Page 71 of Try Hard

The team cheered and Dai took the photo, his refreshments stand now packed back into his car. He’d send it out to us all before the end of the night.

The team disbanded, people racing off home, calling out about seeing each other next week—an important game againstour biggest rivals—and I joined in, but mostly, my mind was on Ophelia, beaming at me as I made my way back to her.

Unable to help myself, I paused a couple of feet from her and dropped into position like a player from the opposing team was about to charge me.

Her eyes became comically wide and she laughed in surprise, but she didn’t move as I charged and scooped her up with ease. She was a lot lighter than many of the rugby players I went up against—a lot lighter than I was. Unsurprising given it was my job to be sturdy and difficult to move, really, but she didn’t seem put off by that.

“Oh, my god,” she squealed, gripping tight to the sides of my jersey as she was slung over my shoulder a lot more carefully than I tackled people on the pitch. “Eve!”

I laughed, glowing as she said my first name. Perfect, lyrical, ethereal in her voice. A gift to be the name she was saying, to know that, while I loved her using my last name, I was stillEveto her.

“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’m not going to drop you.”

“Interestingly, not my concern,” she replied, her usual bite back in her tone, but I could hear her enjoyment too. I loved every second of it.

“Oh? What are you afraid of?”

“ThatI’lldrop myself.”

I laughed again. “I’m very good at my job, Ophelia. I don’t let go of things once they’re in my grasp.”

“Yes, yes. I know your record and how great you are, but that’s not helping me when I’m dangling over your shoulder.”

I bent my knees and put her down on the field again.

She shook her head at me but her eyes were so alive.

“Have fun?” I asked, gripping the edges of my grass-stained, mud-streaked jersey and yanking it over my head.

“With the game or being thrown over your shoulder?” she asked, her voice a little distracted.

I looked at her, concerned, and my heart took off racing. Her eyes ran over my now exposed stomach, tracing the muscles I worked hard to keep toned.

Even in the short time I’d been hanging out with Ophelia again, I’d noticed she had a complicated relationship with physical compliments—something beyond the fact that Brits were notoriously uncomfortable with compliments generally. I got the sense she wasn’t the type to be interested in someone simply for their looks, and I’d had more than enough people interested in me for superficial reasons. If everyone was right and she was interested in more than friendship, I wasn’t worried it was because of my abs. That didn’t mean, however, that I didn’t enjoy her looking at them.

I stayed still, watching her in amazement as she took me in, waiting until she’d had her fill. I wasn’t the kind of fool who walked away from Ophelia Pendrick checking them out.

Eventually, her brain seemed to catch up and she turned bright red, cleared her throat, and looked away.

“Both, obviously,” I said, curious over whether she’d even remember the conversation we’d been having.

She furrowed her brow, trying to place it. “Indeed,” she said with a curt nod, and I couldn’t help but smile. “You aren’t worried about your fans taking pictures of you?”

I knelt by my bag, pulling out a sweatshirt for the drive home. “They won’t be the first pictures of me in a sports bra out there.”

“I guess that’s true.”

I zipped my bag, pulled the jumper over my head, and stood before her, my expression more serious. “Are you worried about the pictures they got of us together?”

She sucked in a slow, audible breath. “Maybe.”

“I’m sorry. I should have thought it through before I ran over to you after the match.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I don’t blame you. It’s just… part of being around you, isn’t it?”

My stomach tightened like I was going to throw up. I couldn’t tell her that it wasn’t. I couldn’t promise her a completely quiet, private life if she was with me, no matter how much I wanted to. “A bit. It’s always going to be worse in rugby or sporting spaces, but I do occasionally get recognised in other places.”

She watched me with the most serious expression I’d seen on her face.