Page 39

Chapter 39

Ocean-Side Rugby

Robyn

T urns out I didn’t have to drive all the way to Norfolk because Dell paid for Isaiah to fly right into the Outer Banks in a freakin’ seaplane. He practically flew into the yard of our vacation rental.

Rich people.

As soon as I see him, I have to remind myself not to launch into his arms or show any public displays of affection.

He’s my coach.

Coach.

Head. Coach.

No touchy.

Maybe if I say it enough times it will sink in.

“Hey!” I wave because I have no idea what to do with my arms. He scoops me up from my middle with one arm, squeezing me.

“Missed you,” he whispers over the sounds of waves crashing next to us. And holy moly does that alone have me weak in the knees. I know he’s seen me get off a couple times now, and he held me in the shower at Dell’s studio gym, but there’s something so new and thrilling about Isaiah openly being sweet to me that has me dying a perfect death. It’s both the old him and the new him, meeting me right here with our hair whipping in the ocean air.

Sooner than I’d like, he sets me down. “Was that okay?” he asks, and we head for the wooden stairs to the house.

“Yeah, I think so. Friends hug like that, right? ”

He nods.

“Are you hungry? We were just about to clean up from lunch.”

“I could eat.”

Sliding the glass door open, there’s a chorus of heys and welcomes from everyone. After spending the past few days here, everyone is relaxed and truly excited for Isaiah to join us. At the beginning, when I brought up the idea of him coming for a visit, I was met groaning. Thankfully Serwaa always has my back and made them realize we would have done this with Coach Laura. It really didn’t take much to get everyone on board, and as the days went on, everyone was getting antsy for his arrival. Mostly because we have a plan and we need him.

“Is this everyone? Just the six of you?” he asks, eating the last bite of his sandwich, and looking out on the deck to where my teammates are lounging with mocktails and cocktails. I’ve already set him up in his bedroom in the basement. No one else wanted it because the rest of the bedrooms are upstairs and we wanted to be close to each other. That, and the basement bedroom just wasn’t as pretty as the other ones.

“Yeah, that’s everyone. It’s mostly just the players without kids.”

Khaos comes to the slider wearing a bikini top and shorts with a shit eating grin and an empty margarita glass. “Did you ask him yet?”

“Ask me what?”

I wince, “Would you be willing to help us with a social media trend?”

“That depends. What is it?”

“Just keep in mind, this will help the image of USA Valor.” Isaiah just looks at me. “Have you seen the ‘my boyfriend does my makeup’ trend?”

“No,” he says flatly.

“Well, I think you pretty much get what that means. But we were thinking you, Coach Isaiah Johanssen, could do our makeup and we’d film it. It would be the ‘our coach does our makeup’ trend.”

“Please?” Khaos begs with the hardest puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen.

“It’ll be really funny!” I add.

“Do I have to wear makeup?”

“No,” Khaos and I both say.

“Unless—” she starts.

“As long as I don’t have to wear makeup, I’ll do it.”

“Woo!” she cheers, shoving her margarita glass high in the air and turning on her heel to tell everyone outside. “We got’em!”

“Do you carry this much equipment with you wherever you go?” Isaiah asks me as I turn on my ring light which blinds us in the bathroom.

“Of course. I’m a content creator. Okay, so I’ve already shot the intro, so all we need to do now is film you applying makeup. Camera rolling,” I say, placing my clear travel makeup case in front of him.

His eye brows pinch. “All of this? You use all of this?”

“Just pick out what you think will do the job,” I smile, knowing that probably makes him more confused.

Muttering something, he fingers through everything. He picks up a tube and reads, “What's a high spreadability silicone primer?”

I shrug playfully. “Use it and find out.”

“I’m gonna look like an idiot doing this.”

“Oh,” I chuckle, “I think we’re gonna be the ones looking dumb, not you.”

“That’s reassuring.” Isaiah opens a matte finishing powder and grunts before pressing his fingers in it. “Here’s goes nothing.”

His index and middle finger glide over my cheek, and I can barely suppress my laughter. “What?” he asks, moving his fingers over my forehead.

“Nothing.”

“You’re making a face.”

“No I’m not. You’re doing great, Coach.”

“You know, when I took this job, I didn’t realize I’d be the team’s makeup artist.”

“You’re a man of many talents.”

Isaiah finishes with the powder and grabs for a stick. He reads it, “Berry Me in Sunshine cream blush? Whatever.”

With an unsure hand, he swipes it across my cheek and applies way too much, then tries to correct it, but the blush ends up everywhere.

“What’s the point of this video anyway?”

“Well it’s a trend,” I say. “Therefore will bring attention to our team. But it’s also about showing people they can be both feminine and masculine to whatever degree that means. For instance, I love makeup and it makes me feel powerful. That’s why I wear lipstick and mascara on the field.”

“Oh shit,” he whispers to himself. “I forgot about mascara.”

“Some of the players today will only have you do their skincare because they don’t wear any makeup. We want to show fans and youth players they don’t have to give up anything about themselves to play the sport they want to play, or to look the way they want to look.”

“So this isn’t just about how bad I am at makeup-ing.”

“Not at all. Well, a little bit. It is funny. I’ve never seen someone apply concealer over their eyeshadow before,” I giggle.

