Chapter Eleven
Eleanor held out for a week against Bodie’s entreaty to come and watch him play. She wanted to, but things were still apparently strained between Ryder and Bodie and she wasn’t sure her presence in the corporate box would smooth things over any. Add to that her social ineptness, and it had potential disaster written all over it.
It was a relief on one hand to have their relationship out in the open as far as her family went. Her parents had been puzzled and concerned by her out-of-character announcement, as she’d known they would be. Her father had been stilted and her mother had that disappointed tone in her voice she’d always used to good effect.
The tone that said this is your life but I don’t think you’re making the best decision.
It still made her squirm. God alone knew how much more earnest it would become when they found out she was pregnant. But they hadn’t tried to talk her out of it, for which she was grateful.
Her sisters had been agog. They’d each rung and exclaimed over her secrecy and congratulated her on her new boyfriend. Lisa has gone further, brandishing Bodie as a seriously hot choice to finally do the deed with and she hoped that Eleanor was hitting that like crazy.
She should have been miffed over her sister’s degree of surprise, but Lisa was right, Bodie was seriously hot and she totally was hitting that like crazy.
But, as far as she was aware, no one on the team knew apart from Ryder. Bodie hadn’t been keen to announce it with her brother still acting like a caveman, which meant that, unless Juliet had told the other WAGs, her presence in the corporate box would probably raise eyebrows.
Her plan was to go in the guise of Ryder’s sister. She’d met a lot of the WAGs at the engagement party—although she’d felt invisible in their glamorous presence—so she was sure she could pull it off. But her nervousness in social situations wasn’t as easy to bluff her way through.
In fact, by the time Eve—Griffin King’s PA—was ushering her into the corporate box on game night, her mouth was so dry her tongue was practically stuck to the roof of her mouth. What was she doing? She was a shy, newly deflowered, pregnant, country-hick-book-nerd who was fluent in nineteenth century but terrible at the art of modern chit chat.
She wished Bodie was here. Bodie somehow made her forget about all those things. How could she pull this off in front of a dozen glamazons?
She thanked God she was wearing one of her many handmade corsets that gave a little nod to the steam punk style and an A-line skirt, which allowed her to wear a pair of those crotchless pantaloons that drove Bodie crazy. She stuck out like a pimple on a pumpkin amongst all the designer denim and Smoke jerseys, but Eleanor transformed into a different person in these clothes and she needed that kind of confidence.
Eve was just about to introduce Eleanor when one of the women said, “Hey, you’re Ryder’s sister, right? Nell?”
“Eleanor,” she corrected, her pulse spiking at the sudden interest from a room full of women who looked like they’d all stepped off a Parisian catwalk.
“Eleanor.” Juliet crossed the room and kissed her cheek, ushering her into the room. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight. It’s so good to see you again.”
“Thanks,” Eve said, shooting Juliet a relieved smile. “If you would do the honours? I’ve got to take Liam his puffer.”
Eleanor watched Eve go and wished she could go with her. The older woman was all brisk efficiency instead of blinding glamour and Eleanor wanted to cling to her. “Who’s Liam?” And why did they let a guy who needed an asthma puffer play rugby?
“It’s Eve’s sixteen-year-old son,” said the woman who had first spoken. “He’s the water boy at home games.” She held out a glass of champagne, which Eleanor politely refused. “I’m Kathy Trimble, John’s wife.”
There was a dizzying round of introductions performed by Juliet. Eleanor remembered most of the faces from the engagement party and her face ached from her fixed smile. A waiter entered the box then with a platter of nibbles. Eleanor’s stomach grumbled and her mouth watered. She’d felt mildly nauseated this morning and had, consequently, barely eaten.
But when the platter came her way a waft of curry hit her and nausea—sudden, hot, and bilious—left her in a cold sweat. She actually reared back from the platter, placing her hand over her mouth and nose as she clutched at her stomach with the other.
“No thank you,” she managed to just choke out at the startled look on the waiter’s face.
She didn’t miss the speculative glances from the women, either, and forced herself to drop both hands and smile. She could see them thinking no champagne and turning green at food. She could see them putting two and two together.
