“Okay, but only if Dad agrees to drive us. I’m not giving you a piggyback into town.”
Holding out my hand for him to shake, he took it like we were sealing a billion-dollar merger. “Deal.”
I shook Adam’s hand too, not knowing how I’d deliver if he won, but I’d figure something out.
The game on the field continued, with the shouts of the players and referees not quite as loud as the spectators’ shows of enthusiasm. My father included. “Ca’arn, Stewart! Get in there, son.”
Such a bogan.
A race was a great excuse to put some distance between his air-horn voice and my ears.
I positioned myself between the boys just as the rain started to pour. After reaching over to pull up the hood of Will’s raincoat, I did the same with my own, smiling and nodding to the end zone. “Game on, little bro. A few drops of rain isn’t gonna stop me.”
“Three, two, one, go!” He counted down and sped off on the ‘one’, rather than the ‘go’.
Cheater.
Little legs kicking up wet grass, he pushed his body at speed. And he was fast. I had to pump my legs to catch him. Adam lagged behind me. Grimacing as a stitch stabbed me under the ribs, I faltered and clutched at my side, handing Will the victory, with Adam coming a decent second. Damn it.
I laughed at my little brother jerking and shaking what his mamma gave him in a forming puddle of mud. “I won. I won. You’ll have to pay up, Andy.”
“Yeah, all right. No one likes a smug winner. Congratulations.”
“Aw, it’s okay. I’ll still draw you a picture.”
“You are so sweet. But only if you want to. Thanks, Mr. Matey.”
“Ugh. Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry. I forget how much you’ve grown up. Every time I see you, you’ve added another hair on your chest.” I grabbed for his coat, pretending to open it. “How many have you got in there now? Ten? Twenty?” He writhed away, cackling at my antics.
We jumped clear, interrupted by the oncoming collision of flesh hitting flesh as six teenage boys skidded across the touchline, landing in a heap. The rugby ball flew over their heads, drawing a few swear words off loose tongues. It whacked me in the side of the face and dropped at my feet.
“Shit!” I wiped the mud off my cheek, rubbing the sting away. On the surface, at least.
Fighting off a fit of laughter, Will added, “That’s another dollar for the swear jar,” before he and Adam ran back to the chairs.
Bugger the bloody swear jar.
Stewart’s mud-slathered mop of hair poked out from the bottom of the pile of people. Of course. He was always at the root of any trouble. His tongue was the loosest of the bunch. Apparently his fingers were, too.
“Nice intercept, sis. Told ya your head was too big.”
“Shut it, Spewart.”
The ref blew the whistle, jogging over. The hood of my raincoat formed an amphitheatre around my head and let the heavy raindrops add their applause to the shrill sound. The referee motioned for the players to form a scrum. I stood there like an idiot waiting for someone to take the damn ball. Our team had lost possession so it had to go to the other team.
“No worries, Andy, I’ve got it.”
I flicked my gaze up, copping an eye-full of drenched dark hair and splatters of mud sticking to a perfect face.
Ben.
My heart started to flap.
Okay, the brutal, animal, hunter thing—totally sexy.I loved this game.
I swallowed, smiled, and ducked my head before retreating to my folding chair. Behind where we sat, the boys had moved on to kicking a kid-sized rugby ball.
“Pity.” My father sniffed.
“Huh?” I turned to him, huddled under an umbrella, tiny droplets of rain clinging to his silver beard.
“Pity Ben doesn’t wanna switch codes. He’s got instinct, that kid. Natural hooker. We want him on our team. Plenty of players have switched from union to league. Elsom. Cross. Lewis.” He swiped his nose with the back of his hand. “They shouldn’t have let him play on their team. It must be against the rules.”
“Would you be saying that if he was playing for our team?”
He grunted, hunching his shoulders.
I’d known the union thing would be an issue.
Despite the unrelenting rain, only a few people left the grounds. The rest of the half-drowned onlookers stayed, staunch supporters for their boys. En masse, people jumped from their seats, cheering as our team intercepted the ball and made for the try line seconds before the siren sounded.
I didn’t bother watching the play. My eyes were glued to Ben as he clapped his hands together, congratulating his opponents on their narrow victory. Most of his teammates weren’t so gracious, kicking at the soggy mess of mud at their feet as they sulked off the pitch.
“All right, kids, grab your gear. We’ll go home and get cleaned up, and then how does some Macca’s sound?”
Will threw a fist in the air, shouting, “Yes,” before turning back to Adam. “Can Adam come, too?”
“Only if it’s okay with his mum. Gimme a sec to pack up and then I’ll walk you over to ask. Okay, Adam?”
The little boy nodded, enthusiastically.
My father stood, struggling to fold his chair while holding his umbrella. I took it from him and held it over his head so he could get the job done quicker. The rain pelted so hard, it pressure-washed everything in its way. I would’ve happily stayed in it if it meant watching Ben a bit longer.
We trudged back to the ute before throwing the chairs in the back. Will and I jumped inside, out of the downpour, while Dad secured the cover over the tray. The air in the car was rife with stale sweat and energy
