Page 7

Zach looks at the eviction notice on his phone. He thought it was the law that he should have the letter in the post, but he counts his lucky stars it’s not taped to the outside of his front door. There’s no reason for his landlord to have ousted him. It says on the email it’s a no-fault eviction. Still frustrating, and still something the media will twist if they ever find out. He wonders who the PR person will be if PR girl doesn’t turn up again. He wonders if they’ll be kind enough to hide stuff from the press, as she suggested she would. Why didn’t he get her name? He searched the housing app for her profile, but it was gone this morning.

Either way, name or not, Zach still has thirty days to get out. He scoured the app all night last night, when he wasn’t having random thoughts about her. He wishes he’d spoken to her more. That he’d taken her up on the offer of a tea so he could know more about her, even if the chance she wants to be friends is about as high as him getting a new place in the next week.

Instead of worrying about that, he thinks about whether she’s going to be in the office when he’s finished with practice. If he’ll make an excuse to go through to the kitchen just to see if she’s wearing orange hair. The purple looks pretty against her dark complexion. The pink looked painfully good, and he already knows orange is going to render him mute.

“Zach,” Kai calls out.

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna pass with me?”

Zach’s not used to being asked anything. He’s not used to being involved in the conversation. So, no, he doesn’t want to practice passing, because it’s boring, but Kai is a flanker, and yeah, Kai needs to practice, and he’s the first person to ask Zach something in weeks. “If you want.”

Lightman (the worst man in the world and only a half-decent second row) scoffs. “Why would Zachariah need to practice? He wins everything on his own.”

“Shut up, Toby.” Kai shakes his head, but he moves away from Zach.

Zach stretches his hamstrings out instead, taking the moment to feel the wet grass on the back of his neck. The steam from the heat of his body rises around his ears, and he wants to close his eyes and rest for a moment, but he knows if he dares let his guard down, someone will stomp on his face.

He stands up, stretching out his legs instead. The whistle blows while he’s mid-lunge, but his limbs are feeling looser than they were twenty minutes ago, so he doesn’t mind.

“Practice is ending early,” Frankie states, “but you can’t go home yet. Well, practice isn’t actually ending, it’s being split in half because we’ve got a new person in the office and you’ve all got to be on your best behaviour so she doesn’t run for the hills. Is that understood?”

Zach perks up. It’s her. It’s gotta be her. Toby’s chest heaves with whatever poorly thought-out insult he’s about to throw at Zach, but Frankie catches him in time.

“Zip it, Lightman. She’ll be here soon, so go towel off and meet me in the office in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes isn’t enough time to have a shower, which is rude, because Zach wants to see her while he looks decent and doesn’t smell. Right now, he’s almost definitely got a mud smear on his face, and he’s covered in sweat. If she ever wanted to look at him twice, it wouldn’t be today. He’s not even sure why he cares what she thinks. It’s not like he’d ever act on it.

As Zach removes his mouthguard and ensures his ears aren’t bleeding, he notices his chest feels weird. Lighter than he thinks it should be. Maybe like there’s butterflies inside him or something. He hasn’t eaten anything strange, and he was up in time to eat breakfast before Frankie made them run five miles.

When he follows the team into the main office, he finds himself looking for her, and he realises he’s nervous.

What a loser.

Zach finds a seat to the back, places his elbows on his knees, and desperately tries to look like he’s not waiting for her arrival. His feet bounce against the floor.

He’s not sure he’s been this excited in years, and all he wants is to know her name.

Same time, different day. Mali stands in the carpark of the Titans’ training ground. She has cigarette pants on this time, and a thin fine-knit jumper in case she gets stuck in an igloo again. She won’t stick around this time. If no one is here, she’s going. She’ll beg the football team to let her work there, or she’ll put her house back on SpareRoom. (She deleted it last night after Zach left because she got terrified another man would turn up.)

Still, she takes a deep breath and looks around the carpark. It turns out she can’t remember what Zach’s car looks like. She wonders if he’s here. She wonders if it would make her feel better to see him now. Probably. He was nicer last night than he had been in the morning. Maybe he’s not used to new people.

