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GEORDIE

I’ll admit it, I’ve messed around a bit with drugs here and there in my younger days. What kid wouldn’t, given how freely available they are in some of the places I’ve travelled? It’s legal in others, so why not? Nothing big, just a little marijuana, and honestly, it wasn’t anything to get excited about.

The buzz is nothing compared to what I feel as I jog onto the field before a match, even one like this that doesn’t count for much—a pre-season friendly with the lads from Ardnish. We’re playing in different competitions, so this Saturday’s game is just a chance for us to try out some combinations and a few plays.

Today, however, I’m on an even bigger pre-match high, because Jenna is here.

There’s a larger than expected turnout of locals—probably more to check out the new coach than the team—but it’s a casual affair, people flanking the field so close they risk being taken out by a player crashing over the sidelines. Small town club rugby, grassroots rugby—heartland rugby, as old Razor calls it.

Amongst them, right on the halfway mark, Jenna stands out. It’s not the bright Cluanie blue supporters jersey—she’s swimming in a sea of those—but a set of gorgeous hips outlined in a figure-hugging pair of jeans, and neon pink trainers that shine like a beacon. Of course I’d find her, anyway.

Jenna has a magnetic pull that somehow always draws me in her direction. I even sense when she’s about to show up, like last night at the Railway, as Nathan, Connor, and I settled in for a quiet beer after work. It’s busy on Friday nights, a stream of people in and out, so you ignore the comings and goings; but this one time when the door swung open, something made me turn to look and there she was.

It’s hard to have a casual conversation with Jenna in a public place, knowing that within an hour she’s going to be in my bed, but I did my best. It’s easier with Nathan and Connor around. They’re in on the secret, so we don’t have to be as guarded with our words, but damn it, I wanted to do more than talk.

The seating arrangement pissed me off, with Jenna ending up in the booth next to Connor. At least that way, I got to look into her eyes—a conversation without words flashing between us. But I’d have loved nothing better than to pull her in alongside me, or hold her hand across the table, maybe plant a kiss on those pretty lips; find some way to let the world know she’s mine. Not that she really is.

I need to remind myself of Jenna’s terms: she’s only mine within the confines of my bedroom, our arrangement nothing more than a series of satisfying hook-ups. We do this while it’s fun, and when it’s not, we stop. Much as I hated it, that’s what I agreed to. In the past, I’ve been good at keeping to those sorts of rules; in fact, I’ve often laid them down myself. This time it’s different .

Usually I’d be glad to see a girl collecting her things and hustling out of my room, but last night when Jenna insisted on leaving in a hurry, I wished she’d stay. For a moment there, I thought she would. Cuddled up to me, talking together, I wondered if, like me, she’s wanting more from this relationship, but the next minute she’s grabbing her stuff and gone.

I push aside thoughts of Jenna and return my focus to the game—well, not entirely. Her presence on the sideline makes me want to play better than ever today. Although easy-going off the field, the competitiveness that roars in my brain the moment I tie on my boots is amplified to a deafening roar, knowing her eyes are on me.

The whole team is pretty fired up. No one wants to let down the new coach or sully his reputation. We’ll give it all we’ve got. Especially with a reporter from Tryline UK, an online rugby magazine scrutinising us. He’s doing a feature on Coach’s transition from a champion team of professional players to a bunch of small-town lads from a two-bit club out in the sticks. His focus is on Razor, with a keen eye on young Smith—a gem hidden out here in the rough—but there’s extra pressure on all of us. Don’t want the rugby world thinking Coach has backed a squad of numpties.

The rugby gods are on our side, as Connor steps up to take the toss. We win and he instantly grabs the opportunity to play into the wind first. It’s blowing a hoolie, so we’ll make sure we face it while we’re fresh and make the tired Ardnish boys work extra hard in the second half.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter. Our team is rampant over the visitors from the first whistle, running in five tries in the first half alone. We follow up with two more in the second, including one by yours truly. Seventy-five minutes in, Darby sells a nice dummy off the back of a scrum deep down in the Ardnish half, and then the ball’s in my hands. As I pound down the length of the field to the encouraging screams of the local crowd, I’m sure I can hear Jenna’s voice above them all.

