Page 28 of Hit For Six (Balls and Banter #1)

‘Okay, okay.’ Monty laughed. ‘Rumbled. I’m just going to say it as it is. I would love to take you out for dinner… at the very least. This is my formal invitation, though I have not a bugle to announce it.’

Lola let him stew for the longest time over her RSVP. He might have seen the mirth dancing in her eyes, but Monty was beginning to think that he truly had pushed it too far, that his luck finally had run out. Especially by paperclipping ‘at the very least’ on to his invite.

‘Then you’re going to need to play your very best… at the very least.’

She flashed him a cute demi-smile. He tried to read more into it but her eyes were stubbornly poker face now.

‘Fine.’ The butterflies were back to doing acrobatics in his stomach and he didn’t want to think about the rest of his anatomy for fear he’d lose all control. ‘Bowling first. Which means you’ll need to bat.’

He tipped his head in the direction of his beloved Kookaburra bat with its iconic bird profile.

It was a tad heavy for a woman but he’d never had the need to buy any female kit since none of his exes had been interested in the game.

He should have planned this better and asked London if he could borrow a lighter version from the stadium’s store cupboard.

‘I’m going to be absolutely rubbish.’ Lola huffed as if she’d eavesdropped on Monty’s mind chatter. ‘You do realise that?’

‘I’ve seen you in action, sweetheart.’ He winced. Should he have taken the liberty with that endearment? ‘You can’t get away with making wild claims like that.’

‘Let’s get this over with.’

‘Erm, Lola. You could show a little more appreciation for my sport.’

She shot him a sultry look then skulked to the stumps to grab the bat. He’d asked for it. He hadn’t prepared her for today. There hadn’t been any need for today. He could easily get away without the practise– just like everyone else who was on holiday. But Lola didn’t need to know any of that.

Monty started her off with a light underarm bowl to get her used to the game and Lola, who was holding the bat in an ungainly manner– which was putting things politely– over swung for the ball and landed thud on her backside.

Now she looked like a dangerously pouty teenager, hands splayed on the grass, refusing to cooperate.

Oh, bollocks. Things were not getting off to the best start.

Never mind dinner, she’d bite his head off and chew it up in a minute, and he’d thoroughly deserve it.

‘Do you need a hand?’ he ventured.

‘No! No, I do not. This is ridiculous, Monty.’ She tugged at the grass, scattering confetti in a little mountain next to her.

‘I’m well aware that you’re lobbing me tame balls because you’re not getting the opportunity to practise your spin bowling, so if you’re going to get any proper practise in this side of Christmas, you’d best stand behind me and correct my position already. ’

Lola pulled herself up and stood in front of the stumps, thoroughly disgruntled, but thankfully nobody except a voyeuristic grey squirrel had seen her fall.

This was what he’d been hoping and praying for.

He was the worst kind of opportunist, the lowest of the low.

Sleazebag material, in fact. But Monty had to take his chance.

He tried very hard not to smile at his sudden good luck.

It should have earned him a slap. And the rest. You really did have to love a helmet.

And here he was referring to the one on top of his head, despite the twitching of other body parts.

He blinked his filthy interior monologue away.

‘If you’re sure? I thought you were doing well.’

‘Stop flattering me. Get over here and sort me out.’

With pleasure.

And so two figures stood at the imaginary crease beneath the oak tree, Monty positioning himself behind Lola, trying his best to keep some gentlemanly space between them and ignore the throbbing of his manhood as he lightly placed his hands over hers, rejigging her hold on the bat.

‘Like this,’ he rasped, also desperately trying to ignore the fact they both knew how good it felt to be pressed up against one another– and what that, in turn, could lead to.

All right. Maybe they hadn’t previously stood at this exact angle behind a certain cocktail bar but it was all the same to Monty when Lola’s dress tickled at his shins as if to mimic what her fingers might do to his body, working their way up and up and up .

Then there was her lemony scent hitting the airwaves, and the fact that she felt so damn right in his arms. It was virtually impossible for him not to embrace her as he enveloped her back and shoulders so he could put her hands in exactly the right place and show her how to manoeuvre the bat.

‘Your top hand should take control… and the bottom hand is all about power. The grip should feel comfortable, a little relaxed even.’

‘Yes, I’ve got it! No need to labour the point.’

Monty felt like he’d been stung. Reluctantly, he took a step back.

‘All right. Now we need to change your posture. Can you?’ Do not say spread! ‘Stand with your legs a little further apart. About a shoulder’s width?’

Lola shuffled her feet.

‘Not quite what I had in mind. May I?’

‘What choice do I have?’

She tutted at his mansplaining. This was not going well. All he was doing was pissing her off.

Grateful (and also, shamefully, not grateful) that she was wearing a long dress, Monty got down on his hands and knees to gently move Lola’s feet into position, so that she now stood side-on to the stumps, her feet the proper distance apart.

‘It’s all about balance,’ he said, quickly getting to his own feet. ‘Bend your knees a little and put your weight slightly backwards so you can pivot from the balls of your feet and lunge forward or back, to respond to the intensity of the bowler.’

Lola side-eyed him. Oh, god. Did he really have to phrase it like that?

‘Are you good with me guiding the bat into the correct position?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

She nodded curtly and Monty stepped around her again before she changed her mind.

“Stand exactly as you are… and then you want to bring the bat down straight like this for a basic attacking or defense shot.’ He tried, in vain, not to rub up against her as he showed her how the move flowed.

‘Obviously, we’re doing it slowly at the moment for demonstration purposes.

It will be a lot quicker once I’ve fired the ball at you. ’

At this, Lola blew a gargantuan puff of air from her cheeks.