And getting four.
But then Juliet rescued her, dragging her over to the big floor-to-ceiling glass window, for which she was grateful, even if her legs did suddenly feel about as supportive as tin foil.
“You okay?” she asked under her breath.
Eleanor nodded. And she was. Now. As quickly as it had arrived, the nausea was gone and her heart rate was settling. But she sure as hell was steering clear of curry for the next thirty weeks.
She looked absently out over the lit field, a light drizzle forming a fine mist over the middle. It hadn’t deterred any of the fans, though. Not if the rapidly filling stadium was any indication.
“Ball’s going to be slippery,” someone said.
“So will the pitch,” someone else said, and there were general murmurs about injury and poor visibility.
“I love your top.”
And just like that, the conversation shifted as Valerie, Griff King’s daughter, a willowy redhead with freckles, complimented her. “Where did you get it from?”
Instantly, Eleanor relaxed, morphing into her kooky nineteenth-century persona, coming alive under the interest of the other women who were genuinely fascinated by her business. They asked a string of questions and Eleanor gave out half a dozen cards, which took them right up to kickoff.
“I suppose you know all there is to know about rugby, growing up with Ryder.” Matilda, Tanner Stone’s wife, smiled at her as they stood side by side in front of the glass. “But just holler if you want to know anything.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Here they come.” Harper, Dexter’s wife, nodded at the line of men running onto the field. Their baby was asleep in a pram in the back corner of the room.
“I love this bit.” Lincoln Quinn’s fiancée Em was close enough to the window for her bouncy caramel curls to brush the glass. “Before they all get crunched and smashed. I still can’t get used to the brutality of it.”
“Go hard or go home,” Val quipped.
“There’s Ryder,” Harper said, nudging Eleanor’s arm and pointing.
Eleanor could see Juliet smiling behind the rim of her champagne glass. She was the only woman in the room who knew who Eleanor was really here to see.
The women made general conversation around her as they waited for the start of the game. Eleanor tuned into the low commentary running from the wall-mounted television behind them and tried not to openly ogle Bodie who looked even hotter than usual all pumped up on the field.
The television commentators were talking about the weather and she absently wondered how heavy the rain needed to get before a game was called off. Too much longer and those uniforms were going to be clinging even more than they did now. It probably wasn’t appropriate to be hoping for that.
But she made a mental note to push Bodie into the shower in his uniform.
The ring of boot against leather could be heard even from inside the box and the game commenced. Eleanor didn’t say a lot as it progressed. The women were all vocal supporters and all obviously close knit, and she was happy to let their conversation wash around her. Try as she might, though, she didn’t feel like she belonged here, despite how welcoming they were.
It felt too…surreal.
Up until a couple of weeks ago, she was cattle crutching by day and working on a commission for a playhouse in Adelaide at night. And now she was living in the city and rubbing shoulders with WAGS. If her and Bodie got married—her heart fluttered like butterfly wings at the thought of it—she’d be a WAG!
“What the hell are they doing?”
Eleanor tuned back into the game at Kathy Trimble’s surprised enquiry. Ryder and Bodie appeared to be having words in the centre of the field.
Eleanor tensed. So did Juliet.
It was over as quickly as it had started though and they both relaxed a little, but Eleanor could hear the low buzz of speculation in the commentator’s voices. And Griff, the only guy not wearing a spray jacket on the sidelines, his big mane of hair plastered to his head, didn’t seem very happy, either.
Juliet patted her arm as the game played on. “I’m sorry.” She kept her voice low. “He’ll calm down. He just needs to beat his chest and be a Neanderthal for a bit.”
Eleanor smiled. Being a little too acquainted with her brother and his inner caveman, she couldn’t help it. She didn’t really know her future sister-in-law well, but she liked her.
A lot.
The game progressed as if nothing had happened until Bodie fumbled a ball Ryder threw him. It slipped through his fingers initially, but he lunged and grabbed for it again, almost getting his hands on it before he fumbled it once more, and it fell from his grasp and was snatched by an opposition player.
It wasn’t his first fumble. It wasn’t anyone’s first fumble. The ball had been slippery all night and holding on to it had been a nightmare.
