Chapter Fifty-Nine
I’m crushed between Letty and Chelsea because Adhira yelled at them about minding her personal space, which means that I no longer have any.
Chelsea shoves her plate of chips in my face, silently telling me to help her eat them. I take a few, popping one into my mouth as she starts with her usual bullshit.
“Do you think they wear those tiny shorts to distract each other?” she asks as the players get into their positions on the pitch.
“Something tells me they aren’t nearly as distracted by them as we are,” Letty answers.
“This represents the first match between the Embershire Wyvern and Wales Wolverines since the Wyvern won their second World Cup. It’s certainly going to be an exciting day for rugby fans around the world.”
The Wyvern’s fly-half starts off the game, sending the ball sailing high in the sky and straight through the Embershire’s ruck to the players’ awaiting arms.
“Jelani Hazzel takes the ball, oh, and is immediately tackled inside the quarter.”
Players from both teams pile on top of him, but as each player focuses their eyes on whoever’s in front of them, the Wyvern’s rookie blindside-flanker wiggles his way out between their legs and takes off.
“And here’s a breakout! Elijah Elliot makes his way, tearing across the pitch toward the Wale’s ruck. Oof, and down he goes.”
“The match has just started. I’d appreciate it if you’d save the broken skin for the last few minutes, please,” Chelsea tells me, nodding her chin to where my nails are digging into her thigh.
“Sorry,” I say, extracting my hand from her. “Didn’t realise I was doing it,” I admit.
“There, there,” she says, patting my shoulder. “I’m sure Coach won’t disappoint us by losing tonight. Don’t you worry,” she says in a mocking tone, her eyes glittering with mirth.
“I wasn’t worried,” I grumble, and thankfully, she doesn’t press further.
“It looks like the Wolverines’ defence is taking a little bit of a nap as the ball goes to Nakoa Kawai.”
“Damn, that torpedo was beautiful,” Chelsea admires, stuffing her face with more food.
“Are they even trying?” Adhira asks, sounding bored despite the way her eyes are locked on the pitch, and she hasn’t so much as glanced in my direction since the match started.
“I’d say they’re trying judging by the buckets of sweat already pouring off of them,” Letty tells her.
“Yeah, they’re trying. They just aren’t as good as the Wyvern,” Chelsea says.
“It’s an incredible sight to see as the Wyvern dominate the pitch, making their fifth try in the first nine minutes!”
My heart is pounding out of my chest as we watch every minute pass, the Wyvern absolutely pulverising the Wolverines.
The way they take control of the ball, working together in a beautiful dance of strategy, is stunning.
I’ve been watching this sport all of my life, and it isn’t until now that I share the level of appreciation my father has for it.
I can understand why Rafael would be almost as fulfilled by rugby as he was football.
Excited fans wearing the Wyverns jerseys surround us, their faces painted as they shout and clap, filling the space around us with an excited energy so strong it’s palpable.
Letty’s voice cuts through some of the tension. “How is it that Americans think they created football when both our sport and this exist?” she asks in apparent disbelief.
“It’s a game of feet, Letty,” Chelsea scoffs.
“And yet, their feet are hardly ever on the ball,” I murmur.
“I won’t argue that it’s the lesser sport, okay? But us Americans don’t use the metric system, so the game is quite literally about feet, ” she argues.
“It’s technically yards, not feet. And that raises an excellent question in itself, Chels.
Why don’t Americans use the metric system?
Everyone else does. It would be so much easier for all involved.
And what really is the purpose of having names that mean practically nothing?
An inch, foot, yard,” Adhira chides, shaking her head.
“Milli metre , centi metre, kilo metre . Now that makes sense. So strange,” she finishes, effectively ending the conversation, one we seem to have entirely too frequently.
I shift for the hundredth time, trying to get comfortable in these crowded metal bleachers.
“I have an even greater appreciation for our fans after this experience. I can’t see how anyone would want to sit here when they could be on the field or even at home watching from the comfort of their sofa,” I admit, raising my voice to be heard over the cheers of the crowd.
“I just don’t understand why people leave their rubbish everywhere,” Adhira remarks, looking around at the frilly silvery wrappers, crushed beer cans, and popcorn littering the stands.
“Can you both shut up and stop complaining? The game is almost over, and I can’t see with how loud you’re all being,” Chelsea grunts out.
“You realise that makes no sense at all, right?”
