‘Ow.’ He muffled his curse as he rubbed his shin. ‘What the hell was that? Kicking isn’t in the rules.’
‘There are rules in boxing?’ She shrieked with laughter and girly-danced around him—doing a gleeful Rocky impersonation with her hands in the air. ‘I thought it was just a free-for-all. And you know I just made you drop your guard.’
‘It’s about a whole lot more than winning, you know.’ He snatched the gloves off her and pulled her close.
‘Rubbish,’ she challenged him right back. ‘All anyone wants is to win.’
The afternoon went far too fast. They lunched lazily at a café down the street, wandered through the gallery, then returned to his apartment for an afternoon ‘nap’. Lena did almost doze for a while, dreamily thinking about their little sparring round. He’d been right; she’d enjoyed it more than she’d thought she would. Mainly because she thought she understood him more—that his determined self-reliance had been built from his turbulent teen years. His choice of an individual competitive sport over a team one showed his need to be his own boss. Just like his business dealings now. He was determinedly independent. Took all responsibility on his shoulders. Him against the world—him alone. No permanent business partner, no permanent life partner. It made her heart ache.
By the early evening they were snacking in the kitchen. Lena was in another of his tee shirts and wondering if she ought to be sensible and go home.
‘I know why you keep looking at your watch,’ he said suddenly. ‘The game tonight. The Knights are playing in Wellington and you want to watch it.’
Actually she’d forgotten all about the game. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I know they’ll win.’
‘Come on.’ He stood. ‘I know a great place where we can see it in style.’
‘Really?’ Well, if he was up for it she definitely was. While it was part of her job to be interested, in truth she genuinely loved it. She thought her passion for the game was what had got her the job in the first place. ‘I can’t wear this, though.’ She gestured to her man-tee-and-knickers combo. ‘I’ll get back into my dress.’
‘No, actually that shirt’ll be perfect. I’ll find you some jeans.’
She stared. As if she were going to fit his jeans, as if she would wear them out in public. Amazed, she watched as he actually went to the trouble of punching an extra hole in one of his belts with a hammer and nail so she could wear it to hold up the jeans he’d tossed at her. With her kitten-heeled mules it was so not the look. ‘I can’t go out like this.’
‘Sure you can, you’ll fit right in.’
Dubiously she checked him out; he was wearing ultra-casual, too, but then he could wear anything and look amazing.
‘Come on.’ He laughed. ‘Kick-off in ten—you don’t want to miss the pre-game analysis, do you?’
They walked more in the direction of the urban badlands than the chic area where the restaurants were. Yeah, it was a graffiti-covered, falling-down-fences kind of alley that he led her down.
‘You bring all your girls here?’ She looked at the poorly lit bar and the collection of biker-gang vehicles lined up in front of it.
‘This place hasn’t been designated as urban cool yet but it’s only a matter of time,’ he joked lightly, but then sent her a concerned look. ‘Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.’
She wasn’t afraid, she was amused. She mock jabbed the air in front of her with a quick one-two punch. ‘Don’t need you to protect me, I got my moves.’
‘Uh-huh, you’re a real karate queen.’ For once he didn’t hold the door and wait for her to go first; this time he squared up and walked in ahead of her as if he were the beefy security guard checking out the scene for the in-disguise star who’d broken out to have her dangerous night on the wrong side of town.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked as he caught her grin.
She shook her head, not going to reveal the ridiculousness of her thoughts.
The place was miles from glam, but bolted to the wall was the biggest screen she’d ever seen. On the opposite wall there was another. ‘Oh.’ She nodded. ‘Hidden treasure.’
‘Don’t think they do champagne, though.’ He winked.
No, clearly the focus here was beer, spirits and sport.
‘I’m happy with a shandy,’ she said, referring to a lager-and-lemonade mix.
‘And my credibility is killed.’ He kept her close with his hand on hers while he ordered. They carried the drinks to a high table near the back corner. The stools were wooden but she preferred hard and clean to soft and sticky spilt-brew covered anyway. The crowd was growing, kick-off was in five.
Lena took a sip and opened one of the packets of peanuts he’d grabbed, her eyes glued to the screen, listening to the commentators appraising each side’s starting line-up.
Seth found himself watching her just as much as the action on the big screen. It was hilarious. He soon learned he could tell how well the Knights were playing by the narrowness of her eyes. Her slight frowns lightened and deepened accordingly. Her cheers when they scored were fantastic and the smile she turned towards him sublime.
Then there was the running commentary. It started as just the movement of her lips, as if she was uttering some incantation beneath her breath. But as the on-screen action intensified, her volume upped.
‘Oh, what are you doing?’ she called, her frown growing. ‘Get in there. Get the ball!’
He wondered if she expected them to answer. He swigged from his bottle to hide his smile.
‘Come on.’ She nearly leapt from her stool. ‘Ruck!’
Seth snorted and nearly choked on his beer. Coughing loudly, he put his bottle down on the table with a loud bang.
She turned to him with a quelling look, waiting for him to recover. ‘You thought I said something else, didn’t you?’ she said oh-so primly. ‘You think I’d use that kind of language?’
He held her gaze, barely suppressing his laughter. ‘Well, I do recall you telling me to “ruck” you the other night…or maybe I misheard and it was something else you said.’ Wickedly amused, he watched her blush bloom. ‘Actually it wasn’t what you said that was so funny just now.’
‘No?’ She might still sound cucumber cool, but her cheeks were cherry coloured.
‘Lena,’ he drawled, totally patronisingly, as if she were some child he had to speak extra slow for. ‘I know the screen’s big, but it’s still a telly. They. Can’t. Hear. You.’
She picked up the bag of peanuts and started pelting him, laughing when he ducked to try and catch them in his mouth. Ten seconds later she tossed the bag down, mock miffed when he actually got one.
‘You just can’t handle the fact I know more about this game than you do.’ She sniffed.
‘You do know more about it than most.’ He’d give her that. And he was enjoying her commentary an insane amount. So, he’d noticed, were some of the other men sitting nearby.
‘I work for a rugby club, so I guess I should,’ she said smugly.
‘Imagine you on the sideline when you have kids,’ he teased. ‘The poor things, you’ll be yelling at them left and right.’
‘I’m not going to be a pushy parent.’
‘So you say now.’
‘No, really I’m not,’ she said, more vehemently than when she’d been yelling at the players on-screen. ‘They can do whatever, be whatever. They don’t have to make Olympic-gold standard. They can just be and I’ll love them for it.’
Silenced for a moment, Seth looked at her—watched her mouth firm as she pulled that burst of emotion back in. ‘Was it really that bad?’ he asked bluntly.