Page 23

GEORDIE

I barely hear the tiny chirp of a text above the rumble of men’s voices and laughter bouncing off the walls of the rugby club changing room. I groan, immediately regretting my offer to be on call for a couple of hours this evening. Sparky has something at his kid’s school, and while the thought of him as a parent is terrifying—one Sparky is already plenty, never mind a mini version—it’s good to see him trying to do right by the wee lad.

Diving into the depths of my gear bag, I pray it’s the sort of electrical emergency that can at least wait until later in the evening. Coach wouldn’t be impressed at me bailing on practice, not with our first match of the season looming on Saturday, even if it’s just a friendly against an Inverness club.

However, Razor would be more than pissed off if he saw the name on the text that lights up my screen.

Jenna: I’m here. Come and say hi. I’m in the stand.

I swallow hard, my stomach clenching. A sheen of sweat appears on the palm of my hand clutching the phone. I stare at it, blinking in disbelief, weighing what to do. She’ll know I’ve read it, and now I must choose.

If I do as she asks, I risk her father’s hawk-like eyes spotting me; more evidence there is something going on between us. From his strategic seating choice on the bus trip back on Sunday, he may already suspect.

The other option is hiding in here, disappointing her and souring this new but still fragile thing between us. How can I feel her eyes on me as we settle into practice knowing she asked, and I didn’t go?

If I do, should it be now, before this lot ambles out the door? Less witnesses that way, but a lone man crossing the pitch to the stand will be very obvious to anyone watching—like her father. He will see exactly who that man is. It may only be seventy yards, but it’s a long way on your own, exposed like a deer on a ridgeline, the perfect target for a bullet.

Perhaps I should wait, choosing the safety of the herd as cover. The guys gave me lots of stick about Jenna after I sat beside her on the bus trip, so it’s not as if they’ll be surprised. The winding up will start again the moment they see her anyway, so maybe I’ll chance it.

I’m hoping no one is stupid enough to make a scene that will draw Coach’s eye. The first ten minutes or so while we’re doing warm up laps is always our last bit of downtime before he turns his full attention to us and starts bellowing. Surely, they won’t sacrifice that peace just to land me in it?

“You OK, mate? You’re looking a bit pale.”

Nathan’s concern for my welfare isn’t helpful right now, but I won’t brush off a friend who’d think to ask. He’s excited about me taking up the offer to move into his place up at the distillery. My text to him as I left Jenna’s this morning was met with an immediate, enthusiastic response.

I haven’t broken the news to my parents yet, but I know Dad will be glad to be rid of me. With Mum doing well, he’s already turned his attention back to me and my many failings, so it’s time I got out of there.

“Yeah. Just work stuff,” I lie.

“Better not be someone from up at MacFarlane’s with bad news about that fucking plant.” Nathan’s dark brows frown down at me.

“Nah, all good. Not your lot,” I reassure. “And nothing that can’t wait.” I bury the phone in my bag.

I sit elbows on knees, hunched over, deliberating, but the decision is taken away from me.“Right lads, let’s look lively.” For a gentle bloke, Connor’s voice as captain has a surprising steely authority, and we all automatically respond.

The grass underfoot is a lush carpet, rain-fuelled and thick. While softening the ground beneath into a more forgiving surface for bodies crashing onto it in a tackle, it’ll also make it more challenging for guys like me to brace the weight of the scrum. Either way, I’m up for the physicality of it tonight. Anything to take my mind off all these thoughts and feelings that have held me in their grip since Jenna walked into the piano room this morning.

Our footsteps pound in unison, the team falling into an untidy group, their matey banter echoing across the empty pitch. I sneak a glance across to the white-painted weatherboard grandstand that has proudly stood guard over the hallowed turf of Cluanie R.F.C. for more than a hundred years.

There she is, a small bundle of red jacket and dark hair, shining like a lighthouse across the sea of club blue and white plastic seats. We make eye contact, and her mouth turns up in a smile. While Jenna’s face is still pale, even from here I can see the usual liveliness dancing in her eyes. She beckons me with a subtly raised brow and a small lift of her chin.