She wonders if he’s tied his hair up again.

But he’s not here. God, she doesn’t want to go in. Mali is not an easily embarrassed person, but she doesn’t love to be forgotten. There were a couple back-and-forth emails yesterday after she trifled through her junk mail, so she should be more confident than she is. Then, as she’s contemplating going back home, the front door opens.

It’s not Zach, and she can’t tell if she’s disappointed, but then the woman comes out into the sunlight and waves so wildly at her that Mali can’t help but wave back.

“Mali?” she shouts, and Mali thinks it’s Frankie Adebayo. Thinks. She’s seen her a few times in the papers and stalks her on social media, obviously, but this woman is bald. Frankie had hair the last time Mali saw a photo of her, and she doesn’t know her well enough to recognise her on face shape alone.

Then she gets closer, and Mali knows it’s her from the sheer width of her shoulders. Frankie should be terrifying. She could probably knock Mali out with a flick to the temple, but she’s smiling so brightly at her that she just looks kind. She’s very pretty up close. She has deep brown skin, bright brown eyes, and a smile that wouldn’t look out of place on a Hollywood billboard. Her body showcases the years she spent on a professional rugby team. It’s obvious, even though she’s wearing enough layers she’d be warm if they strolled up Mount Everest.

As they meet in the middle of the carpark, Mali says, “Hey.”

“Hi! Oh my God,” Frankie says, as they come face to face. Frankie is slightly taller than Mali, but not by much. “I am so sorry for Monday. I’m mortified, and truly, we should blame Ezra, but either way, I am so sorry no one was here.”

“That’s alright.” She smiles, but she’s thankful for the apology. “Zach was here.”

Frankie gives her a look. It’s not unkind, but it’s clear she has an issue with Zach. It’s not like Mali didn’t know that, but it makes her feel some kind of way.

“Well, today is much better. Everyone is here. Want to come meet everyone at once?” Frankie asked hurriedly. “Or I can do some sessions instead. Of course, you’ll meet the players at some point anyway, and you only need to know the people who work in the office, so whatever you want, we can do that. Did you meet anyone else yesterday?”

Mali blinks, her head spinning.

“I’m talking too fast, aren’t I?” Frankie says, running her hand over her head.

“A little.” Mali smiles. “And I met Lisa too.”

Frankie takes a deep breath—one like Mali would expect a toddler to take when their parents think they’re running around too much.

“Okay. Good. Lisa is the best. First: are you still happy to work here?”

“Yes.”

Frankie does a small, happy jump. “Second: girl, your hair is the best thing I’ve ever seen.” Mali smiles, flipping the orange locks over her shoulder. This wig isn’t as long as the purple one. It sits just below her shoulders, and it’s styled into an old-money long bob. She adores it.

“Thank you.”

“Third… am I on number three?”

Mali nods, feeling more at ease with every word Frankie says.

“Do you want to meet people in small doses? I swear we won’t make you say any fun facts.”

Mali laughs and follows as Frankie starts to walk towards the office. “All at once is fine. I already know the players, and I’ll try my hardest not to fangirl, but my dad wants autographs so bad.”

Frankie throws her head back as she laughs. “Ezra will be a little bitch about it, but if you don’t back down, he’ll give you a jersey too.”

“How long do I have to stare at him to get a set?”

Frankie cackles as they enter the office, and everyone turns to look at them.

Mali looks around the room. As promised, everyone is here. She gives a small wave as she tries to not regret saying she’d meet everyone at once. Her gaze slides over Zach sitting towards the back. She waves to him, and he frowns, looking away. Maybe he didn’t take the lack of housing offer as well as she thought.

“Everyone, this is Mali Okeye,” Frankie says, tucking her hands into her back pockets. “Make her feel welcome, or she’ll tell the press you’re a dick.”

“Standard news for Azan,” someone replies. Mali looks over, desperate to see where the voice came from, but it could have been anyone. Most of the players laugh, some louder than others. Frankie doesn’t respond.

