30. Noah
CHAPTER THIRTY
NOAH
RECOMMENDED LISTENING ‘I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN’ YOU’ BY YUNGBLUD
Except, it’s not my desi girl. Or even my Hellcat.
No, this is a woman. A curvy, delicious, goddess of a woman. Her dress is black and slinky; it sort of slithers over her body and drops in large bells over her sleeves. The draped neckline reveals her cleavage every time she moves. The dress skirt flirts with her legs, and her block heels are in hot pink. Her tiny waist is accentuated by a hot pink belt which pushes her magnificent tits up.
None of that has me rooted to the spot.
It’s her pretty face. Wreathed in a tentative smile, her eyes smoky like soot and her lips a generous curve of glistening pink. Her hair flies down her back like a banner. All tangled curls and sexy waves.
She’s stunning. Otherworldly.
“You look divine.” Ares, the bastard, leans down and kisses my Queenie on the cheek. It’s sort of dusted with gold powder, so it gleams in the late evening sun. “GOD damn. I’m calling Fox right away.”
Queenie smiles, pleased. “Thank you. That was a lovely compliment.”
Ares shakes his head as he stares at me and mouths Idiot .
She turns to me with the same pleased smile. “Hi, sorry, I’m late. Mischa had to alter this for me. So, it took some time.”
“Right,” I say thickly.
Her smile fades. “Yeah.” She clutches the purse she holds tightly. She’s even painted her nails hot pink. I don’t know why I find the combination of pink and black so extremely arousing, but I do.
“Is this our table, then?” Queenie points at the table.
I shake my head. “We’re sitting with the coaches. Apparently.”
“Oh.” She glances at her outfit. At her tits displayed so enticingly. “I didn’t know that.”
“Neither did I,” I say gruffly. I can’t stop staring at her chest. Her waist. Her curves. I’m instantly and horribly aroused. “Do you want to—” I tug my jacket over my pants. “Sit?”
She nods. “Sure.” Her voice is tiny.
I wait for her to precede me. She does. Her arm brushes my chest. I suck in a breath, and she shoots me an uncertain glance. Looking like a goddamn woodland fairy in her silky outfit and flowing hair.
Her scent hits me, it’s hot and flowery. Jasmine and honey. Perfectly luscious like her.
She stumbles a little on the sand, so I lunge forward and put a hand on her lower back. Queenie stiffens but then leans into my touch and we walk toward the coaches’ table.
To my displeasure, Teddy Durham, Queenie’s crush is also at the table. Alone, thankfully. But Queenie doesn’t notice him, she rushes to greet her Rohit Chachu, on the other side of the long table, her smile back. He hugs her tight and they talk in hushed tones. She looks over at me and so does he.
My neck feels tight, but I stare levelly at both of them.
Even the other two coaches hug Queenie, like they know her. And she hugs them back.
I’m hot under the collar. Sweat drips down my jaw too. I wipe it off with a tissue. Unruly and wild feelings bubble up in me. Like snarling hands off to the three men who will decide my fate. Or popping Teddy a shiner on his perfectly affable face.
“Dumaine, you don’t mind if my beti, my goddaughter, sits with me, right?” Coach Devgan orders. It’s not even a question.
“No problem, sir.” I grab the nearest chair and park my butt on it. I also discreetly try and push my erection down while adjusting my suit. Disappointment floods me but I dismiss it as unproductive.
As if in sympathy with my mood, a rush of grey clouds show up on the horizon. I look up at the sky. Thanks guys .
Pretty soon, our table fills up. To further my black mood, Van Joost shows up with his date at our table and sits on my other side. He smiles and takes over the table quickly.
Coach Alastair begins with a speech about the importance of sport and team spirit. Coach Devgan adds something about how this first batch of Triskelion Training inductees are going to make cricket history in a town that doesn’t know the meaning of the word.
I tune them all out.