I leap to my feet triumphantly, ball tucked under my arm, not a defender even level with me yet. I immediately look to our twenty-two, where I know she’s been standing. In the moment before my teammates descend on me with whoops of congratulations, Jenna’s delighted eyes and wide smile meet mine and I’ve never felt so proud to lay a ball over the try line.

When the final whistle blows a few minutes later, I can’t take credit for the eventual win. It’s a team victory, of course. Our high level of fitness left the other team gasping from the start. Although no one could ignore Brandon Smith’s deadly accurate boot. His cheeky drop goal and a flamboyant try of his own showed exactly why he could turn professional tomorrow. With his dependability under the high ball and twenty-four points on the board, he’s an easy choice for man of the match.

However, we all know the real man of the match is our coach. Robbie Sharpe’s clever thinking, the innovative approach to set pieces, the carefully constructed combinations of players, and strategic substitutions; all combine to make us unstoppable. All spurred on by his growling instructions—bellowed from the sideline in old-school fashion rather than through a headpiece sitting in a box like he would have done with the Highlanders.

The large zero hanging under the ‘Visitors’ side of the scoreboard is a sweet sight—but not as sweet as spotting Jenna in the clubrooms when I step out of the showers .

There’s a smallish gathering in the bar area, pretty much all locals, as most Ardnish fans didn’t make the trip for what was a low-stakes pre-season game. Like a compass finding true north, my eyes swing straight to Jenna, seated at a table with two other women, glasses of wine in front of them.

One’s Lexie Morgan, in my class at school, and married to burly Troy, our loosehead prop. I don’t know the other woman; she’s a little younger, with immaculate makeup.

Lexie’s the first to spot me, waving me over. I do a quick scan for Coach. He’s in the far corner, back to me, gesturing wildly as he talks to the reporter. I’ve got the group as cover—safety in numbers.

Jenna’s mouth curves up in the sort of smile I’d like to think is only for me. It always seems a bit brighter, her eyes a bit more sparkly when she looks at me. I know there’s not another person in the world who causes me such an immediate rush of happiness when I see them. Only her, and it always triggers a sharp ache inside that if I wasn’t only twenty-eight, I might think was a heart attack.

It is really. Just a different kind of heart attack; the pain is my desperate need to be with her, even if it is in a crowded bar. I’ll take anything of her I can get. For now, I’ll share her with others, and later perhaps she’ll follow me home.

“Geordie,” Lexie gushes. She hasn’t changed a bit, still the same loud bubbly girl I remember, which I suppose balances out Troy, who’s known to be a bit of a quiet, grumpy bastard. “We were just talking about you.”

“You were?” I say, casting a suspicious eye at Jenna, who rolls her eyes and laughs, and they all look at each other like they’ve got some conspiracy going on .

“Yes, we need you,” Lexie squawks. “For the pub quiz team. Tuesday nights at The Railway. Casey and Joey moved on down to Ballenaig for his work, so we’re two down and it starts again week after next. Jenna’s going to join us and we need another guy, along with all that stuff you guys know about.” She giggles. “Come on Geordie, please? It’ll be fun.”

I smile, but inside I’m gripped by panic. Joining a pub quiz team is one of the last things in the world I’d choose to do. The only thing worse would be appearing on The Chase where you have to answer the questions on your own, and your stupidity is filmed for the world to watch on television. Even in a team, I have this fear of being the dumb one. The guy who never has a clever answer, the one who has the least to offer.

But then I latch onto what she’s said. Jenna’s going to be in the team, and that changes everything. I can either join the team and have her, and the rest of them, witness me making a complete arse of myself, or sit at home every Tuesday like a right mug while she’s down the pub with random blokes sniffing about. What if they fill my spot with some other guy and she takes a shine to him? Especially if he’s got all the answers; someone more in her league in the brains department.

