16. Queenie
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
QUEENIE
RECOMMENDED LISTENING ‘THE GIRL WHO FELL TO EARTH’ BY GAZ COOMBES
Strangely and I cannot dissect it – when Noah leaned over me and tried to intimidate me, I did not feel threatened. In fact, it felt an awful lot like flirting. Considering, how unsettled I was the morning after our ‘date’, this makes no sense to me.
But the body does not lie.
I’m missing some crucial information about what’s happened between Noah and me. But I’ll be damned if I ask him for it. He’s way too smug already.
I settle in the middle of row B6, all alone. And stop giving myself a headache before the match.
Aussie Boy’s right, these are primo seats, with a great view of the pitch, right from the bowler’s end so I can watch the batsmen do their thing. I wanted to bring Mischa along but she’s not a huge cricket fan and…
I sigh and munch on the popcorn I’d bought at the concessions stand for twenty freaking dollars.
Mischa is currently mad at me for moving without telling her. And for agreeing to this insane fake dating thing and…in general for treating her like an NBF. Non-best friend , her words not mine. So, she’s only communicating via texts and calls. We aren’t even chatting much anymore.
It sucks.
I hit speed dial number 2 and wait for her to pick up.
“What?” Mischa growls.
“I’m sorry. And I miss you. Will you ever forgive me?” I am instantly contrite. I also apologize for the seventy-ninth time to her. I’ve kept count because I’m anal.
“It’s not about that,” she says softly.
“Then what is it about?”
This last week, I’ve made a show of being strong and not giving a fuck about the sly glances the college crowd throws me when they see me at the diner or when I shop at the Grocery Mart. Even the disapproval in Rohit Chachu’s eye was bearable only because Noah behaved like a devoted boyfriend at dinner.
But this is my best friend, heck, my only friend. And I can’t believe she’s genuinely moved on from our friendship. Even if I have behaved like an NBF.
My younger sister, Jo, is off at art camp in Los Angeles, learning Cubism and Impressionism from an Important Artist in a fedora and a tweed jacket. She likes emails and staying off the grid, so she hasn’t yelled at me for my poor life choices so far. It’s just a matter of time, though.
“Mischa, please,” I whisper shakily. “I’m sorry. I really am. You can be as mad at me as you want, but don’t shut me out anymore. I can’t take it.”
She sighs, audibly, over the phone. “Where are you?” she asks shortly.
“At the football ground. Noah’s match is about to begin.”
“I—Fine. My shift’s not till four pm. I’ll be there in fifteen. And you’re buying the popcorn.”
“The biggest tub in the universe,” I promise her.
Texting Mischa the details of the seats, I hurry out of the seat and back to concessions to finagle Diego, the boy working the stand, for an extra-large tub with salted and caramel – Mischa’s favorites.
By the time I come back to the seat, juggling the popcorn and my bag, the toss is underway.
I blink when I see Noah’s tall and stalwart physique in the pink and black uniform. The colors suit him so well, bringing out the black of his obsidian eyes and highlighting the curve of his jaw, for some reason.
From this far, I drink him in. In ways I haven’t allowed myself since the moment I met him. He’s undeniably physical…like all athletes are. With their muscles and their presence. But Noah’s not a textbook jock bro. He does not give off those markers, either in his behavior or physiologically.
He doesn’t smirk, unless it is to make a point. He never intimidates, unless provoked. And he most definitely does not make claims he can’t fulfil.
I caved and Googled Noah and found a replay of the under-19 World Cup final online, the year he was captain. And some of his shot choices were breathtaking. If I did not loathe the man, I’d have a huge crush on him – just for the way he lofted the bat for a boundary. And held the stance for follow through.
But I do loathe him.
He’s the reason I’m wearing a bedazzled jersey with the Indian flag sequined on Dumaine. And living with him. And faking it as his girlfriend. And enduring the curious looks of the diner folks when he comes to pick me up sometimes, where I dutifully peck his lips, and he grabs my waist for a second. Simon and Jace want to throw down with him, once they found out I was dating him.
On the other hand, I’m comfortable in the cottage. The shower always runs hot. And it’s big enough to keep my hair out of the spray. The bed’s soft as a cloud so I sleep insanely well, after spending hours on my feet every day.
And the kitchen is functional and pretty, once I figured out where everything was.
