10. A Game of Touch
10
A GAME OF TOUCH
When Tayla pulled into the sports grounds and saw the swarms of people milling around the field, she froze. Tim had called earlier, begging her to make up the numbers for his ‘strictly social’ touch rugby team after someone else bailed. Everyone played for fun, he’d said, and she’d probably spend the whole time on the bench anyway. Also, there’d be a band playing later and plenty of free beer. How exciting. Not.
Taking a deep breath, Tayla admonished herself for letting her sarcastic side rear its undisciplined head. She hadn’t played touch rugby since high school, but how hard could it be? Like riding a bike, Tim reckoned.
She opened her car door and made her way to the pavilion, where Tim met her with a tight hug and his usual smile. “You ready for this?”
“I don’t know about that.”
He looked her up and down. “Well, at least you’ve dressed for the part. That’s a plus. You look fabulous.”
“Stop it. I wasn’t going for fabulous. I’m channeling ‘committed team member.’” She scanned the grounds. “Where do we go? ”
Tim cocked his head toward his team. “And see the guys in red shirts over by the tree line? That’s the opposition.”
When Tayla looked in their direction, her gaze landed on a familiar face she’d never expected to see. And even worse, that face was staring at her. “You can’t be serious! Mitch is on their team?”
“Yep. And the guy next to him is Luka O’Leary. They’re both strong players. Mitch played rugby at provincial level before he screwed his ACL.” As she went to turn away, Tim grabbed her by the arm. “I know you have a history with your fake husband-to-be, but?—”
“I do not,” she whispered with purpose. “I wish everyone would stop saying that. And I’m not playing touch with Mitchel Harrington, on or off the field.”
Tim kept walking, his hand firm on her lower back. “History, schoolgirl crush, lust fest. Whatever you choose to call it, you had it all right. And I’ve never known you to be a quitter. Come on.”
As they drew closer, Mitch and Luka strolled toward them. The men shook hands.
“Tim. Good to see you, mate.” Mitch turned to Tayla and smiled as if their conversation at Norman’s cottage hadn’t happened. “Tayla, this is Luka O’Leary, a close friend of mine.”
Luka offered a warm smile along with a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you, Tayla.”
She returned the gesture. “You too.”
“Right,” Luka said, “I’d better go warm up.”
As Luka jogged back to his team, words went back and forth between Tim and Mitch. Tayla hadn’t realized the men knew each other so well.
Mitch looked Tayla up and down. “So you’re joining the game?”
“Just filling in. I’m the bench babe.”
According to Ruby, a moment was longer than a minute. Whereas a minute was sixty seconds, a moment was at least ninety. Mitch stared for a moment. Long enough for her to prickle under his heated gaze.
“Nice,” he eventually said.
With that one word branded on her skin, he also returned to his team, yelling, “Let’s get this party started.” He clapped his hands like he was amped up for a Rugby World Cup match against Australia rather than a ‘friendly’ game of touch. Great.
True to Tim’s prediction, Tayla sat on the bench for the first three-quarters of the game, but then one of the other girls tagged her on. Tim had been right when he’d used the bike-riding analogy, and it didn’t take long to find her flow. Mitch kept his distance as he concentrated on the game, but just as she was about to run across the line and score a try, he lunged forward to touch her. She stumbled, and before she knew it, he was on top of her—hard muscles everywhere—and she was eating a dirt sandwich.
“Harrington,” the referee yelled, “what are you doing? Get off her.”
Mitch sprang to his feet and helped her up, his eyes full of amusement. “Shit, sorry. Are you all right?”
With the wind knocked from her sails, she pushed his hand away, her breasts tightening behind the stretch of her sports bra as the force of his body lingered on her skin. She closed her eyes briefly, the sounds of whistles and shouts from across the field fading as she struggled to catch her breath—to calm her reaction. “I’m fine.” So not fine.
She limped back into position, and as the referee blew his whistle, Tayla was ready to go. Or so she told herself.
They lost twenty-four to thirty-eight. It didn’t sit well with Tayla. She liked to win, especially against the likes of Luka and Mitch—those ‘accomplished at everything’ types who strived for excellence and looked good enough to melt your panties off while doing it.
As she took a seat in the pavilion with her teammates, still stiff and sore from her encounter with Mitch, Tayla expected to hear his booming voice above the others around them. But he was strangely quiet. She wished she could say the same about his stare. That was as noisy as anything. Every time she glanced his way, that stare dared her to hold his gaze and not let go.
He rose from his chair and walked toward her. Certain men own a room; Mitch was such a man. People watched him, respected him, and his easy sexuality was constantly on display. He stopped at her side and crouched so they were at eye level, his half-smile holding her captive. “Can I get you a drink?”
Tayla held up her beer, her hand tight around the cool glass. “I’m fine. Tim just got a round in.”
He pulled up a chair next to hers, uninvited. But that didn’t matter. There was no stuffy ceremony in the Clifton Falls Sports Pavilion that evening. Over the next hour or so, her lovely neighbor, as her mother often called Mitch, engaged the table in relaxed conversation. Tayla downed one beer and then two more. By the time the band started, alcohol buzzed pleasantly through her veins.