Anyway, I’d be crazy to turn down time with her. Wherever Jenna goes, I go, even if it’s something taking me miles out of my comfort zone—like a fucking pub quiz.

“Ah, yeah, I suppose so,” I say, trying not to let my lack of enthusiasm show. Lexie might take back the offer if she thinks I’m going to put a dampener on their ‘fun’. Although Troy’s never struck me as a fun guy, so maybe I’m safe.

“Here, sit with us, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Can I grab a drink first?” This situation calls for alcohol, whether Coach says it’s allowed or not.

I return a few minutes later with a whisky—beer won’t cut it—pull out a chair and slide in under the tiny bar table, my knees knocking against its chipped formica surface. They may have a flash new coach, but the Cluanie club rooms are still pretty basic.

“OK,” Lexie says, “so there are six in a team. It doesn’t have to be equal numbers of guys and girls, but we’ve found there’s a real advantage if you mix it up a bit. The guys always know the sports stuff. I’m great on TV programmes and movies. Daisy here is our music expert—although we have to remind her not every answer is a Taylor Swift song.” She elbows the other woman playfully, while Daisy puts on a displeased pout. “Oh, sorry, have you met Daisy? She’s Calvin’s girlfriend.”

I haven’t before now, but I know young Calvin. A good lad. Plays opposite Brodie out on the right wing.

“No, I haven’t. Nice try your man scored today,” I say, and a smile of pride lights up Daisy’s face, the candy pink lips and perfectly arched brows making her look like a doll.

“Yeah, I’m so thrilled for him. His first year in the team, first game—”

“My ears are still ringing from all her screaming.” Lexie gives a theatrical eye roll and sends a mock scowl Daisy’s way.

Jenna’s watching the exchange with an amused smile, and I give her one of those ‘What the hell have you got me into?’ looks. She smirks back at me, not showing any inclination to rescue me from Lexie’s attention.

I get the full rundown on the quiz night: the ten rounds, the points system, and the other teams. Apparently the biggest competition comes from ‘The Irn Bru Crew’—who don’t drink any alcohol even though they spend two hours in a pub every Tuesday evening, so that might explain their advantage—and ‘Whisky Business’, a group of pissheads who somehow regularly win despite their over-indulgence in the local brew.

“And what’s our team name?” I ask, realising as I speak I’ve called it ‘our’ team, so I must be joining. God help me.

“Quizzing In The Deep.” The name means nothing to me. I look at Jenna.

“Lexie’s an Adele fan,” she says. Still means nothing to me, but I nod like it does.

“So you’re in?” Lexie asks. “Please say yes. Jenna told us how you’re so smart, you know, from living in all those different countries. Apart from Jenna, the rest of us have hardly been further than Edinburgh. But you, you’ve done it all.”

I’m hit with a quiet flush of pride, knowing Jenna’s been talking me up to them. Without realising it, she constantly feeds my ego when we’re alone together, talking to me as an equal—not her, the educated one, and me, the battler—but it’s the first time I’ve felt this new confidence in front of others. For her to suggest I’m a guy who’s got something worthwhile to offer in the knowledge stakes, even if it’s just for some small-town pub quiz team, makes me feel like I deserve a place on University Challenge .

“I’m in.”

“That’s amazing.” Lexie bounces from her chair, flinging her hands around my neck and splashing a kiss on my cheek. “Let me get us another round to celebrate.” She scoops up her empty glass and reaches for Jenna’s while eyeing my almost empty tumbler .

“Not for me, thanks,” I say. “Better stick to just the one. Need to cut back on my drinking now the season’s on us.”

I glance Jenna’s way, hoping she’ll read the invitation in the subtle raise of my brows, as I prepare to slug down the last of my drink, bringing the glass to my lips.

“Me neither, hun,” Jenna says. “I’m going to head off. I’ve got a client I need to do some stuff for. Best I don’t keep him waiting.” Then she winks at me.

She fucking winks.

I almost choke on the whisky and am rewarded with a smirk from Jenna as she rises from her chair, leaving me wiping away the last splattered drops from my mouth, although, behind the back of my hand, I’m smiling too.