“Oi,” Ezra says. His voice is deeper than Mali remembered. He’s silly hot. Like, she’d be too terrified to ever actually speak to him hot. She doesn’t imagine him in any scenarios other than on the rugby field, but she can see why he has thousands of fans. “Don’t be a prick.”

“I’m not the prick,” they mutter again. Mali finds him this time. Toby Lightman. She’s not a fan. Not because of this, but it hasn’t helped.

“Enough,” Frankie says. Both listen to her. Mali wonders why she didn’t say anything in the first place, if she has the authority she so clearly has. “Put your dicks away, shut up, listen to Mali, and don’t embarrass me.”

“Hello,” Mali starts. She feels her voice tremble a little, but she’s not sure it’s noticeable to anyone else. If only she’d stood directly in front of Frankie, she could look at her and feel more at ease. Instead, she flits her gaze over the group of people staring at her. None of them give her the comfort she’s hoping for.

She notices a few of the younger players. They’ve all got potential, but they’ve only been on the field one season. Then she sees Kai Johnson. He’s her second-favourite player of all time, and he’s barely a fully grown adult (which just means he’s younger than her). He’s adorable. Like stupid, shouldn’t be allowed on a rugby field adorable. And he’s crazy fast. One moment she’s watching him toss a ball to Zach, the next he’s halfway across the field making sure no one can touch him. He looks like a kid in a candy shop, a smile on his face as he waits for her to talk, but the nerves simmer in her stomach as she looks at Toby again. He’ll probably do great with an energy-drink sponsorship something. He’s got such a footballer face. Mali takes in the rugby team, and yet, her gaze falls back on Zach.

She lets it linger.

“Uhm, I’ll be doing some publicity work for the team. I’m hoping to get some team sponsors and individual ones as well. So—”

Toby interrupts her, as she was expecting. “You’ll have your work cut out for you with Azan.” What is he, five?

Zach speaks before she does. “Shut up and let her fucking talk, man.” His voice is deeper than it ever has been when he’s spoken to her. Toby glares at him but ultimately does what he says. Mali wonders how often Zach sticks up for himself in these situations. She looks at Zach for a beat too long, then lets her gaze slip back to Toby.

“Lightman, right?”

He sits up straight, a cocky smile on his face. “Yeah.”

“Sponsors don’t like it if you’re rude, so try and work on that.” It might have been a mistake, because he looks murderous—like he truly might walk over and hit her. “For everyone else, you can let me know if there’s something specific you’d like, and I’ll try and get it for you. I also have ideas and suggestions for what sponsorships might suit you all individually and as a team.”

“Azan won’t get you anything but trouble.” Toby is right there, and Mali ducks her head with a light groan. Toby looks at her like he’s waiting for her to laugh, but no one says a word.

When she’s ready, she asks, “Are you obsessed with him?” There’s a couple of snickers, but ultimately, people are waiting for her to continue to talk. “Because you needn’t worry. Zach already has more line-ups than anyone else here. So why don’t we try and keep ourselves to ourselves unless someone asks for the opinion of others.”

“Well—” Toby starts.

But there’s a chorus of “shut up” from Zach, “Oi!” from Ezra, and what she thinks is a vague threat at running laps from Frankie. After that, the team slowly leaves the office, and Mali feels the shake in her fingers. She hopes it wasn’t obvious to everyone. She walks over to her desk and sets her briefcase down.

“Putting Lightman in his place within ten minutes,” Frankie says. “Tight.”

“Is he always like that?”

“He’s mad because of what Azan said at the end of last season.”

“Are you sure it’s not because Zach’s a better player than him?”

Frankie laughs. “It’s probably eighty-twenty. Do you need time to settle, or do you want to talk to someone now?”

“Are you free?”

Frankie smiles brightly. “No, I have to coach. You can have a player, though I do enjoy that I was your first thought.” Her bright orange whistle swings from her neck.

Mali hums. “I’ll take Zach, then.”

Frankie attempts to hide a scowl, but she’s not good at it. Mali wonders if she knows how much money people are going to pay for him to stand near their products.