Adhira shakes her head. “She’s saying it’s difficult to concentrate with too much going on around her. It’s a distraction and makes it hard for her to focus on one thing when she’s overwhelmed by the others.”
Well, I’ve certainly never thought about that before.
I swing my eyes back to the pitch when I hear the announcer yelling Rafael’s number.
“Wyvern’s #2 successfully hooks the ball back through the prop’s legs, winning possession of the ball once again!”
The scrum breaks apart with the Wyvern’s second-row sprinting down the pitch. He passes the ball to the nearest player with just enough time before he gets mauled by two of the Wolverines.
My heart is in my throat as I track the ball, losing sight of it momentarily as the slow trickle of rain starts to come down harder. I cup my hands over my eyes, standing for a better view as the Wyverns make another try.
I blow out a relieved breath, sagging back into my seat.
“This is bloody huge for them!” Adhira shouts, sounding more excited in that one sentence than I’ve heard her in the last three months. “They’re one try away from breaking a league record!”
I quirk a brow at her, and she rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.
“What? Can’t a woman enjoy sports other than football?” she asks, her tone sounding accusatory.
“I had no idea you were such a fan, I’m sorry,” I say, chuckling with my palms up in surrender.
She swings her gaze toward the field and then back to me. “You listen to porn,” she says before shifting her gaze between Letty and Chelsea. “You watch porn, and you read porn. I watch rugby. I’m not ashamed to say that those thick thighs do it for me too.”
A startled laugh passes my lips, and I’m joined by Letty and Chelsea, who can’t seem to catch their breath. Chelsea’s making a wheezing sound reminiscent of a tea kettle as her laughter dies down.
“I can’t argue there.”
“With only thirty seconds left in the game and one try left to break the premiership world record, can the Wyvern make it?!”
These last few seconds are the most hair-raising of them all.
My skin is tingling with electricity as I dig my nails into Chelsea’s arm this time. The Wyvern are commandeering the ball, and the crowd is shouting, counting down every last second. All the while, my pulse is hammering!
The rain continues to fall, leaving the pitch slick as the players slide across the field, several going down, giving others the opportunity to slip in for a chance at gaining possession.
“Come on!” I find myself screaming, if not for any real reason other than to get some of the energy that’s threatening to suffocate me out of my body.
“Step your pussy up!” Chelsea practically screeches, and if I had any idea what that meant, I might even adopt the phrase right now.
The sound of my heart pounding in my ears covers the voice of the announcer as I see one of the Wyvern’s players kick the ball down the pitch before being tackled. My eyes ping-pong to the lock who’s being hoisted up by his shorts in an effort to catch the ball.
The moment his hands make contact, he wraps his arms around it as he’s quickly lowered to the ground.
One of the Wolverines players tackles him, his fingers digging into his waistband, and as he takes off toward the goal line, shaking the other bloke off with complete abandon, he’s got not a single care that the Wolverine’s defence dragged his shorts so far down his arse that the crowd is getting an unobscured view of his untanned cheeks.
With every passing second that the Wolverines grow nearer and nearer to him, my chest squeezes, as do my lungs, but that beautiful moment as he falls to the ground, sliding over the line and pressing the ball firmly into the ground, is like nothing else.
The rush of adrenaline sweeping through me as the announcer shouts about their world record-breaking win; it’s incredible. Simply bloody incredible, and the sore ass I’ve got from these seats was absolutely worth it.
Rafael and his team rush to the centreline, sprinting off to my dad and piling on top of him.
They break away with wide smiles on their faces, a mixture of sweat and rain dripping down their foreheads.
It doesn't take long before I’m honed in on Rafael’s face as he searches the stands for me.
If I thought his smile before was bright, I was absolutely wrong because nothing compares to how this one lights up his whole face like a ray of sunshine as our eyes meet.
Maybe that nickname is sort of fitting.
He tears his eyes away from me, turning to speak with Jelani, and heads toward the locker rooms, but I don’t miss the sly smack he gives his own ass, instructing me to keep my eyes where they belong. On him .
I huff out a laugh as Chelsea makes a show of Adhira’s current predicament. “Someone needs to get her some water—she’s nearly fainted after seeing a set of perky cheeks!”
“Shut up, will you?” Adhira rumbles beside her, smacking her shoulder hard enough that Chelsea slams against my slide with more force than I’m prepared for.