Page 26 of The Game

She did the eye roll again. "Sure thing."

After she left, I locked up the house, checking all the many windows that led out onto the large surrounding garden. The lawn was great during the daytime when I could see the little guy playing from any room of the house, but at night it left me feeling a little exposed.

I didn't bother with yoga. What would be the point? More injuries had been done to people who weren't relaxed when practising yoga than were ever got by being hit by a cricket ball.

I resisted the urge to call Betsy and blab. She would go nuts over this, and I would never hear the end of it. It's all I would hear until the end of my days—I allowed Jase Willis to kiss me.

What I needed was to stare at the ceiling and run over in my mind exactly what had happened.

He had kissed me, right?

And I had allowed it. There had been a thirty second window for me to push him away, apply a clichéd slap to that perfect face of his, but I hadn’t. I’d stood there and opened my mouth waiting for his tongue to invade.

Why? He hated me. And believe me; I was under no illusions that his resentment and hatred towards me was real. So why did he kiss me? Was he just trying to shut me up? Was that how he stopped women from shouting at him? I mean I knew he was a womaniser on a monumental level but to stop a row with your lips just so you didn't have to talk, well that was a new one on me.

Maybe this was a new game? Another way to get me sacked.

I kicked my legs against the mattress, running my toes up and down the cotton sheets.

The worst bit; the very worst bit about the whole thing, was my reaction. Every time I thought of my mouth opening under his I wanted to smack myself.

He was the captain. More to the point he was a dick. My lips shouldn't be anywhere near his. Not ever.

It didn't stop me dreaming about it, though. And it didn't stop me feeling sick with nerves as I got ready for work the next day and absently sorted out Sammy's school belongings.

When I pulled into the car park, his silver SUV was absent. Normally, this would make me take a deep breath of relief. Right then I was hyperventilating.

Before I got out of the car, I gave myself a mental bitch slap. This was what he wanted: to tease me, to muddle me so I couldn't do my job properly. This was a game to him and the kiss had been a tactic of his offense. Well screw him; I wasn't going to play the game.

I marched into the building, swanning past security and banged my way into the changing room.

"Whoa-" someone began but I held out my hand. "I've seen it all before." I glared at them all. I wasn't going to play nice anymore, it wasn't worth my time. It wasn't worth my job.

"Three minutes, and then out on the grass. Bring water if you think you're going to be a sissy girl and cry when you get too hot."

There was no tanning, no laughing, just all out sweating. At the two-hour point, the Lion arrived back and slipped into practice. I ignored him, and he ignored me. Normal service was being resumed post-kiss.

We were running heats and time sets when he raised his voice. "Rivers, I think the boys need a break."

I glanced up, my eyes meeting his. He didn't back away or avert his gaze, but then there was no acknowledgement there either that only the previous day he'd suddenly and surprisingly kissed me for no reason at all. He was all business, all the game. A steely resolve bound its way around my chest when I figured he'd taken advantage of the situation to shut me up. Everything I'd heard and read about him over the years was the truth.

I locked my reaction to his touch deep within the pits of my being, determined to never give it light of day again and formed my face into a sneer.

Glancing at my watch, I said, "They've still got forty-five minutes left with me." Waller had split the training session in two, and he was going to personally lead the second half and get them in the nets. I was supposed to watch their form and decide who was dropping the side.

I already knew that.

The Lion looked like he was going to argue, but I blew out a lungful of air, lifting my fringe off my sticky forehead and turned away, giving him the frostiest shoulder I could summon up. And then I went at it with them again.

The afternoon was long and hard in the nets. As were the following six days. All the days were the same—long, hard and sweaty—until the next match, which we won, I think because everyone was too scared not to. And then we won the match after that, until we were top of the leader board again. The relief as the players traipsed off the pitch and clapped the fans was palpable. I would have fallen on the floor and given thanks to the cricket gods, but there were too many cameras trained on the coach’s bench. I gave Bailey a clap and a thumbs up when he was named man of the match for his wickets.

Drooped shoulders slumped their way past me, and Waller gave me a relieved smile. "You've still got some hair left," I assured him.

"Not even funny, Rivers." He ran a hand through what was left of his locks.

I was clutching my stuff and straightening up when a firm nudge ran along my back, pressing between my shoulder blades. I stiffened and glanced over my shoulder only to see the wide back of the Lion walking past, a curve lifting his cheek.

Had he nudged me? Or had he stumbled?