I only pay attention when Coach Gilcrest says, “This is not just a party, people. We’re also formally announcing the Triskelion Cup tonight.” He holds up three fingers amid hoots and cheers and applause. “The Cup takes place in the third week of August and is a combination format event.” He downs one finger. “You’ll play one match of each variation – T20, ODI, and Test.” He downs the second finger. “The camp winner will be announced after the last match, the test. We’ll call the selection committee member during the presentation ceremony and choose one of lucky blokes.”
The applause goes deafening when he downs the third finger.
“Good luck, gentlemen.” Padric raises his glass. “You’re going to need it.”
The tables are all abuzz with news about the Cup when we are served caviar and foie grass. Lobster and shrimp. And some other equally tasty things. I don’t taste any of them. I just keep watching Queenie talk and laugh and sip delicately at her wine. Her throat moves with the motion.
I want to kiss it so badly I am afraid I have already walked over to where she’s sitting next to her coach uncle and done it.
“Are you okay, man?” Ares asks me in an undertone. “Your knee’s trembling like there’s an earthquake.”
I grip my water glass and wish it were beer. “I’m fine.”
I do a facsimile of having a good time even though I cannot think straight. All I see are Queenie’s curls, running riot in the low and cold wind. I want to drape an arm over her shoulder and shield her from it.
Then, Martin, the fuck, also looks at Queenie. He grins. “So, she’s the girl who’s got you twisted up, Skipper. No wonder you lost the match anyway.”
Ares puts a hand on my vibrating knee. “Fuck off, Marty,” he says good-naturedly. “Have another drink.”
“I don’t blame you, though. If I had that fine piece of ass waiting in my bed, I’d be showing her my bat too.” Van Joost snickers.
“What did you just say?” I deliberately look at the man who’s been giving me a hard time on and off the field.
“You heard me just fine, Dumaine.” Martin’s mouth takes on an ugly twist. His eyes gleam meanly as he finishes off his sixth drink. “And I have eyes too. I saw the video. For a chubster, she’s got great ti?—"
I am out of my chair before I’m aware.
Ares holds me back and shoves me back down with brute force. The whole thing’s over in seconds.
I vibrate. With anger. With pure rage. With a flux of emotions that cannot be jealousy. I am not a jealous kind of man.
“Crab on his chair,” Ares smiles at the enquiring coaches. “Nothing to worry about, sirs.”
I clench my fork so tightly; it bends under the weight. I am aware of Queenie’s hot gaze on my hand. I shove it under the table.
I take a single deep breath before I face Martin Van Joost. I make sure to keep my voice level and my eyes blank.
“I know you think it’s sportsman-like to talk shit like this. So, I’m going to say this exactly once, Marty. You ever breathe in Queenie’s direction, much less look at her…and I’ll take your head off with my bat. You hear me?”
“Fuck off, Dumaine.”
I smile. With my eyes.
Van Joost stops breathing.
“Do you hear me, Van Joost? Do not entertain any thoughts about my girl. Ever. Or you won’t like the consequences.”
“The camp?—”
“The camp can burn for all I care,” I grit through clenched teeth.
And I mean it. I need for this camp to be a success. More than my own life. But not more than Queenie’s dignity. No one talks about her like that. Full stop.
“Go away, Marty. Now,” Ares says quietly. “He’s dead serious. Just…” He sighs. “Go away.”
Martin pushes his chair back and stalks off.
Some of the rage leaches out of me. Just some.
After a few thrumming moments, Ares sips at his drink slowly. “You know, a casual onlooker would mistake what you did for love.”
I glare at him and keep the growl inside. “Fuck off, Ares.”
Ares beams at me. “Good thing I’m your best mate and know better.” His smile fades a little. “By the way, you should tell Queenie she looks pretty. It’s nice, you know?”
I kick him under the table. And loosen my tie just a bit. The damn thing is going to strangle me.
The clouds turn black over the sea. They’re the best indicator of my mood.