“Sh—shoot,” he corrects, and tries to remove the concealer with his thumb.

The whole time Zay poorly applies my makeup, I’m stuck in a liminal space where we can't talk about us or Dell because the camera is on. And there’s something a little naughty and pleasant about keeping it all locked up and pretending we’re just friends again. Alright, it’s also a little torturous. I do want to feel his big naked body against mine again and the way his chest hair feels against my skin.

Suddenly there’s eyeliner being poked in my cornea. “Oh f—crap,” he says, bringing me out of the memory of the post-orgasm shower we shared. “Okay, I’m calling it. That’s as good as it gets, Robyn.”

I turn around to face the mirror and burst out laughing. “I look like a clown who just performed in a hurricane!”

“Well I call that a win. I was going for drag queen in a flash flood.”

“My turn,” a gremlin-like voice growls out of nowhere, causing both of us to jump out of our skin.

“Khaos!” I scream. “Cheese and rice that scared me.”

She hands her makeup bag to Isaiah. “I’m going for the goth princess look.”

“Sure,” he mutters. “We’ll both pretend I know what that means.”

“Sure you do, Coach,” I smile and pat him on the shoulder. “Just make her into the ideal fan for Agony Nectar.”

He gives me a look that says he’s not amused, but I’m hustling out of the bathroom and giggling.

Before I’m out of ear shot, I hear Khaos ask, “What’s Agony Nectar?”

When each girl is done with their makeup or skincare, they join the rest of us on the expansive deck overlooking the ocean. There’s a massive dark storm system coming in, but we’re determined to soak up every last bit of sun before it comes our way.

Mo was the last one and sits next to me at the patio table with a grin and a damp face. She’s wearing rugby shorts and a sports bra. That’s pretty much her vacation, lounge, and work wear. Mo has the shortest haircut of all of us and a more masculine build like me. “You can tell he’s trying,” she says.

I smile and nod. “Too much?”

“No. It’s good. What’s too much is the amount of vitamin C serum he applied all over my face— after my moisturizer.”

A hard cackle bursts out of me as Isaiah finally makes his way to join us.

“Alright, alright,” Isaiah says, walking over to the table where a well-worn rugby ball sits and he grabs it. “You’ve all had your fun. I think it’s time you indulge me.” He tosses the ball to Serwaa and takes off for the deck stairs to the beach below. “Come on. We’re playing footy.”

“It’s about to rain!” she chortles.

“Then let’s play fast,” he calls over his shoulder as he’s halfway down. Grabbing a baseball cap next to me, I’m already high-tailing it. My pulse picks up as I chase him over the sand and waves lick at my heels. Soon everyone has followed us, and we divide into small teams before giving the ball a foot tap and starting.

There’s no tackling or scrums, there’s no jumpers or real strategic play—it’s just playful ruckus made harder by running through sand—and I’ve never seen Isaiah happier. He’s laughing at Serwaa who keeps tucking her tits back into her bikini top, he’s cheering for Skirt finding a breakaway, and he’s falling over with a thud and a childish grin.

The storm clouds that were once ominous make good on their threat, and when the downpour begins, our game doesn’t stop. Poorly-applied mascara runs from our faces faster than our legs can take us.

I missed 1 this Isaiah—the one at college rugby tournaments decked out in a speedo or a thrifted prom dress. The one who led the dirtiest verses in our drinking songs. The one who would do anything for his teammates simply because they were his teammates. The one covered in sand and pelted with rain, running toward me with determination in his eyes.

It's really him. Here's the man I played pickup rugby with all those years ago. Who pinned me to the ground and made me laugh harder than I ever had. Who rubbed Tiger Balm into my skin and gave me his bed to sleep in. He's right here. He's back.

When I wrap up around Isaiah and he tries to push through to the makeshift try zone, he grunts and laughs and shoves a gentle hand in my face to smudge my makeup even more. There may be no real tackling, but I can’t help it when my foot connects with the back of his knee and I take him down.

“You ruined my makeup!” I squeal.

He grunts from the ground below me, “It’s too late for that! Save me, Skirt!” he yells over the din of hard rain and laughter.

In a flash, she’s on him, spraying us with kicked-up sand and picking the ball from his clutch. Losing her footing, Skirt immediately fumbles and falls to the ground before anyone can tackle her, but she’s not getting up.

“You okay?” Isaiah asks. We both get up to find her laying there, laughing her ass off. Everyone around us is doing the same—wheezing and holding their sides as they roll in the wet sand. Khaos is wrapped around Toni. Mo is waving her arms and legs in the sand to make a beach angel. It’s like everyone is laughing in the face of this dark afternoon storm, reveling in the beauty we can make on our own.

Isaiah’s eyes find mine, and if I could bottle this moment and save it forever, I would. And whenever I would need a little pick-me-up, I’d open the bottle and take a long whiff.

I’d dab the memory behind my ears and on my wrists and remember the way his rare smile seeps into my soul. I’d remember the scents of ocean and sunscreen; of heavy rain and the grippy texture and smell of a leather rugby ball. I’d remember the way he’s looking at me, like he’s missed this version of us, too. Like even if our relationship right now is defined by we can’t and think of your image , we will still have this.

We’ll always have ocean-side rugby in the rain.

1. The scarlett empress by College