Jock Reign (Jock Hard 5)

“Oh Liza, look—the coach is putting him in!”

We turn our heads to get a better look, and sure enough, Jack is being briefed on the sideline, Coach’s hand on his shoulder, as if he’s trying to get Jack psyched up before he heads onto the field.

I can’t get a clear view of him because we’re still a bit too far away, but Jack looks…ill. Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me, but he doesn’t look thrilled. Rather, he kind of looks like he wants to bolt?

But that can’t be right.

“I feel like he mentioned to me that he wasn’t any good at this game,” I say to Kaylee as both our eyes lock onto Jack.

“He was probably just being modest,” she says. The smile on her face says he can do no wrong despite what he says about his skills.

“No, I’m pretty sure he said he sucks at it…” Sure do wish I had some popcorn to munch on while we watch the game. Even though I just ate breakfast, popcorn feels appropriate in this situation.

“This is a European sport—there’s no way he’s bad at it.”

My roommate sounds so confident I actually believe her optimism for a split second—until I watch Jack trot slowly onto the field, where the rest of their team members are already in action.

It looks like he’s trotting into oncoming traffic, dodging and weaving between cars—or players, in this case. Large, behemoth players.

Muddy, dirty players.

Jack is in the match no less than two minutes before he’s knocked off his feet, and Kaylee is standing on hers, gasping.

“Oh my god!” she shrieks, horrified, whipping around to stare down at me. “Did you see that? That…that asshole just plowed into Jack!”

“I think that’s part of the game?” Rugby doesn’t seem at all civilized, not even compared to football. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of civilized and just appears chaotic—I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, and I even googled it.

“Okay, it might be part of the game, but do they have to be so rough on him? He’s going to get hurt.”

My roommate is chewing nervously on her thumbnail.

“I also think that’s part of the game?” Again, this sport doesn’t seem civilized, and every single time I’ve been to the rugby house for a party, somebody has a bruise or a cut or a broken nose. Sort of like hockey if I’m drawing a comparison.

Those boys are always bruised and beaten up.

“I don’t like this game.” Kaylee crosses her arms and plops back in her seat with a pout. “How long does this torture last?”

“Ninety minutes.”

“Well how long have they been playing?”

“I don’t know—I got here at the same time you did.” Glancing around, I find a few vaguely familiar faces. “Go ask someone.”

“Will you do it?”

Is she being serious? “Kaylee, you dragged me here, not the other way around. I was working—if you want to know how much longer you have to sit through this chaos, you go ask that girl over there.”

I point to a brunette I’m almost certain I’ve seen around campus, most likely at a house party.

I don’t go out often, but when I do, I don’t.

Ha!

“Fine.” She’s out of her seat again, smoothing down her cute shirt before sashaying over to a small group of girls near the few bleachers set up. They greet her warmly and begin chatting, and soon I hear them laughing.

My eyes stray back to the field.

It’s so dirty!

Like pigs in a pen, even the guys who aren’t being sacked are covered in filth.

So strange. So messy.

Jack lags behind a group after they’ve had a huddle, and I can see a bright orange mouthguard peeking out of his mouth.

Maybe I’m wrong here, but…he looks miserable.

I try not to get caught staring as Kaylee traipses back to her seat, coming around to sit, her loud sigh one of relief.

“They’ve already played sixty minutes, so there are thirty more.” This announcement sounds prideful, as if she knows something I don’t—like the number of minutes the game is played.

“Right. Ninety-minute games.” I look out onto the field. “Thirty minutes can take much longer if they keep having timeouts.”

She glances over with a smirk. “Duh, I know that. It’s just like football.”

It’s just like any sport, I want to add, though I have no interest in getting into some weird competition with my roommate.

We’re here to enjoy ourselves.

We’re here to—

“Oh shit.” Kaylee’s cursing interrupts my musing. “Is it just me or does it look like Jack has no idea what he’s doing right now?”

The coach is shouting so fervently I can’t make out the words he’s saying, arms flailing, clipboard flying as he points at Jack on the field in this direction and that.

I’m shocked he hasn’t thrown it.

The clipboard, that is…

“Did Jack just…run the wrong way?” I wonder out loud because I wasn’t paying all that much attention, tilting my head to study the field. It’s not that I know anything about the game or how it’s played, but it does seem as if our team is headed in one specific direction and Jack was headed in the other…