Page 2 of Try Hard

Eve

“I just don’t know if bangers, mash, and beans is ideal date food,” Rohanna said from the other side of the video call. Her phone was propped on her kitchen counter as she raced about the place, the camera barely picking up more than a streak of long, black hair.

I laughed. “It’s traditional, innit?”

She hesitated and slid into frame. “Weird accent.”

“Story of my life,” I said with a huge grin.

“Yeah, but even for you. That is categorically not what you sound like. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say innit before.”

“Oh, I’m sure I have, just… with a different accent.”

“Miss Americana.”

I rolled my eyes fondly, watching another plane spotter stroll by my car with their gear. I’d been late. They were even later. I wondered if they had shifts? That would be cute. “I don’t sound that American. Especially not these days.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“But that’s not really the point.”

“Right. The point is my deeply underwhelming date experience.”

I grinned, watching as her face flashed in and out of frame again, her expression disappointed. “Row, do you ever think that maybe you just don’t like her, so all of these little things that annoy you are only doing so because you’re not actually feeling the relationship?”

She leaned on the counter, staring through the phone at me. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pressed into a sharp line. “For someone so famously nice, you aren’t half cutting sometimes.”

“Hey, what are friends for?”

“Telling me none of this is my fault and that it’s absolutely ridiculous for a date to serve bangers and mash—”

“Don’t forget the beans.”

“Screw the beans.”

I laughed again. “I think if you enjoyed the screwing more, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Explain.” She stayed in sight as she downed a ginseng shot.

“Well, imagine this was someone you had a soul-deep connection with and the ground moved every time you had sex. Would you care that they gave you bangers and mash?”

“Huh.” She disappeared from view again. “I guess not.”

It was impressive she’d gotten there so easily. Rohanna was stubborn. A lot of the time, it was amazing, but, sometimes, she refused to give up on her beliefs no matter how much proof you supplied of the alternatives.

She reappeared. “Okay. Fine. Point made. It’s not happening with Victoria. I’ll break up with her.”

I winced. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s totally fine. Better to do it now before anyone gets more hurt.”

And that was Rohanna too—endlessly pragmatic. It worked well for our business, but, in life, it was the reason she called me in these situations. She needed someone… softer around the edges but still willing to call her out on her shit when necessary.

I watched her as she looked over the top of the phone and into a portable mirror to apply her lipstick—a deep, rich red. We had very different days planned.

She grinned at me once she was done. “Maybe I’ll meet someone new today.”

“Wow. Moving on fast.”

“Victoria has been five dates. It isn’t exactly a grand love story that we need to heal from.”

“I know. I’m just teasing.” And I was. Just as we both knew she wasn’t actually going to find someone new today.

“Indeed. We both know I’m about to spend the next three hours fending off questions about whether you’re single and interested.”

“I’m not.”

“Honey, please. We all know you’re not. They know you’re not, but we also know what journalists are like.”

I hummed. “Especially the ones who meet with you on a Saturday morning.”

“Hey, I have to eat, so if they want to buy my breakfast, that’s perfectly fine with me. Even if the downside will be them sending one more journalist than necessary, just because they volunteered , and me having to fend off their disappointment that you aren’t attending.”

“Ah, sorry. Can’t help being ridiculously popular.”

She laughed. “You don’t need to. Whatever gets us in the door.”

I didn’t think she’d have a problem without me, but I appreciated her humour over the situation.

Long before I’d retired from rugby and gotten into the interior design sector, Rohanna had been a big name in her own right.

Not quite doing the same thing she did now, but she’d been a buyer from some very influential people.

She had enough of her own influence to get the interviews without me.

However, she was right that people tended to ask about me and my life when she met with them, especially when it was lifestyle or tabloids. I didn’t think they asked if I would date them as much as she made out—they were working, after all—but still.

“So,” she said, smoothing down her clothes as she stood in front of the camera, “enjoy your morning of old man activities.”

I laughed. “It’s not all old men!”

“Honey, it’s plane spotting on a Saturday morning…”

“I’ve seen at least one woman walk by while I’ve been talking to you.”

She shot me a look and I could read every word she was thinking.

I laughed. “Enjoy your interview.”

“I am sure I will. Maybe I’ll order beans for breakfast.”