All in all, it’s an ideal living situation. Because not for a single moment do I feel threatened or overwhelmed by my roommates. They are dude bros who swear and shout, especially Ares, when they’re at home. Either one of them is working out, or making protein shakes or someone is playing video games on the massive TV unit.
Typical college boys’ stuff. Nothing untoward or unseemly.
Noah’s actually not been around this last week. Apart from the jersey encounter. Today was the longest I’ve spoken to him in days. And we bickered today too.
If this was one of the romcoms I’m obsessed with, I’d say we were meant to be. But we are not.
Because he just pushes my buttons by existing, by smirking in that devilish way he has sometimes. If he just never spoke I might?—
“Whose murder are you plotting now?” Mischa slides into the seat next to me. “And give me that.” She snatches the large tub and scoops popcorn in unceremoniously.
She’s in shorts and an off the shoulder white sweatshirt, doing effortless summer cool without trying. And she has lipstick and mascara on, like the fashion diva she is.
“Give me a hug.” I crush her tight to my side. And squeeze the life out of her. “Don’t ever leave me alone like that, Mischa Bhargav.” I talk inside her hair.
She hugs me back just as fiercely. “Don’t make me, then.”
We break apart when the umpire blows a whistle and the match starts.
The Pennington Knights – it says so on their jersey fronts – spread out on the field. This means, Barrons Bay Challengers, Noah’s team, is batting first.
Fox De Rossi, my third roommate is the captain of the opposing team. He claps and sends fielders into position. He takes first slip – the position right next to the batter, for an easy catch.
“Is …” Mischa leans forward, shading her eyes with her hand. “That’s Fox De Rossi,” she says quietly.
“Yeah. He’s Noah’s friend. They actually live together in the cottage while they attend camp. I’ll introduce you to him and Ares after the match.” I squeeze her knee.
She stills a little before giving me a hard look. “Alright, I’m here now. And I want to know every last thing. Start talking.”
“Alright.” I take a deep breath and plunge in.
Her eyes grow rounder and rounder as I tell her about the contract Noah and the boys signed. And our argument over his jersey and how comfortable I am in the cottage, except for the excess of protein shakes and deo.
“Are you—” she says faintly. Shakes her head. “You’re serious about all this? You’re really okay living in his home?”
I nod and munch on the popcorn. Wish for water, which I forgot to bring in my haste. “Yep. Not like I have a choice.”
“And now you’re here, at his games?—”
“Matches,” I correct her.
“Matches, wearing his jersey?”
“And cheering like a fucking maniac,” I say morosely.
“And Ares and F-Fox,” she stumbles over his name. “They’re okay with this bizarre arrangement? They don’t mind having a woman stay in their home, invading their privacy?”
I watch the opening batter walk to the field. I sit up straighter when one of them looks in my direction and nods.
Shit, that’s Noah . He’s opening for his team.
Talk about leading from the front.
I clap hard like a fucking maniac, as the batters bounce and walk toward the pitch.
“Fox is the sweetest, Meesh. He actually asked me for veggie preferences day before yesterday because he was out shopping. And wanted to get me some.” In fact, the boys cleared a whole shelf in the refrigerator so I could store my veggies. And suggested I chuck anything I didn’t like to make room for my spices and groceries.
They also, very sweetly, asked me to make extra of whatever I’m cooking so they could ‘taste’ it.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. And Ares?” I laugh as I think about the goofball Ares. “When Ares came to know I was shown that horrible video, he offered to teach me kickboxing so I can bash Moronica’s face in, next time I see her.”
Mischa chuckles. “That’s sweet of him. Teaching you violence to solve your problems.”
“Self-defense, Mischa. It’s self-defense.”
Noah takes up position in front of the wicketkeeper. He leans against the bat. Ready to face the ball.
“And there’s no constant parade of girls in and out of the house?”
I chuckle. “Absolutely not. Fox is married to the weights machine and Ares spends hours perfecting his wrist action. They’re serious athletes.” This much I’ve concluded in the last week. “I don’t think they know the P of partying. They really are the sweetest, Mischa.”
“And this Noah…is he sweet or?—”
I think about the linseed ointment he gave me the day I moved in. How it really helps with sore muscles, especially after a hot shower. Or the disappointed face he makes after the other two demolish all the pies. And how he tacked on a gym schedule on the door, so I know when to expect the three of them on my floor. So, I’m prepared.
He's unexpectedly thoughtful, when he’s not driving me intentionally crazy.
