Page 14

MILLIE

Books, not balls

“You’re taking me to the cricket?”

Noah flashes his grin as he smooths his hand over his steering wheel. Something about his hands and the seductive way he runs his fingers across it itches at my skin.

“Excited?”

I grimace. I know it’s a fake date, but I’m disappointed. “Is this how you woo your real girlfriends? With cricket? ”

“Definitely not.” Noah makes a right turn. “But you’re not my real girlfriend. If we’re going to spend time together, I figure we should do something I want to do.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

Noah glances at me. “I also have full faith in my ability to make you like it.”

I scoff. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“It’s not Test Day cricket or the Ashes,” he argues.

“You say these words like I’m supposed to know what they mean.”

He laughs. “We’re going to a warm-up match for the Big Bash League. The BBL season kicks off in December, so it’s just a friendly tonight. And it’s fun. It has different rules, and they play music to get the crowd pumped up.”

“Yeah, because everyone’s falling asleep from boredom.”

Cricket is an Australian staple. It’s played on televisions in the pub through the summer.

It’s on in the background when you’re at friends’ houses for Boxing Day drinks.

I’ve watched it with feigned interest in my time, especially when Ellis has it on, but it’s always too slow and complicated to grab my interest. And longgggg .

“Give it a chance, Maelstrom,” Noah urges. “There’s beer there and you don’t have to lie to anyone.”

“To be fair, that does sound like a pretty good deal.”

When we get closer to the cricket grounds, roads are blocked off to help with crowd control and traffic.

There’s never enough parking for big events at this stadium, so everyone is encouraged to use public transport or to Park ‘N’ Ride.

But not Noah. He has VIP access to a private carpark and with a flash of a pass they wave him on through.

“There are lots of eyeballs here,” I say quietly, as throngs of people head towards the giant, yellow-painted stadium. Sports fans have donned colours in show of support for their team of choice, a sea of green dotted with purple pouring towards the gates.

“I told you, people enjoy cricket,” Noah replies. “ Lots of people.”

I survey his smug expression as he navigates to a parking spot. “You chose this as a date because you knew there’d be lots of people. And cameras.”

Noah winks. “Looks like you’re starting to figure me out.”

I swallow my nerves as he kills the engine. Despite my complaints, a game of cricket with a couple of beers would actually be a decent first date, but this is no ordinary date.

“Millie, I wouldn’t have suggested this if I didn’t think you could handle it.” He looks over at me with concern. “If you want to bail at any point, say the word.”

“Bail.”

He grins. “You’ve got to give it at least twenty minutes from when we get into our seats.”

“There’s always a catch with you, Noah King.” I glance at my handbag. “Do you think I’ll be able to bring my camera inside?”

He raises his eyebrows. “You brought your camera?”

“I always bring a camera.” I screw my nose up. “I’m such a nerd.”

Noah laughs. “Bring your camera, nerd.”

We’re out of the car and heading towards the exit of the car park when I notice Noah exhale, rolling his shoulders for good measure.

Is he nervous? It hadn’t once occurred to me that Noah wasn’t in complete control. His cockiness and confidence seem to come so naturally to him and this whole date was his idea. I figured he’d choose somewhere he’d be comfortable and at ease.

You’d better pretend you like me. You’d better act like my girlfriend.

I repeat the words Noah said to me when we signed the contract. It’s a type of mantra or a trigger, a way for me to remind myself of why I’m participating in this idiocy.

With one final deep breath, I step closer to Noah’s left side.

I contemplate grabbing his hand, but chicken out at the last minute, instead going for linking his arm.

He looks down at me and I smile at him. I’m acting like I like you; I try to communicate without speaking.

I’m unsure how to take his expression, but part of me believes it’s gratitude in his eyes, as he pulls me closer in response. “Let’s go, Maelstrom.”

We head through a VIP entrance, but once we’re inside, we’re mixed in with everyone else.

Noah dons a pale blue surfing cap, which would look ridiculous on anyone else, but suits him perfectly.

He steers me in the right direction, my right hand gripping onto his upper arm to ensure we don’t get separated.

I’m sure I’m holding on uncomfortably tight, but Noah doesn’t complain.

We line up to grab a drink and Noah explains the rules to me while we wait.

I do my best to remember what I can, but Noah keeps mentioning extra details on top of the basics, and I barely retain half of what he says.

I get distracted by how pink his lips are, his white teeth sparkling behind them as he talks animatedly.

They always look like they’re freshly coated in lip balm, popping against his tan skin.

And his five o’clock shadow is always a five o’clock shadow. How do men do that?

Once we head inside to where the green grass and enormous grandstands come into focus, my eyes don’t know where to look.

