant in the middle of the city was fancy. ‘Sounds good. See you there.’

  ‘See you there,’ he said, and just as I was about to end the call, he added, ‘And Zoe?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘As I’m sure my father told you, this meeting is to be kept confidential. Just between us. Okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. I doubted it’d be so enthralling I’d feel the need to tell Tahlia anyway. ‘Just you and me.’

  I ended the call and moved to place the phone back down but stopped. Two new messages.

  Sawyer: Okay. This is it. I’m begging.

  Please come to my game, Zoe, amazing tackler and super-speed sprinter. It would mean a lot to me.

  Sawyer: Seriously. You being there will make me feel a lot better about this whole thing.

  Was he … nervous?

  With one hand on my phone, I picked up my tea. It’d gone cold, and I spat the mouthful of lukewarm peppermint back into the mug. I just couldn’t seem to figure this guy out. One moment I had him pegged as a cocky arsehole, and the next he seemed almost vulnerable.

  Either way, he had something I wanted.

  And I wanted to be there for him.

  Zoe: You want me to bring the half-time oranges?

  Sawyer: I’ll have tickets left under your name at the box office. It’s a date.

  And as I put the phone down on the couch beside me, I couldn’t get Sawyer off my mind. It was a date? What exa
ctly did he mean by that?

  Chapter 10

  Sawyer

  It’s a date.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Three days later, as I pulled on my jersey, the rest of the team rah, rah, rah-ing around me, the text still replayed in my mind.

  It wasn’t a date.

  I’d begged her to come and watch me play football. That hardly felt like romance. If anything, it stunk of desperation.

  ‘Bennie! For hell’s sake,’ Coach roared.

  Shit. I blinked, focused in on him.

  ‘A word?’

  I nodded, walking to his side, away from the other players.

  ‘You got that shit out of your system, right?’ There was no sympathy in his black stare, no concern for my emotional wellbeing.

  There shouldn’t have been. He was my coach, not my goddamn counsellor. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And you’re going to take all that anger, that aggression I saw the other night and channel it toward the other team, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ I barked.

  ‘Good.’ He clapped a hand on my shoulder. ‘You know you’ve had a good season. Finish it off with a strong game and you could land yourself finals man of the match. Notch yourself above the others for Player of the Year.’

  Huh. Wouldn’t that be some kind of sweet justice. Landing the coveted player award in front of my ex while she was at the ceremony with my ex-best friend.

  I worked my hands into fists. I wanted that.

  ‘Don’t let me down, son.’

  ‘I won’t.’ I nodded and walked back to my locker. Focused. I was focused.

  We were going to win this game.

  ‘Boys, I know I’ve said it a lot, but let me repeat this one. More. Time.’ Coach’s eyes narrowed with laser focus, running over the group of us as his voice boomed around the change room. ‘You are all going to pull together. As a team. You will play like you’ve never played before—harder, faster, stronger. As if your mother’s life depends on it,’ he growled. Leigh’s shoulders tensed. I set my jaw. ‘And you will win. You will do it because your pansy arses need to prove your goddamn worth, because we haven’t won a final in twelve long years. You will goddamn win!’

  ‘Yeah!’ Leigh roared, one fist in the air.

  ‘You will win because you’re the best. The best the league has to offer, and the best we have to offer. So get the hell outta here and fucking win!’

  Around me, fifteen men joined him as one, electricity sparking between us. We yelled, we roared—we prepared to fight. We raced onto the field with single-minded focus.

  Back there, we were individuals with different dreams, ambitions and focuses.

  Now, we were one.

  ***

  The roar of the crowd was near-deafening. The whistle blew. Half-time, and the score was neck and neck, with Sabres taking the lead seconds before we were due to head into the break.

  I rounded my shoulders, letting loose a long puff of air. Damn. It was gonna be a rough second half to come back from this.

  ‘Sawyer! Sawyer!’

  I heard their voices, but I didn’t respond. I needed to stay focused. Focused on the game.

  But just as I reached the mouth of the stadium, I glanced up—

  And there she was.

  Zoe.

  She was inside the box with the other WAGs, her hands clutching the railing, her eyes focused on me.

  She was wearing tight jeans that hugged those long legs I wanted wrapped around my waist, and a loose sweater that hinted at her rocking body underneath but didn’t give too much away.

  And it was covered in pictures of oranges.

  Chapter 11

  Zoe

  ‘Close game, huh?’ A woman with the longest and most perfect pale pink nails I’d ever seen handed me a glass of champagne.

  ‘Thanks.’ I smiled, grateful. I needed something to settle my nerves. ‘Really close. I don’t remember the last time I felt this anxious watching sport!’

  ‘The way you were strangling that railing, I could tell.’ She held out a hand for me to shake. ‘I’m Ava.’

  ‘Hi. I’m Zoe.’ I clasped my hand around hers, giving it a firm pump. ‘Do you go to all these games?’

  She shrugged. ‘I try to. I don’t think I’ve missed one in the last two years. I guess it comes with the territory.’

  The territory. I glanced at her hand again, those ever-long nails. No ring. Did that make her a girlfriend? ‘Do you play at all yourself?’

  ‘Play?’ She snorted. ‘Lord, no. That’s more of a …’

  I frowned. ‘More of a what?’