But that didn’t seem to matter. “Or maybe he won’t,” Juliet muttered, shaking her head as Ryder and Bodie bumped chests in the middle of the field, clearly yelling at each other, as the game played on.
Even across the distance and through the misty drizzle, Eleanor could see Griff was furious, storming up and down the sideline, gesticulating wildly at them.
The commentators were agog.
“What’s up with them tonight?” It was Kathy again, but every eye in the box turned to her and Juliet.
Eleanor’s heart sunk to her feet as her boyfriend and her brother pushed and yelled at each other, oblivious to their surroundings—the game, the crowd, their pissed-off coach. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but it didn’t look pretty.
“My brother is being an idiot.”
“Yes,” Juliet agreed. “He is.”
That didn’t really help. If anything, the WAGs’ gazes became even more curious.
“Jesus.” Val gaped at them. “They’re going to get their asses benched.”
“This is my fault,” Eleanor whispered, half to herself, half to Juliet. This was the reason men had a ridiculous bro code—so stupid macho bullshit like this didn’t happen.
“No. It’s not. They’re grown men acting like two-year-olds.”
Eleanor knew she was right, but it didn’t help her feel any less like Yoko. If she’d just been honest with Bodie that night back home, none of this would have unfolded.
But then she’d still be a frustrated virgin living a sensible life in the middle of nowhere.
She still wouldn’t have lived.
Her heart thumped and her chest ached as she watched them bristle like two angry bears trying to mark their territory. Ryder shoved Bodie’s shoulder and he stumbled back, almost falling over in the slippery grass. There was a collective gasp from the women as Eleanor’s temper flared.
She loved her brother, but if he so much as laid a hand on her man again, she was going to…punch him in the nose.
It seemed the camera men and the commentators had given up on the game in favour of the action going down in the middle of the field, too. So had the crowd.
Matilda frowned as Tanner tried to intervene. “What on earth are they fighting over?”
“Me.”
Eleanor said it quietly, thought she’d whispered it actually, but given the weight of horrified silence, it was loud enough for everyone to hear. Loud enough for another round of speculative glances as she pressed her forehead against the cold glass and her hands to her belly.
No man had ever fought over her before. It was disturbingly hostile. Overwhelmingly masculine.
And wildly thrilling.
…
Griff kicked the open locker door in his way, and Bodie winced as the tinny crash echoed around the empty room.
Griffin King had been one of the best players the country had ever seen. Personal tragedy had hardened him from great into the stone cold legend he’d become, and when his body had finally dared to quit on him he’d become probably the best coach in the history of the game.
He was tough and uncompromising, but he got results. Every rugby player worth their salt wanted to play for the Smoke and if they managed to reach that lofty goal they pushed themselves harder than they’d ever done, just for him.
When he balled them out, it felt worse than disappointing their mothers. When he told them to jump, they asked how high. When he praised them, it felt like glories from heaven.
And when he spoke, they listened.
He whirled to face them. Even soaked to the skin and his hair plastered to his head, he was a formidable guy. “One of you want to tell me what the fuck that was out there?” He pointed unnecessarily in the direction of the game that was still playing out in the middle.
He’d hauled their asses off, then left the two assistant coaches outside running the play while he dealt with this insurrection.
“It sure as shit better not have been about a fumbled ball.”
Bodie didn’t have to look at Ryder to know it was nothing to do with a slippery ball. But he was too steamed to answer. So apparently was Ryder.
“You do know you’re on the same team, right?” Griff’s head swivelled from one to the other. “The Sydney Smoke?” It swivelled again. “Blue and silver jerseys? The ones you’re wearing?” He shot a long, hard glare at each of them. “We’re the ones that are winning out there tonight, despite your combined monumental idiocy, in case either of you have taken your head out of your assess long enough to notice.”
The locker door had swung open again, and Griff kicked it one more time for good measure.
“But we’re not gonna with two of the team fucking about with a giant pissing match in the middle of the goddamn field.”