‘Monty, do you have to keep–’

‘Sorry,’ he preempted and then blurted. ‘I can’t seem to stop the innuendos but it’s kind of difficult to say it other than how it is… the game, I mean, the game ! I’m one-hundred percent referring to the game.’

‘Such a coincidence that a predominantly male sport should have so many double entendres in its glossary of terms!’

‘Actually, the provenance of cricket still isn’t formally known. It could easily have been women or kids who invented it. And an increasing number of females of all ages are taking it up. Just, erm, saying.’

Lola twirled the bat on the ground, rubbing its handle between her fingertips. Monty felt his shoulders relax.

‘Okay,’ he chanced. ‘So now we need to talk about… swinging.’

Sodding hell, he was digging himself an even bigger hole here.

‘That’s convenient.’

Lola tapped the bat on the ground with a little more force than necessary. Monty threw his hands in the air.

‘What? How else am I going to phrase it? Okay, so now we need to talk about oscillating ?’

Lola kept tapping the bat as if it might create a sinkhole where she could bury her grin.

‘I am not a bloody fan,’ she quipped.

‘And I’m not a thesaurus.’ He so wanted to insert the word fucking into that sentence, but he held back.

‘Can we agree that I need to speak in cricket lingo and you need to try to think in cricket lingo? Just for one session so I can explain the basics, and then you never have to do this again. There’s no hidden agenda to what I’m saying, Lola.

I really can’t help it if you have a dirty mind. ’

After much grimacing, Lola finally gave in to a fit of giggles, giving Monty the green light to swiftly align his body behind her so that he could run through the complete movement of forward defense.

He was proud of himself for not overstaying his welcome or laughing along with her and taking advantage of the change of heart.

He wanted to do a hell of a lot more. Amazingly, though, once he retreated, Lola started to find her rhythm.

‘Shall we?’

Monty returned to his spot and kept his bowling underarm for the first few shots, gradually upgrading to as gentle an overarm as he could manage.

She missed them all and tapped one, but her posture was better, and she was doing all of this with a heavy bat.

It was only a matter of time before she struck it.

Indeed, when Lola finally did connect the bat with the ball, she hit what would have undoubtedly been a four on the pitch.

‘See, you’re not only the queen of fielding; look at that shot!’

Monty high fived her. Trying– and failing– to hide her joy, Lola motioned for him to swap positions and– once he’d paced off to get the ball before a scampering Jack Russell went in for the kill– Lola attempted an overarm bowl… which nearly took out a branch of the tree.

‘Don’t say it!’

‘Ah, but it needed to happen, otherwise you’d start thinking you were better than me and we can’t be having that.’

‘Cocky sod.’

Was she enjoying this? Monty didn’t want to tempt fate but it felt like she might be, and that truly did warm his cockles.

Lola switched to underarm, and, although her shots were wide for the most part, sometimes he could connect the bat, sending the ball off on a flurry of sixes, whose retrieval was definitely earning him his supper.

As amateur as the session was, it was good to be back in his happy place with the person who– today’s moodiness aside– was making his life sunnier every time he saw or spoke to her.

Whilst he’d had to convince Lola about tonight, she was the only woman he’d spent time with who genuinely cared about his sport.

Yes, when she’d watched him in action in the cup final, she’d had little choice in the matter, and yes, he’d behaved kind of wretchedly tonight by not telling her what the return of favour involved.

But now she was genuinely in the moment and having fun.

‘You’re a natural, you know. I’m not trying to dangle a carrot or anything, but you could easily play for the women’s team.’

Lola couldn’t hide her beam, but then said:

‘Nah, I’m more of a rounders girl. I suppose there are some similarities.

’ Oh. Monty recomposed himself. ‘That’s what we used to play at school in the summer along with netball…

Eugh… And then there was the dreaded athletics.

I was petrified of accidentally spearing someone with the javelin and going to jail. ’

‘I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear any of that!’ he replied, as Lola threw him an impressive ball and he sent it soaring.

‘Shot!’

‘That was gas… For a girl… N-not that I’m being sexist… We play with them all the time at our village cricket club! Mixed teams and everything.’

A couple of teenage lads appeared from nowhere. One outstretched a hand for a shake with Monty, the other applauded Lola. She was far from amused and Monty could have sworn at the little sods for undoing all his hard work.

‘Oh yeah?’ he said good-naturedly, pumping the lad’s hand. ‘Do you guys want to bowl and field for a bit?’

‘That would be lit! You play for Bath Beasts, don’t you? And I saw you on TikTok signing your England contract the other day. Can I… would it be all right to get a selfie?’

‘For my sins, yes I do. And yes, you can,’ Monty replied, sighing discreetly in Lola’s direction– especially at the unfathomable Gen Z lingo.

He crossed his fingers behind his back that the kids wouldn’t join any more dots and recognise her, requesting more of the same.

Then he posed for a quick photo, before signalling for the boys to get in position to bowl and field as he returned to the crease; Lola instinctively creating space to mark her territory in the distance.

Was it his imagination, or had her mood magically lifted again now she’d been given the chance to field somewhere other than a stadium seat?

Monty was suddenly flooded with hope that the evening might only be young.

‘I’m done. This is the last ball,’ Lola cried ten minutes later.

Monty wasn’t surprised. She’d exceeded herself running in to intercept two tricky shots, further surprising her male counterpart.

‘Yeah, I’m pretty ravenous,’ Monty concurred– in two very different senses of the word, but it was probably safest to put one of those on the backburner.

‘Yay, let’s all grab a Nando’s!’ cried one of the lads, whose names he still hadn’t caught.

‘Actually, guys, if you’ll excuse us, I’m taking our star fielder somewhere a little more refined.’

Because a nouveau riche underdog never gave up.