“Is the whole team mad at him for the press thing?” Mali asks, quickly tacking on another question so it doesn’t seem like she’s judging them (she is). “Because I’ll need to do something about team sponsors if the team don’t like each other.”

“Not the whole team. Just the loud ones.”

“And you?” Mali asks. “Are you mad about the press thing, or is he as annoying as Toby? If I’m allowed to ask.”

“You are.” Frankie sighs. “It’s mainly the press thing. He’s a great player, you know that, but I don’t think he has any loyalty to the team, and I don’t wanna let him get away with being disrespectful towards me, for him to then ditch and go. Just between us,” Frankie says quickly, like she’s forgotten Mali isn’t a close friend.

“’Course. I get it.”

“Okay. I’ve got practice, but I’ll send Azan back. You wanna get lunch later?”

Mali smiles as brightly as Frankie does. She has a friend. “Yes.”

She watches as Frankie walks away with a skip to her step, and she realises she desperately needs to see the grounds. For reasons. Like Zach in rugby uniform reasons. “Wait, can I come see some practice?” Mali is running to catch up with her either way, and by the time Frankie says yes, Mali has already opened the doors.

“How much do you know about rugby?” Frankie asks.

“I know Toby should have scored in last season’s final. I know Kai is too young to be as good as he is. I know Ezra was the best fullback the Titans had before you became coach.”

“True!” Frankie shouts. “God, I love that you’re a fan!”

“I had no choice. My parents went to every game. I could hate it, but I’d be there either way.”

“Do they still come?” Frankie asks, shoving the last set of doors open. The air is chilly, but at least it’s not raining. Mali should have put her coat back on though. She watches as her shoes leave imprints in the grass. The actual pitch is a muddy mess. She makes a mental note to figure out how to fix it.

“Not as much,” Mali says, wondering if she should say the next part out loud. “The season tickets took a bit of a hike.”

“Eurgh,” Frankie says. “I know. We don’t control the pricing, but our last sponsor whacked them up the moment we got promoted. I don’t know what we can do about it.”

“I’ll look into it,” Mali says. “Are sales still good?”

“Yeah, better than ever. I just know there’s a whole bunch of people who can’t come anymore, and I feel like a prick.”

“It’s fixable,” Mali says. She means to say something else, but she’s watching practice instead. There’s something thrilling about massive men throwing each other about like they weigh nothing more than a bag of sugar. Ezra knocks into Kai, and Mali swears she feels the impact vibrate through her body from the sidelines.

“Ezra is so fucking large.”

Frankie laughs. “I was bigger than him until he hit fourteen, then that little wanker just kept growing.” Mali attempts to watch all the players, seeing their footwork and their spins away from their teammates. Rugby is basically ballet with a significant increase of trying to knock someone out.

But her eyes always land on Zach. He’s so fucking good. He’s a hooker, but she knows he could defend if he had to. She watches the way his thighs tense with every stride he takes, his shoulders taking the brunt of the bag he’s barrelled into. Ezra hits the floor like a sack of potatoes, but Zach helps him back up. Somehow, he’s managing to make a mouthguard look hot as fuck. Everything he does seems to be effortless. Unthought about. Second nature.

“Is Azan your favourite player?” Frankie asks, and Mali wonders if the blush on her cheeks is visible. It would be reasonable, she thinks, for her to say yes. Zach is a lot of people’s favourite player. There’s a small chance that if she says yes, Frankie will know there’s something else behind it. He can play rugby better than most people, professional or not, but there’s something else—something she can’t quite identify. Something like the press thinks he’s a charming pretty boy, yet he has to google things to figure out if they’re rude.

“I have a different favourite player depending on what day it is, but yeah, he’s always close to the top.”

Frankie hums, then blows her whistle. Zach finally looks over, though he doesn’t look surprised to see her. She doesn’t think his chest is twisting just because their eyes locked over a frozen rugby field. She doesn’t think he’s wondering if she can fuck him into next week. There’s a real chance he had no idea what her name was until Frankie introduced her, which is embarrassing, because she said about three different versions of his name hundreds of times.

She doesn’t think he’s thinking about her at all.