Bodie shivered. He was wet to the bone, cooling rapidly, and epically fucked off at Ryder. But if he wanted warm hugs and hot chocolate, he wasn’t going to get it from Coach.
“You both want to pull your dicks out now so we can measure them, or are you going to sort your shit out? Because neither of you are getting back on the field until you’ve kissed and made up. We have enough guys out there on that field wanting to bring us down without you two doing it from within.”
He stormed out then, a slam of the locker room door punctuating his departure.
Neither of them said anything for the longest time, just stood and stared at the door. Bodie wasn’t sure what the hell had happened out there. Ryder had had a go earlier, but calling Bodie a sister-fucking bastard had made him see red—a whole tide of it flashing up and flaring in his head like an emergency beacon, goading him into confrontation.
But all Bodie felt now, apart from wet and cold, was hollow. He didn’t want to fight with his best mate, he sure as shit didn’t want to blow his rugby career for anyone, but he would for Eleanor. He’d take on the whole fucking world for her.
“I love her, man.”
He didn’t know where it had come from. He hadn’t expected to say it. He didn’t even know he’d felt it until this moment, but he couldn’t have denied it even if the great Griffin King himself had demanded it.
It filled him up. Lifted him up. Warmed him up.
It was crazy but it was true.
The urge to run to the corporate box and tell her right now injected a restless energy into his muscles.
Ryder sighed. “Because of the baby?”
“No.” Bodie shook his head emphatically. “Not because of the baby.”
Eleanor had bewitched him from that first night. He hadn’t been able to think of anything else in the three months he’d known her. He’d thought it’d had been the sex, the virginity thing. It was only now, wringing wet, staring down her brother in an empty locker room after practically coming to blows with him during a game, he knew this wasn’t about his dick.
She didn’t have him by the balls. She had him by the heart.
“Have you told her?”
Ryder’s voice penetrated Bodie’s internal dissection and he gave the ghost of a smile. “I only just found out myself.”
“And how she’s supposed to believe you, now?” Ryder’s hostility was gone, replaced with a cutting matter-of-factness. “How’s she ever going to know that you love her for her and not because of the baby?”
Bodie blinked, the racing of his thoughts halting abruptly. Well crap…he hadn’t thought of that. He eased himself down onto the hard wooden bench between the rows of lockers, all that restless energy suddenly gone. Ryder joined him and they sat side by side, brooding gazes directed at the lockers as they dripped on the floor.
Is that what she’d think? That his love was some kind of obligation because of the baby? Fuck that. He loved her smarts and how she talked all prim and proper and how she blushed at every little thing and how damn talented she was and how her hair was always in a wild tangle and good God almighty, he loved her body to distraction.
But Ryder was right. With a baby in the mix, would she believe him? Would she believe I love you after two weeks of cohabitation? He could barely believe it himself. And Eleanor wasn’t flighty or rash. She was considered. He’d been all set to get hitched in thirty days, but she’d wound him back. Hell, it had taken him a week to convince her to come to the game.
Blurting out I love you now could backfire. Badly. And he didn’t want that. He wanted to be with her forever.
“I’ll bide my time,” Bodie said, coming out of his reverie to finally answer Ryder’s question. “And I’ll be here for her, always, every day. And maybe her brother not treating me like I troll the countryside for unsuspecting virgins to gobble up wouldn’t hurt either.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that. It’s taken me a bit to get my head around it. Juliet told me to stop being a douche.”
Bodie smiled. “Have I ever mentioned how much I like your fiancée?”
Ryder half laughed, half snorted, but then his face got really serious as he nailed Bodie with a protective big brother gaze. “If you fuck this up, man…if you hurt her…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Bodie understood the implications of failure. And not just on himself. But on their friendship. And the consequences for the team.
“I won’t. I’m not going to fuck it up. And I won’t hurt her.”
And he meant it. He loved her. He just needed to keep it to himself for a while.
…
The following week, Eleanor was surprised to find herself at the trendy Mossman School of Design with Bodie. They were hosting a visiting fashion exhibition of Victorian clothing alongside student designs inspired by the era. It was in its last week and had been on Eleanor’s list of things to do, but Bodie had surprised her by asking if he could accompany her.