We round the northern goal post and head back along the other sideline towards the stand. My breath quickens as we approach, and it’s not from the exertion. I feel Nathan’s knowing gaze upon me, but as we cross the halfway line, he mercifully ignores it when I slip out of the pack. I crouch down, pretending to tie a rogue lace. As the others draw away from me, I look up and, as if noticing her for the first time, stroll casually across to the stand. My face involuntarily creases into a grin despite the very real fear I’m a man about to die tonight.

“If anyone asks, you’re updating me on the electrical work,” she says with a sly smile. “And don’t panic, Geordie.” My anxiety must be obvious despite my attempts to appear calm. It’s not the other guys jogging away from us I’m worried about—I’m shit scared her father will see us talking. “I’ve got Dad sorted.”

To see that relaxed face, no longer ravaged by the aftermath of a migraine, sends a surge of tenderness inside me. This girl, she spends her life protecting others—her father, her clients, me too now—but I want to protect her, save her from bad things, including the fucking headaches like the one that stole her away from me for a whole two days. This arrangement of ours may not last. She could call time in a day, or a week—or when the November deadline lures her back to Glasgow—so I want to make the most of every day I’ve got.

“He’s going to be late. I dropped him down at Kevin O’Keefe’s garage to pick up the car.” The one flashy thing that marks out Robbie Sharpe as having money, besides the ridiculous sprawling house he bought for just two people and a small dog, is his electric blue Range Rover. I’ve seen the glow of affection on his face as he climbs into it. He loves that damn car. “And don’t expect him to be in a good mood,” she says with a deep sigh. “One of the mechanics brushed the wall with it as he came back from a final test drive. It’s just a graze in the paintwork, but Dad’s furious. I left him nailing Kevin down about when he can drop it back for them to sort out a repair.”

“Best he doesn’t arrive to find me talking to you, then.”

“Probably not.”

“It’s good to see you, anyway. I thought about you all day.”

“You can see a lot more of me if you want.” She tilts her head and raises one provocative curved brow, her mouth curled in a flirty smile. Her invitation is clear and my cock immediately stiffens a little in my shorts. “If you want to come over after practice, that is?”

Her voice has dropped to a breathy whisper, a sexy bedroom voice that only feeds my inappropriate hard-on. How the hell am I going to bind onto the side of a scrum with a fucking tent-pole in my pants?

“Do you think I’ve got a death wish, Jen? Even if I get past Andy, I’m not stealthy enough to make it past your father. Those high-tech hearing aids of your dad’s give him superpowers.”

The lads in the team have all learned Razor’s keen ears are quick to home in on any muttering amongst us, so we keep our mouths shut whenever he’s around. The modern technology makes it feel like he’s virtually privy to our thoughts. Fuck, if he is, I’m definitely a dead man .

Jenna laughs, low and throaty, brown eyes fixed on mine. I lose myself in them, commonsense trickling out of me by the second, overruled by a brain and a body that both want her so badly I’m already ignoring my own words of protest the moment they fall from my mouth.

“He won’t be home. He’s going to Grant’s after practice. Laura is cooking a late dinner for the pair of them. She’s been looking out for Dad while I was sick. Then they’re settling in to watch their favourite mid-week sports programme.”

“But now you’re well, won’t they be expecting…”

“I begged off. Said my stomach’s not dealing with food too well yet and I need to go to bed early. The second part isn’t a lie.” She dips her head coyly, a gesture I haven’t seen from her before. It’s sweet and hints of the soft compliant girl that lies behind the face the world sees when they look at Jenna Sharpe. “You’ve still got the key?”

The words, so simple, have a seductive edge, an invitation in them.

I nod, glad I forgot to leave the key behind when I hustled out of her place this morning, fixated on getting hold of Nathan and staking a claim on his spare bedroom.