Mitch turned to her now, leaning in close to murmur, “Do you need a ride home, or are you okay to drive?”
She closed her eyes for a second and inhaled, acutely aware of their nearby audience. “I’ll just book an Uber.”
He checked his watch. “I’ll be leaving in thirty minutes. I’m happy to drop you off. Come find me later.”
“Um…okay.”
He moved away, and as she watched him slip onto the dance floor with a girl from another team, Tayla tried to ignore the feeling that it should be her dancing with him. Because, damn, the man could dance.
Of course he could!
“Yep. That’s what I mean right there,” Tim said .
She looked at him and frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar. You two won’t have to pretend on the day. Boom!”
Tayla sipped her beer as she snuck a peek at the man in question, his hands on his partner’s hips as they moved to the beat. “There is no day. He’s changed his mind.”
“What the…? You can’t be serious?” Tim’s wide-eyed gaze shot to Mitch on the dance floor then back to Tayla. He leaned in close and whispered, “He’s flip-flopped on you?”
“Well, to be honest, I flip-flopped first, so?—”
“Stop.” Tim held up a palm to silence her. “That’s bullshit. I should talk to him.”
Tayla grabbed him by the arm as he went to stand. “Don’t you dare. I can fight my own battles, thank you very much.” She chuckled as she let go. “But I appreciate the gesture of gallantry.”
Thirty minutes later, Mitch sat perched up at the bar with not one but three women hanging off his every word. Tayla stood and said her goodbyes. But as she walked toward him, despite the alcohol warming her inside, that shy nerd with the goth obsession and slight stammer she thought she’d left behind at Clifton Falls High threatened to return.
Mitch set his water on the bar as his companions checked her out. “You ready to head home, babe?”
Babe? Seriously?
He remained poker-faced like she really was his ‘babe.’
Two could play at that game . “I’m happy to call an Uber if you want to stay, sweetie .”
He looked at her and grinned at their shared joke before turning to his friends. “Right, time for me to hit the road.” With that, he stood, grabbed her hand, and led her out to his truck without saying another word.
Tayla sat next to him in silence, his presence filling the space. And as he pulled onto the highway and headed for home, the alcohol-fueled attraction she felt for her very sexy, very attractive, and very cocky neighbor was at odds with her resolve.
“Did you enjoy the game?” he finally asked.
She turned to look at him. “I did. Except for the part where you literally took my breath away.”
He laughed. “Unintentional, believe me. You played well, though.”
“You sound surprised.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “I was a bit. But then, I tend to judge a book by its cover, even though my grandfather advised me not to.”
“Most men do, don’t they?”
“Come on.” He flicked her a sideways glance. “Not only men judge with their eyes. Women do it all the time.”
“I bet they do,” she murmured.
He chuckled at her response. She had no idea why he suddenly found her amusing. This was it, she thought, the sign she needed. The guy was trouble, and she should keep away. It wouldn’t be fair to use him as a rebound from Hayden, the traitor. She certainly couldn’t imagine Mitchel Harrington having an ‘intellectual relationship’ with any woman.
But then there was Cherry Grove.
He turned up the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. By the time they arrived at the house, the rain drifting in from the coast was pelting down with attitude.
She sat still, wanting to ask him a hundred questions, but too shy to voice even one. “Did you have a nice time in London?”
Lame, Tayla. So lame.
Mitch turned to face her and leaned his back on the door. “I did. Two of my sisters live there. They were both pregnant at the same time, and I’m officially an uncle now. Sam arrived before I was hardly off the plane, and Etta four weeks early, just before I left. My mother and stepfather were there too, so it was great. ”
“Family times are special. I love babies. I bet they smelled delicious.”
He chuckled. “Not so much, but it was good to get away. I’d gone twelve months without a break. I hadn’t realized how burned-out I was.”
“Did you and Norman have a good relationship?”
Mitch hesitated at her sudden change of subject. “His depression was a problem when I was younger. I didn’t understand how broken he was and took it personally. Some weekends he wouldn’t come out of his room—not even to wave me off when I left on a Sunday. He put my mother through a lot, especially after I was born. I found it hard to forgive him for that.”
“So, you’re close to your mother?”
“Very. And Frank, my stepfather. I had nothing to do with Norman until I was sixteen. He called Mum out of the blue to ask if we could meet. I stayed for a few hours at first, and as I got to know him better, overnight. I hated those visits—that musty cottage full of books and old shit. But his link to my late father was the driving force, and in time, we relaxed around one another. The year I turned eighteen, I lived at Lime Tree all summer.”
Tayla smiled. She’d always wondered about his relationship with Norman.
“How old were you when your parents bought Cherry Grove?” he asked.
“Fifteen. We lived in town before that. Dad worked as a produce buyer for Fieldmans. It was Mum who wanted to buy the orchard. Norman didn’t want me to visit when you were there. He’d say, ‘The boy’s coming this weekend, so best you stay away.’”
