7. 7 Mae
7: Mae
M y muscles ache. It feels like a thousand tiny needles are pricking into my skin whenever I take a step. Training has been challenging, but I’m slowly getting used to it. My cardiovascular skills have always been pretty favourable, and even though I’m not at the top of my game, I’m gaining it back quickly.
It just sucks that it hurts so damn much.
My mother approved of our animal shelter photos. However, she did specify that Bennett’s hand was a little too low on Poppy’s waist.
With all honesty, it looked perfectly friendly to me, but Poppy received some choice words from my mother and I have a feeling that she’s going to stand with a bargepole-sized space between the two of them the next time we take a photo.
I see Nathan in passing during training. His glances always last a little longer than necessary before his face settles back into a glower, and he ignores my presence. Sometimes, when we leave practice, he’s out on the second field running extra laps. Sweat trickles down his bare chest, tanned skin stretching over thick, corded muscles.
I find myself slowing my walking pace down or fumbling around with my bag just so I can spend a few extra seconds with my eyes on him.
He’s just so fucking hot.
And I hate it.
After our conversation on the first day at the animal shelter, he completely shut off. He didn’t speak. And neither did I. There was tension lingering in the air, and he kept drifting off, seeming to be distracted by his own thoughts.
I told him he can sulk all he wants, but if he’s going to do that, then I’m going to make it just as uncomfortable for him as it is for me.
Because Mae Bexley doesn’t roll over for anyone.
I’ve been subjecting him to annoying questions at the animal shelter all day today, using it as a distraction from glancing at his veiny forearms when I know he’s not looking.
While cleaning the dog leashes, I asked, “So what do you do besides just throw a ball?”
While re-stocking the kibble in the pantry, I asked, “So what does your helmet actually do besides make you look silly?”
And while playing rope with the beagle-looking dog, I asked, “How old is too old for someone to play, if you catch my drift?”
I received minimal answers every time, but never silence. Nathan didn’t blank me. He responded, even if I was bothering the fuck out of him.
My insinuation about his age made him freeze, though, and I swear I saw the corner of his lip flick up the tiniest bit before he flattened them again.
It was all I needed to see to spur me on.
“So what do you do once you’ve caught the ball again?” I ask as we exit the animal shelter, putting on my best dumb girl voice, tilting my head to the side and blinking a few times.
He gazes down at me with that same old taut jaw, eyes flickering to Poppy and Bennett, who are already getting into their cars.
I’ve been questioning him about football all day, forcing him to talk to me, and it’s funny watching him frustrated as I pretend to still not understand.
“I told you, I run.”
My gaze flickers down his body. “With those legs?”
Nathan deadpans me.
If looks could kill.
“Wait, so how do you score a goal?” It takes all my strength not to burst out laughing once I see him press the heels of his palm into his eye sockets and curse. “What?” I question with fake innocence. “I’m a cheerleader now. I need to know these things.”
“A cheerleader who doesn’t like football.” He shakes his head, removing his hands from his face, mouth downturned.
“A cheerleader whose uniform still doesn’t fit her.” They didn’t have time to tailor me an outfit, so I had to wear a spare set a size too small at last night’s game.
Nathan shrugs. “Hadn’t noticed.”
A scoff falls from my throat. “Alright, Mr I’m going to stare at you from across the field .”
Irritation flickers in his eyes. “I don’t stare at you. Why would I stare?”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, quarterback.” I arch an eyebrow at him and turn to lean against my car. Once I’m not facing him, I smile to myself. But I’m exhausted. Keeping up this chirpy act is tiring.
He can be a grouch if he wants to, but I’m curious how long he can keep it up.
Two can play at this game.
“You know I’m a wide receiver and not a quarterback, right?”
“That does ring a bell, actually.” I play with my cuticles. “Why don’t you tell me about that whole two-point convention thingy again?”
“ Conversion ,” he corrects me. “It’s called a two-point conversion. Do you seriously not know a thing about football? You’re on a cheerleading team. You’re supposed to know this stuff.”
Now I’ve got him talking. That’s probably the most he’s said to me in one go all day.
I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “Am I? I think all I’m supposed to do is stand on the sidelines and look pretty.”
“Cheerleaders are more than looking pretty,” is his casual response, surprising me.
I hum, nodding. I can’t tell if Nathan’s being serious or pulling my leg, but his face is blank as his eyes dart from each feature of my face.
He’s standing there, bathed in the golden light. The rays highlight every angle of him, his sharp and defined face looking like Gods sculpted it.
His shirt clings to him in the heat, but he isn’t sweaty. In fact, he smells like citrus—lemony and fresh. I’m not even sure if he’s wearing cologne or if it’s just his natural manly scent fixing with the smell of his laundry detergent.
My suspicion is the latter.
“Why is there a no-fraternisation rule?” I blurt out, and Nathan’s eyes go comically wide for a second before he composes himself. “Has it always been that way? Signing a contract seems a little excessive.”