The towering floodlights, the thousands of people heading to their seats, the giant TV screens stationed around for better viewing.

Noah’s right. Lots of people love their cricket.

We have great seats, but we’re not in a box or VIP section. We’re in general admission, amongst everybody else here with family and friends, laughing and shouting, putting buckets on their heads and waving flags.

“Welcome to the best night of your life, Maelstrom,” Noah says, waving an arm out in front of him.

I sit down in my seat, careful not to spill my drink. “Oh, please.”

Noah grins. “We simply have to sit here and look like we’re enjoying ourselves.”

“I can do that,” I say, more so to myself.

Noah sits down next to me. “Maybe try dropping your shoulders. They’re up to your ears.”

He’s right. I’m sitting like someone’s tied a wooden plank to my back, my shoulders up and my chest proud. But there’s no need. Nobody has looked twice at us since we got here.

“We’re about to start, so quick pop quiz, Maelstrom,” Noah says, as the music in the stadium kicks up a gear. “How many points if the ball touches the ground, but reaches the boundary?”

“Four.”

Noah nods. “And if they belt it out on the full?”

“Six.”

“Let’s hope if that happens, they hit it our way.”

I frown at him. “It can reach this far?”

“Mate, you wait until you see some of the hits these boys can do.” He places his cup between his feet and rubs his hands together in excitement.

The game starts with cheers and screams from the crowd, clapping for their teams as they enter the field of play.

The atmosphere is surprisingly electric, and I smile at everyone’s enthusiasm.

Noah points out different players, giving me updates on their cricketing success like a kid excited to share a story.

I might have my reservations about cricket, but there’s something charming and wonderful about listening to someone speak excitedly about their passions.

It turns out, Big Bash cricket is fun. Music blasts from the speakers between plays, the positive energy drifting around the stadium contagious.

In between snapping pictures of people in the crowd cheering, I wince at the close calls and scream when the batsmen smash the ball with everything they have.

We witness multiple groups of people lunge for the ball as it launches into the crowd, and one poor bloke has his beer sloshed over him in the process.

Noah explains additional rules when I’m unsure of what’s happening, laughing hysterically when I call bullshit on a call of ‘unfair play’.

Halfway through the match, a batsman gears up for his third swing, the previous two being sixes that landed in the crowd.

“Come on. Do it again,” Noah pleads.

The batsman swings and the ball catapults into the sky, heading in our general direction.

Despite the alarm ringing through my body, I hold my camera to my eye and capture a heap of snaps as the ball comes careening towards our row.

In a matter of seconds, the woman in front of Noah launches herself up and catches the ball on the full, tumbling into the people next to her as she lands.

The entire section jumps and screams, clapping and high fiving her as she holds the ball up. She smiles directly at me as I take her photo, the stadium continuing to erupt.

“I’m so glad she caught it,” I laugh, lowering my camera. “I reckon I would’ve had a smashed camera to the face and a concussion if it came any closer.”

Noah laughs. “Your instincts would’ve kicked in, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not. My strengths are cameras and books, not balls.”

Noah throws his head back in wild laughter and whether it’s the energy of the people around, my still-racing heart, or some other force, I can’t do anything to suppress my own laughter.

I’m still laughing when my gaze falls to one of the jumbo screens and I realise the focus has pulled from the catcher of the ball to Noah and me. If Noah hadn’t been spotted before, he has now.

Noah must sense my hostility, but he’s extraordinarily calm as he guides me back into my seat. Once we’re both sitting, he puts his arm around the back of my seat and leans into my ear. “You’re doing great. The camera never stays on the crowd long.”

He leans back and offers me a smile and because I have no idea who’s watching or if we’re still on the screen, I smile back at him.

The murmur around us is like a soft humming of bumblebees. Noah’s name is whispered several times, and I imagine for those who don’t know who he is, there’s someone nearby filling in the blanks.

We’re very much public now. Our image disappears from the screen, but those few seconds were enough. We were on national television and who knows what the commentators were saying about us.

Noah squeezes my shoulder, rubbing up and down in small movements to comfort me. I want to bury my face in my hands, but I do my best to stay neutral, tilting my head towards him. “How the hell do you cope with the attention?”

“When you’re as attractive as I am, you get used to it,” he whispers.

I clamp my mouth shut to stifle my laugh, settling back into the last leg of the game.

A few heads continue to turn our way, but I ignore them, focusing as hard as I can on the sight in front of me.

Focusing on the remaining wickets to be won and enjoying the latest hits that blast from the speakers.

All while Noah’s arm remains around my shoulders.

Cricket isn’t so bad after all.