“He always called me ‘the boy.’” Mitch chuckled. “He was a grumpy old bastard, wasn’t he?”
Tayla had never attached the word ‘bastard’ to Norman. “Misunderstood is maybe a better word.”
Mitch shrugged. “Maybe. Still, when my Great-uncle Ken told me about the conditions of his will, I was pissed off. Don’t get me wrong. I loved Norman in my own way, but I still can’t condone his treatment of Mum. The idea of a fake marriage to manipulate his conditions was a last-ditch effort to play him at his own game.”
Even though she’d seen his vulnerable side after Norman passed away, Mitch’s honesty now surprised her. He’d been kind to her in the days after Norman’s death—offering books and records from his grandfather’s collections, and asking questions about her relationship with the older man. And as he’d helped carry the coffin down the aisle of St Stephen’s Presbyterian church, over eight years ago now, he’d looked directly at her, his eyes brimming with tears.
All the same, her younger self had been scared stiff of him. This large man, with his movie star good looks and beautiful, kind eyes, who’d later seen her as an opportunist unworthy of Norman’s bequest.
“And you know what’s funny?” His words dragged her back to the present. Why did he find everything so amusing?
“No, what?”
“On a good day, if I’d told him I’d contemplated a fake marriage to get the money, he would’ve patted me on the back, called me resourceful, and then chuckled about it.”
Tayla smiled at the portrayal of Norman in a good mood. “He loved that word. Resourceful.” She turned to face him, the confines of the Hilux feeling like a confessional. “What happened to the girl you were going to marry?”
He leaned his head back against the window. “She made a choice I couldn’t condone.”
“Are you still friends?”
He looked away. “Superficially. But betrayal has its own agenda when it comes to exes being friends.”
Tayla agreed. She had no desire to be friends with Hayden. Ever. “Right. I’d better go inside. Thanks for the ride.”
There was a stillness to him now, something she hadn’t seen before. Like he didn’t want to leave. And if she were honest, she didn’t want him to either.
“Thanks for the ear,” Mitch said. “Apart from Ken, you’re the only person who knew Norman as well as I did. It’s been good to talk about him.”
“He was very kind to me.”
“And you to him. What’s the story about him saving your life?”
“That was what started our friendship. I fell off my bike down by the mailbox and split my head open on a rock. Norman found me at the end of the drive, lying in a ditch and soaked in blood. He told me later that you’d made him get a cell phone, and the only thing he could remember was green for go and red for stop.”
“It was a Motorola flip phone. I only added three people to his contacts—Ken, me, and your parents, but he refused to use it.”
“Until that day. He called an ambulance, then Dad. I was in an induced coma for a while, with swelling to the brain. When I woke up, they’d shaved half my hair off. I was devastated.”
“And here was me thinking that hairstyle was part of your goth fashion statement.”
Tayla felt the heat creep into her cheeks. Not because she was embarrassed about her goth phase, but because he remembered what she’d looked like. “After the accident, that whole morbid obsession thing took hold for a while. I kept that hairstyle for ages.” She reached for the door handle. “Anyway, thanks for the ride.”
Mitch jumped out and rounded the truck to open her door, offering a rain-soaked goodbye. For a split second, she thought he might lean forward and kiss her, but he didn’t. And as she navigated the slippery steps and stood on the veranda to watch him pull away , she’d wished he’d stayed. Followed her inside. Turned on the lights. Made conversation over the noise in her head.
She opened the front door and had just flicked on the hall light switch when a power outage plunged the house back into darkness. While she didn’t usually feel uneasy when home alone, it was times like these that she mentally thanked her mother for having a house full of candles.
A few minutes later, with the kitchen shadowed in muted light, Tayla opened the fridge and pulled out a four-pack of cream donuts, a treat from Maisie’s Bakery on Seaview Road. She dipped her finger into the jam and cream filling, then licked it off the tip with an enthusiastic “yum.” Within a couple of minutes, the pack was two donuts down. Why did beer always make her hungry?
She reached for her phone when it dinged and took a bite out of donut number three as she glanced at the screen.
Mitch: You okay over there?
Tayla: Fine thanks. I have donuts. Or I did a minute ago. Oops.
Mitch: Yum! Donuts. Do you want company?
Tayla: Thanks, but the candles are glowing and door’s locked. I’m used to being alone.
Mitch: How come? Didn’t you have someone to keep you warm in Sydney?
She thought back to the nights she’d slept in Hayden’s arms, and equally, how she’d ached for him when he didn’t show. Those many nights when she’d craved human touch.
Tayla: Goodnight Mitch. Thanks again for the ride.
Mitch: Sorry I accidentally pushed you over BTW.
Tayla: Accidentally? Not sure I believe you.
Mitch: It’s true. Goodnight *babe*
Tayla: Nite *sweetie*
Still feeling a little drunk, she wished she and Mitch didn’t have that history Tim talked about.