“I’m withholding judgment on Dumaine.”
“I see.” Mischa shoves in more popcorn and looks at the field. “And you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I emphasize. “Physically and mentally and emotionally.”
What about sexually, Queenie? My face heats up at the random thought.
“Stop worrying about me and just…” I nod at the players. “Enjoy the game, okay?”
“So, this is like a test match? Five days of endless cricket?”
I shake my head. “I think they’re playing fifty-overs today.”
“Ugh.” Mischa shudders. “Three hundred times watching a ball fly. So boring.”
“Technically, it’s six hundred times. And?—”
The bowler does his runup from a few yards away, gathering steam with each step. He reaches the umpire and the stumps on the non-batter’s side and throws the ball.
Noah ducks as it wooshes over his head. A perfect bouncer.
“Did you see that ?” I shake my fist at the bowler. “That’s a no-ball.”
A few of the fielders turn to look at me, the crazy woman shouting in the stands.
Mischa pulls me back to the seat and shushes me. “You’re going to get us thrown out of an empty stadium, Queenie. Shut up,” she mutters angrily.
“But that ball was way too fast.”
Noah cricks his neck and squares his shoulders for position again.
“I don’t get how you enjoy this game,” Mischa crunches her way through the tub. “It’s not like they are in shorts or something so we can enjoy their tight abs and sweaty naked knees.”
“That’s gross but accurate.” I laugh and throw popcorn at her.
She throws some back at me.
The pacer bowls the next ball a little slower. Noah connects with it and runs for two runs on the board. His long legs eat up the pitch with effortless ease. He’s kind of awesome and sexy to watch. Heat slides into my stomach when I see him take the stand again.
I dismiss it quickly.
“Are you sure about living with these men?” Mischa asks quietly. Hand on my arm. “Seriously. You have to use your words.”
I give her a sidearm hug. “I’m excellent, Mischa. I live like a millionaire in the most exclusive neighborhood in this town. And, after six months of being a pariah, no one bothers me anymore. Finally. I’m more than okay. I’m excellent.”
I turn my attention back to the match. The pacer does his long run up again and thunders up the pitch to the batter.
I know instinctively, this one is going to be fast.
I can sense it in the way Noah hunches over the bat, just a little more. But, at the last moment, and I feel like it happens in slow motion, he straightens. Holds the bat a few inches higher up in the air.
This time, when the speeding ball comes at him, he does not duck. He meets it head-on.
This time, he swings his bat and connects with the ball. Right in the middle of the fleshy part of the willow. THWACK! The crack is almost audible.
I hold my breath and watch the ball sail…sail…sail over the wicketkeeper’s head, over the fielder at mid-off, who jumps to catch it. It goes right over the deep square leg fielder who’s running beneath the streak of red.
The fielder steps over the boundary line, just as the ball grazes his hand.
“And it’s a SIX!” The commentator booms out.
I’m genuinely so proud of Noah in that moment. As if he really is my boyfriend. As if we are really together. My heart’s ready to pound out of my ribcage .
The shot was classic. Stunning. Textbook-perfect and yet stylish. I love it so much.
I look at Mischa and scream. “Six!”
She screams too with me. We even do a little dance. The Pennington fielders glare at us – two of the scraggly spectators behaving like maniacs.
Fox waves at me and shakes his head. I give him a thumbs down.
And then…then my heart stops because Noah finishes running between the wickets. And looks unerringly at me, on row B6. He spots me because his gaze lasers me, my skin. Tracking down my flushed face, my parted lips… my tits pushing against the stupid Aussie jersey.
Then he nods. Once. In my direction. And adjusts his helmet before taking up position again, for the next ball.
I collapse into the seat while Mischa’s mouth drops open.
She begins in an accusing tone. “I thought you said it was all fake between you too.”
“It is.” I fill my mouth with popcorn, and my parched throat is even more in need of a drink. Or Noah’s eminently lickable lips – Shut UP, Queenie . “It’s all fake.”
“That look wasn’t fake,” she says flatly. “That was not fake, Queenie.”
“Oh yeah?” I look at the match with full concentration. And will my pulse to stop jumping out of my skin.
“That was hot. With a capital H. If he wanted everyone to know you’re now…”
His, the word whispers in my head. I’m his.
Mischa shakes her head. “I need water. I need air. This is too much for a cricket match,” she grumbles.
I don’t argue with her.