And so here they were on a Thursday afternoon, wandering amongst the beautifully displayed designs, the down lights inside the glass cabinets complementing each piece perfectly. They were superbly done, so much so that Eleanor sometimes found it hard to tell the difference between the older clothes and the newer ones until she got up really close.
What was perhaps the most surprising was how interested Bodie was in it all. “This looks quite dapper.”
Eleanor glanced over her shoulder at Bodie, who had stopped in front of a single cabinet housing a man’s coat. She wandered over to him to admire it herself. “It’s a frock coat.”
“Frock coat doesn’t sound very blokey.”
She smiled at the tease in his voice but didn’t take her eyes off the long formal coat. It was a new design from one of the students but made from a vintage pattern.
“It’s gorgeous. The cut is exquisite and the velvet practically glows like a ruby.” She almost pressed her nose to the case to examine it closer. “Look at the detail of the braiding on the cuffs and those perfect box pleats at the back. It’s beautifully tailored.”
Mr Darcy wouldn’t be seen dead in it—too showy. It needed a man who didn’t give a fig about what others thought of him.
She sighed, leaning into him. “I wish men still dressed like this. It’s very dashing.”
He chuckled all low near her ear, his hand sliding to her nape, his thumb rubbing seductively. “I love it when you talk Victorian.” His lips buzzed her temple.
And in the middle of a very public place, she wanted him all over again. They’d already squeezed in a quick session when he’d got home from training before heading out to the exhibition, but his touch made her greedy.
He had created a monster!
His gaze wandered to her cleavage. “I hope you’ve gone the full nineteenth century under that dress.”
Eleanor’s nipples hardened as his warm breath brushed over her skin. She loved that he couldn’t get enough of her old-fashioned lingerie. She especially loved the irony of it hiding her very modern, sparkly, twenty-first century-vagina.
“Not this time.” The corners of his mouth turned down and she laughed. “It’s okay, I have something else on I think you’re going to love.”
“Really?” His eyes lit up and heat flashed through her veins. “Tell me.”
“No. It’s a sur—”
“Bodie? Is that you?”
A shiver that had nothing to do with the brush of Bodie’s fingers shot down Eleanor’s neck. It intensified as Bodie stiffened and his hand dropped.
“Anna.”
“It is you.”
A tall, leggy blonde gave him an enthusiastic hug. She had hair that fell straight to the small of her back, a cute heart-shaped face, dazzling teeth, and two perfect dimples.
“Fancy meeting you here, of all places.” She smiled at Eleanor and gave her a little eye roll. “Could barely manage to get him near any kind of clothes store when were together, let alone a clothing exhibition.” She stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Anna.”
Eleanor returned the shake as Bodie performed a perfunctory introduction. So, this was his ex. God. She was beautiful. The perfect mix of girl next door and goddess. Like Taylor Swift and Aphrodite had produced a love child.
Eleanor half expected to look up and see a permanent opening in the sky above her head streaming down glories.
Sure, Eleanor had Googled the other woman. She knew what Anna looked like. But her images just did not do her justice and she was…here. In Eleanor’s face. Not staring back at her through the barrier of a computer screen.
The worse thing was Eleanor couldn’t even hate the other woman. She was being perfectly polite and pleasant. Not bitchy or predatory or condescending. No trace of bitterness or trying to mark something that had once been hers with a sly touch or a flirty giggle.
She’d been inclusive, actually, drawing Eleanor into the conversation with smiles and eye contact as she complimented Bodie on the rugby season and asked after his parents. All while pretending not to notice Bodie’s clipped replies.
God. What did that mean? Was it still hard to be around her over a year down the track? Did he still love her? Eleanor’s heart pounded painfully at the thought.
“Anyway, I better go. I’m meeting Dad for a drink shortly.” Bodie nodded, the rigidity of his body easing a little at the announcement. “Nice meeting you, Eleanor.”
Eleanor smiled and nodded, unable to talk, feeling like a mute idiot as worry tightened her vocal chords.
“Say hi to your parents for me when you see them next, Bodie.”
And then she swept away, her hair swinging in a perfect blonde swish.