“Well, you know how to get in and you know where to go. And what you can do with me when you get there.”

There’s no doubting the meaning behind the smokiness in her voice, and there’s that fucking look again. That blatant offer that I can have Jenna when I want and how I want.

I’ve never felt attracted to submissiveness before, but it’s an unexpected turn-on. I grew up surrounded by confident women and I’m naturally drawn to them. Maybe it soothes my insecurities when one invites me into her bed, knowing there I’ll still measure up under the scrutiny of someone capable. They’re like fire, both mesmerisingly attractive, and yet there’s the threat they’ll burn.

But this thing with Jenna, this strong-minded woman saying, “Behind that bedroom door, I’m your plaything,” has me wanting to take her up on the offer with such desperation I feel guilty at the wanting. The thrill of having so much power over her almost seems wrong; like it goes against everything I’ve been brought up to believe about respect for women.

Yet it’s a power that’s still hers to give and also to take away, and she knows I understand that. She offers it because she knows she can call a stop to it at any time. If she chooses to take back control, all it takes is one word, and it’s hers.

“OK, see you around eight,” I stutter out, excitement and fear gripping my throat so hard it strangles my speech.

“I’ll be waiting,” she singsongs, with a girlish giggle.

I hope like hell none of the guys approaching the twenty-two, on the opposite side of the field, catch the wink Jenna tosses at me before she turns to head for the exit from the stand. I’m watching the sway of her hips, in my mind already following them towards her bedroom, when the image of a certain black demon springs to mind.

“Hey, Jen,” I hiss, wanting to yell but not daring. “What about Andy? I don’t want to bleed all over your sheets.”

“With Dad,” she calls back. “You’re safe.”

That’s a relief. If I die tonight, when Razor finds me in his daughter’s bedroom and comes at me with a shotgun, at least my body won’t be lying on the slab with ankles mauled by that vicious little bastard .

Trying to look casual, I jog the width of the field, my heart pounding in time with my feet, and merge back into the pack alongside Nathan.

“I don’t know if you’re brave or stupid, mate,” he says with a grin.

“Both,” I say, “but she’s worth it.”

The entire practice session, I keep my head down, work extra hard, anything to keep Robbie Sharpe’s critical eye off me. I’m sure tech-enhanced hearing isn’t his only superpower. Where his daughter’s concerned, I bet he’s got a finely-tuned sixth sense that detects horny guys who are trying to get into her pants seconds before he obliterates them. I try to shove away the nervousness and anticipation battling each other like opposing hookers in a scrum, unsure who’s going to take control of the ball.

Instead, I focus on Connor’s calm instructions, Razor’s barked directions, and focus on the here and now. The brutal pressure of the scrum as Nathan and I attempt to balance the weight of the pack; the shambling tumble of a maul, my brain scrambling to locate the ball under the untidy heap; the bruising tackle when one of the lads from the second division team who we’re practising against nobbles me, arms wrapped around my hips, propelling me into the ground with a painful thud but not before I’ve flicked the ball to Brodie.

Practice goes well. Coach delivers his usual mix of threats and encouragement before Saturday’s pre-season match against Ardnish R.F.C.—not a formidable opponent, but we never take a team for granted. There’s energy in the room, confidence buoyed by the way our combinations are coming together, the set pieces looking steady, and the old Cluanie flair catching fire, ignited by Robbie Sharpe’s belief in us .

The solid forward pack, mostly older experienced guys like Kyle and me, and Nathan too, already works in sync with our lively backs, anchored by the baby of the team, Brandon Smith at fullback. There’s a sense we’re going to annihilate Ardnish, and in the buzz of anticipation, no one notices my extra-quick shower.

First out to my vehicle, no one else is there to observe me leaving the grounds. I turn the van, not right towards the pub where they’re all going to meet for a feed, paying lip service to Razor’s booze ban even though we all know there’ll be one or two pints sunk. Instead, I take the road to the left, in the direction of Jenna’s place and the promise of heaven.