  ‘You know.’ She looked left and right, as if searching for an answer, then laughed. ‘I mean, I’m not a lesbian.’

  I raised my eyebrows. Seriously?

  ‘Oh God. I’ve put my foot in it and offended you somehow, haven’t I?’ Ava winced, clasping her hand to her forehead. ‘Are you friends with a women’s team player? B’s always telling me to be more careful about what I say. I was just kind of nervous to meet you, and it just blurted out.’

  ‘Nervous? To meet me?’ Why would she be? And how did she even know who I was?

  ‘Of course. I mean, I was sure you’d ignore me—hate me, even.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘I probably would.’

  ‘I have to be honest with you—I have no idea who you are.’ A fact I was secretly glad of. Whoever this woman was, I had a feeling her case of ‘nerves’ weren’t sincere.

  ‘Really?’ This time, the nails went to her chest. ‘I’m Ava. Sawyer’s ex.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. Oh, the one who slept with his best friend. I looked her up and down, those long, tanned legs, the perfectly sleek black bob. She looked as if she was fresh from a high-end business meeting in her beige tailored skirt and cream silk shirt.

  I smoothed a hand over my brightly coloured jumper. Oranges had seemed like a cute idea at the time, but it was clearly the wrong thing to wear.

  ‘Let me introduce you to everyone.’ Ava clasped my arm and walked past two little boys zooming trucks across the carpet and a group of elderly men in checked shirts to a cluster of women. ‘This is Ola, Helen, Martina, Canada and Sarina. Ladies, this is Zoe. Sawyer’s new girlfriend.’

  ‘Oh! I’m not his …’

  A cluster of ‘hi’ and ‘pleased to meet you’ drowned my protest out.

  ‘We’ve been so looking forward to meeting you.’

  ‘I heard you ran him over?’

  ‘It’s so nice he’s found someone so quickly.’

  ‘Really quickly.’

  ‘So what do you do for a living, Zoe?’ Ava smiled, and it felt just as fake as her nails.

  ‘I’m a nurse. I work at a care centre for families who need a place to stay while their children are receiving treatment for serious illnesses.’

  ‘Oh, like one of those candy stripers in the American movies?’ Ava’s mouth widened in recognition.

  ‘No.’ Was this woman a complete idiot? ‘Like a nurse. Someone who administers medical treatment and does a lot of work that helps to save lives.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ava seemed to falter for a moment, then quickly recovered. ‘I’m in fashion. So are Ola and Martina, although with Martina being a model, I don’t know if you’d say she’s in the business of fashion or the business of body goals.’

  ‘Ava, stop.’ Martina giggled, but her tone said don’t stop, Ava. Keep going.

  ‘You’re just so beautiful. Isn’t she beautiful, Zoe?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Sure. You’re really pretty.’ She was beautiful, but she also looked so fragile. If the ball came flying toward her, would she break?

  ‘Thank you.’ Martina tossed a lock of caramel hair over her shoulder, tossing her head like a prize-winning pony. ‘I spend a lot of time on—’

  The crowd roared outside the box.

  ‘Lovely to meet you all, but I’m going to go out front of the box and watch,’ I said, giving a polite wave. Champagne. I hadn’t been going to drink
it, on account of wanting to give my all to training, but after that I felt I needed it.

  ‘You can stay in here and watch with us, if you’d like,’ Ava offered, but I smiled politely and waved her off. No, thanks.

  The rest of the second half, I stood in the outdoor portion of the box just near the group of older men. The game was tight, neck and neck, but my focus kept drifting to the woman with the perfect bob and the polished nails. What had Sawyer told her about us? And was she the real reason he’d invited me to the game in the first place?

  ‘Four minutes of extra time, ’ey?’ One of the old men to my left stood, shaking his fist toward the field. ‘Rip ’em apart, boys!’

  I glanced at the brightly lit screen at the end of the field, even though I already knew the score. Eighteen to twenty, the Sabres’ way. But the Sabres had possession and looked almost as if they were toying with us, flirting the ball in front of our faces then jerking it beyond our reach once someone tried to make a move. They’re killing time. They knew they could win.

  I found Sawyer, yelling something to one of his teammates with an intense desperation in his tone. The player in front of him faked a pass and Sawyer shifted to accommodate, leaving an opening. The player wasn’t quick enough, though—Sawyer was back there and ready to cut him off.

  Come on, Sawyer. I gripped the railing. This was it. The finals. Even though they weren’t my team, I found myself wanting them to win. Wanting them to have a shot at the trophy. Wanting—

  The player in front of Sawyer darted left to fake a pass again, only this time, Sawyer went right.

  His body and that of the other player collided. Limbs and man and leather meshed. They went down in a heap. Somehow, through it all, Sawyer came out with the ball. It danced in his hands.

  And he ran.

  He bolted up the field, his legs pumping, straight toward the line of defenders in wait. He darted left, right, and looked like he was about to make it through when Collison, one of the best fullbacks in the game, made to block his path.

  Sawyer glanced left, right. Someone else in a red and black jersey ran up the side and he passed it to him, taking the hit. The other player dropped the ball, connecting it with his foot and—

  He did it.

  Straight through the middle two posts.