Page 38 of The Game

As I stepped up to the crease, his icy gaze bore down on me, and I knew he was just begging to take me out. There was no way he was going let my catch go in good faith. I found myself swallowing nervously as he powered a run and expelled a ball at me like it was shooting from a training machine.

Blindly, I lifted my bat and fielded it off and then I ran for my life. He wasn't going to stop though, the moment the short ball was returned to his hands he ran and aimed for the wicket. With the breadth of a hair I squeaked over the line, my butt skidding into the ground as I slipped on the dry earth.

For the first time ever I heard a shout of his laughter as he watched me slide on the ground. I waved my bat with good grace and stepped up again. This was going to be a long afternoon.

His team won. And didn't I bloody know it? He gloated the whole way back to the house.

If the other players had realised they were playing against the greatest, they were polite enough not to say and playing without pressure had loosened the Red Cat’s captain so much that his whole body was relaxed and easy in the car on the ride home.

When we pulled up on the drive, I cut the engine and stretched. I ached from all the running and diving he’d put me through. The birds were silent as dusk descended and the balmy evening flooded through the open windows.

"Why Jonathan?" I couldn't make myself look at him. It was like talking and looking at the same time would be too much to bear. There was a kindling flicker of something dark and unknown down in the pit of my belly—familiarity. I was becoming familiar with the Lion himself, and there couldn’t be anything safe about that.

There was a beat of silence before he answered, his low tones filling the silent car. "Because it's my name."

I swivelled in my seat. "No, Jason is your name." I don't know why I flushed when I said Jason, but I did, luckily it was hidden in the darkness.

"No, my name in Jonathan. When I started to make a name for myself, there was another Jonathan on the England team, so I called myself Jason to stand out."

My lips formed an ‘O’. "Wow," I said eventually.

He turned to me, his hand lingering on the back of my seat. "Question for you. Why are you pretending to have an injury when you don't?" My cheeks flamed again.

"I'm not."

"Sure, you're not."

"Okay," I turned to him, the skin of his tanned face so close in the confines of the car. "How much does your shoulder hurt?"

He sniggered a little. "Lots."

"Was it worth it?"

His eyes flashed in the dim light. "Yes."

We paused, an unnameable friction flowing between the confines of the car.

"Better ice it when you get home."

He reached for the handle of his door. "I will." Another pause and then the door opened. "Thanks, Rivers. That was just what I needed.”

"I know," I muttered softly, but I don't think he heard because he was walking away to his car.

I wasn't surprised on Monday morning when he failed to make eye contact with me. In fact, it made me laugh, and I began to make a point of getting myself in his way as much as possible. That tick at the corner his lips was getting out of control.

"How was your weekend?" Gemma asked as I changed into my training kit. I hated to admit it, but I was back in the vest top. The heat wave washing over the country was unrelenting, and sleeves were just not a consideration at that point. Extra water butts were carried out onto the field so we could all stay hydrated and the factor thirty had increased to fifty. Hamlin, the youngest player on the side who’d only just turned nineteen was getting the piss ripped out of him for wearing sun block that stained his cheeks blue.

"It was different," I replied as I attempted to pull my sweaty arms through the arm holes of my top. I got stuck around my elbows and had to battle my way in.

"Different how?" She raised an eyebrow. "Did you have a date?"

Chuckling I shook my head. "Very far from it. Very far indeed."

I could barely admit to myself that I'd dreamt of the Lion the previous night. In my head, I was having a hard time reconciling the person I knew he was—with his drive for cricket, his headlines and all the off-pitch drama that followed him around—with the guy that played in my garden. I knew which one I preferred, but I had no idea which was the real version of him.

"You know, the girls and I are going out Friday after the game. You should come, get away from here and all these guys."

I tilted my head to the side. "Where are you going?" I wasn't keen on going out to bars, a lifetime of healthy living and early nights had killed any hopes of a social life way back in my teens.