“Do you always talk this much?” His words could be mistaken for judgment, but looking at Nathan’s face, he’s genuinely wondering—face, perhaps a little pissed off.
“When I’m curious, yeah.”
He averts his eyes. “The rule was only put into practice this season. Before then, no one had ever really spoken about it. But hushed relationships got in the way. So,” he gestures his hands outward, “hence the contract.” His brows tighten. “Look, I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do, and so do I. I can’t spend all day explaining things to you.”
I hum, unaffected, taking note of the dropping sun. I need to get home before it gets dark. My rental car’s headlights don’t work much better than a dying firefly.
Before I go, I shoot Nathan a small smile, telling him, “I was just messing with you all day, by the way. I did my research. I know a lot about football,” and I hear his exhale of frustration as I spin on my heel in the direction of my car.
Something is heavy on Nathan’s mind tonight. It’s obvious with the way he plays during the game.
His limbs look heavy—like some invisible force is weighing him down. His face is sharper than usual, and I pick up on how he scans the bustling crowd, his eyebrows pinching and nostrils flaring. As if he’s searching for someone.
He doesn’t move with the fluidity I expect him to. His movements are jerky and calculated, and his opponents can predict his next move before he puts it into play, meaning they take control of the ball for most of the first two quarters.
I can’t make out what the crowd are saying, but it’s clear they’re not happy. I have to give the team props because they completely ignore them, blocking them and their complaints out.
I stand on the sidelines, shimmying my pom-poms. The red and white cheerleading outfit that’s too small causes my breasts to spill out more than I think is acceptable. I thank whoever is looking over me that all I have to do is stand by and hype up the crowd without needing to perform any of the routines tonight.
I’m not sure I’d survive the mortification of having my tits fall out on live television.
Although I’m sure it would make me pretty popular.
Nathan and I meet eyes from across the grass, and his gaze drops to my breasts for a split second before he blinks, shakes his head and averts them, zoning back into the game.
I can feel my skin beginning to flush.
He catches the ball and shoves his way past a few players from the opposing team who try to take him down. I swear I can hear their bones snapping and bodies twanging.
The Missarali Storks are winning, but I know these sorts of games can change at the drop of a hat. All it takes is for someone to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it gives the opponent an opportunity to slip through.
And that’s precisely what happens.
Bennett now has control of the ball, but he’s forced to the ground. There’s nobody there to pass it to, causing the crowd to throw their hands up in irritation.
I watch with a rigid posture, forgetting I’m supposed to be easing the crowd. The phoney smile drops from my face as I crane my neck to get a better look at Nathan, who’s dragging himself from the floor after having been tackled.
Bennett shakes his head in frustration as his captain helps him to his feet. The jumbotrons above show them having a conversation. It isn’t heated, but I can tell they’re having some choice words with each other, and after a few seconds, Nathan clips the back of Bennett’s helmet in a friendly manner.
The rest of the game doesn’t go as smoothly as they’d like. The Missarali Storks win, but only by three points, which is too close for everyone’s liking.
A win is a win in my book, though.
When Poppy and I enter the cheerleading locker room, we can hear Coach Darrell talking with the team in their own locker room through the wall.
“That was a close one, boys. We nearly lost it out there, but thankfully, you pulled through. I’m proud.”
Poppy has her ear to the wall, finger to her lip, telling me and the other girls to be quiet.
There’s another voice. I don’t recognise it, but they sound older. Grumpier. “Watching you out there made me nervous, so I can’t even begin to imagine how the fans felt. Nathan, where was the teamwork?”
I knit my eyebrows together.
The team won. What’s the need to pick on them? Nathan was playing to the best of his ability out there. They all were.
“I don’t know why you’re directing that question at me,” is Nathan’s response, his tone icy. Each word drips with a confident disdain that should repel me, but instead, I find myself drawn to the danger.
“Well, you’re the captain, aren’t you?” A scoff. “Are you even taking this seriously?”
The man speaks with such condescension.
Nathan is in his thirties. He’s not a child, and it’s perplexing that he’s being spoken to as if he is.
“And what are you to this team?” he responds, making the rest of the team mutter under their breaths. “Just a nosy man using his family connections to force his way into the team's locker room. You’re not supposed to be in here, so I suggest you leave.”
There’s silence and a muffled response, but the sound of heavy footsteps indicates someone’s walked away, and judging by how I can still hear their coach and Nathan speaking, it’s neither of them.
“Sounds to me like they’re going to drive those boys to insanity one of these days,” I say, rolling my eyes and pushing myself off the door. After peeling the too-small outfit off my sore body, I grab my bag and change into my sweats.
I’m meeting Flo tonight. I haven’t seen my best friend for months, and I’m beyond excited—almost as excited as I am to get away from my mother for the night.
She’s been berating me for my choice of meals, telling me that if I don’t lay off the carbs, I’m going to gain weight, and she can’t have an overweight cheerleader on the team. It’s funny coming from someone who believes that a sliver of seasoned lettuce and two rice crackers with a thin layer of jelly on them is a sufficient meal.