“You will not.”

“How do you know?”

I shook my head, gathering my things up as I got ready to actually leave the car. “Aside from the fact that you called me to complain about being served them for dinner?”

“On a date,” she pointed out.

“Row, when was the last time you just… ordered beans?”

“At that Mexican rest—”

“Doesn’t count. Baked beans. When was the last time you ordered the kind of baked beans you’d be served at breakfast?”

“Ugh. Go spot some planes.”

I didn’t even attempt to hide my amusement. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

She hung up the call, fondly annoyed with me, but that had been our dynamic—at least outside of work—for a long time so I wasn’t worried.

And, while she went off to have a fairly fancy breakfast with a group of journalists, I pulled on a hat and gloves, and stepped out of the car into the chilly morning air.

I wouldn’t normally join my dad for a Saturday morning plane spotting, but I was on the way home for a few days and he’d asked.

I was pretty sure it was part of his effort to keep me involved in his new life.

He hadn’t been as secretive as I think he’d have liked over the fact that he was worried about losing me and Soph after the divorce, so, when he asked and it was convenient, I’d come.

Besides, I was interested in the hobbies he’d been picking up.

Sure, plane spotting wasn’t really my thing, but this group had been good for him, and I wanted to see him happy.

So, he’d gotten a lift to Gatwick this morning with one of his buddies and I was driving the two of us back to Eddlesworth once they were done for the day.

It really was a lot chillier than I’d been expecting.

Dad had told me to wrap up, and I had some decent gear from my time in the States, but I suddenly wasn’t so sure how many hours I’d actually stay warm for.

Perhaps it was a good thing that I’d been later than everyone else.

While it would be a funny story, it wouldn’t be quite the bonding experience my dad had been picturing if I’d ended up huddled back in my car for warmth after only an hour.

Finding the group wasn’t hard. A startled laugh burst from me when I spotted them.

I had massively underestimated how professional this whole thing was.

I had been imagining five guys with binoculars sitting in those brightly coloured deck chairs my grandma and mum used to bring to the beach when we were kids.

But that was not this. There were binoculars, but there was so much other equipment too.

A whole laptop setup for streaming—and its generator. My dad was a streamer. Wild.

He turned, lighting up at the sight of me. “Eve, you made it.”

“I did indeed,” I replied with a massive grin, gesturing to the equipment. “You didn’t tell me you were an internet celebrity.”

He waved me off but I could see the way he glowed just a little. “Only one celebrity in this family, Eve, and it isn’t me.”

He wrapped an arm around my neck, something akin to an affectionate headlock, and I wondered when the last time I’d seen him so happy and relaxed was. It might have been on one of those deck chairs when I was a kid…

We joined the group and he set about introducing me to everyone.

One guy, Burt, was exactly the kind of old man Row had probably been picturing—especially as he launched straight into telling me that Gatwick had once been the busiest single-use airport in the world and proceeded to give me reams of stats for the place.

I’d known plenty of people who carried sports stats in their heads, but Burt gave even them a run for their money.

He also introduced me to Margot—a woman , I mentally sent out in Row’s direction—who turned out to be a women’s rugby fan.

I wasn’t an A List celebrity by any stretch, but she gave me that look I’d gotten more than once; the one where someone is more than a little starstruck.

It still amazed me that I could cause people to feel like that—especially now that I was a few years out from my professional rugby career.

And, finally, Dad introduced me to Alistair, a man I actually recognised.

I’d seen him at plenty of school events back in the day and his daughter had been Sophie’s peer mentor for a long time.

She’d been one of the only things at school Soph had any patience for.

I’d totally understood that from my interactions with her, from seeing her in classes, so, of course I knew who this man was.

He grinned, wide, warm, and welcoming. “I see Big Jezzer’s getting in on bring your kid to work day.”

“Big Jezzer?” I laughed. “Dad, do you have a nickname?”

He shot me a look. “I’ve heard plenty of nicknames people have for you over the years.”

“Fair, but I was only remarking, not judging.”

He wasn’t wrong that I’d had a few nicknames. Not all of them were the kind of thing you’d want your parents knowing, but, hey, I had a not insignificant social media following and some of them could be… thirsty.