One night, it was enough to make me scoff my dinner of vegetable lasagne down right in front of her, a proud smile on my face as she glared at me with disgust before mumbling something about having an animal as a daughter.
I wonder if she’s going through some intense menopause or something.
I wave a quick goodbye to the girls before exiting the locker room and entering the corridor, keeping an eye out for anyone who I think would fit the voice I’d heard speaking to Nathan and his team.
I’m nosy.
I can’t help it.
“Hey, Mae-Mae!”
I turn at the nickname, a laugh bubbling up my throat as my brother, Cam rounds the corner. He opens his arms wide, pulling me to his chest.
He’s been away on vacation with some friends and only got back this morning for tonight’s game.
“Cam, how have you been? I’ve missed you.”
He nods, his ashy brown hair falling in front of his face, his matching hazel eyes boring into my own. “I’m good. Listen, I’m sorry that the veterinarian program didn’t work out for you, but I know you’ll get another shot at it. How can they say no to this face?” He boops my nose teasingly, and I shove his hand away with a mixture of a groan and a snicker.
I assumed my mother would tell Cameron about what had happened to me. It’s embarrassing having to admit you lost your dream job and had to move back in with your mother, but my brother has always been supportive, and I know he would never make me feel small for something I have no control over.
His eyes scan my bag, my medication pouch filled with epi-pens sticking out. He uses his pointer finger to push it back in so it doesn’t fall out. “Still got those allergies, huh?”
“I don’t think an allergy to nuts is something you just grow out of, Cam.”
He shrugs. “I think I just feel sorry for you because you could never have any of Grandma’s peanut brittle. Honestly, it was life-changing.”
My eyes roll as I swat at his arm. “She’d pluck her nose hairs while making the mixture. Somehow, I don’t think I was missing out on much.” I shoot him a toothy grin. “How are you finding working here?”
“It won’t be for forever. It’s just to get my foot in the door, and then I’ll apply for other teams to help physio. Can’t stay in Missarali my entire life.”
Cam’s four years older than me and has always been drawn to the sports world. He never had the desire to play but instead wanted to be on the sidelines, helping the team behind the scenes.
Becoming a physiotherapist seemed like the perfect fit for him. And God knows my mother couldn’t be more thrilled with his career choice. She’s so proud of him, and honestly, there’s a small part of me that wishes I knew what that felt like.
But then I remember that I don’t need her approval. I don’t care what she thinks of me.
“How’s Mom treating you?”
I bring my fingers to my lips, picking at them—something I’ve always done when unhappy. Cam detects my uncertainty immediately, sighing. “It’s—”
“Mae, come on, what’s going on?”
Our mother is a sensitive topic for us. We’re both aware she’s not my biggest fan, but it’s not something we’ve spoken about openly—besides the one time we both got drunk while out with friends and I cried to him about being made to feel like a failure. He tried to help by speaking to her about it, but she did nothing but call me an attention seeker, and it made the situation a million times worse.
He wants to stick up for me, but doing so only hardens things. It’s why he keeps her at arm’s length now.
“She’s being her usual self. It’s fine. I’m here for a season, and then I’ll be moving. I can handle it.”
“Do you want to come and stay with me?” Cameron’s lips curl upwards at the question. He knows what the answer is going to be.
I deadpan him. “No, thank you. Last time I stayed, I didn’t get a wink of sleep because all I could hear was one of your roommates fucking through the paper-thin wall. Their moans are forever etched into my brain.” I fake a shiver. “I’m scarred for life.”
My brother booms with laughter. “I won’t lie to you and say it’s got much better.”
I glance down at my phone as it pings, quickly reading over Flo’s text. “I need to go, but let’s get dinner next week?”
“Sure. I need to go and give these pussies their massages, anyway. Nathan’s hamstring keeps seizing up.”
My mouth suddenly goes dry.
Images of Nathan’s thick thighs oiled up flash into my mind without warning, and I clear my throat, nodding, trying to keep my face neutral.
I’m sure it’s the same thought every horny viewer tonight had as Nathan shucked his helmet off and doused his face in a stream of water to cool down, droplets trickling down his stubbled face and dripping onto his neck, sweat sticking to his football gear.
I’ve never wanted to be a droplet of water before.
But there’s a first time for everything.
“Mae?” Cam barks at me loudly, jolting me from my very vivid thoughts. “You haven’t eaten anything with nuts in, have you? Your face has gone all red.”
My hands fly to my cheeks, prodding at the flaming skin. “No. What? No.”
My brother eyes me up suspiciously before nodding slowly. “Right, well. I’ll see you next week. Text me.”
“Yup, bye.” I have to stop myself from speed-walking out, disbelief flooding through my system at almost being caught fantasising over Nathan Slater.
I don’t know why my mind went there. He’s a cranky asshole who hates me. And I hate him.
I can’t deny he’s hot. I can’t deny that his voice makes the hair on the back of my neck spike up.
But he’s… him.
And I’m me.
And allowing my head to go there—even for a split second—is far too dangerous.