“I think I just did. I’m sorry for any rudeness.”
“Listen, American football is a full-on, run-at-each-other-like-freight-trains contact sport. In rugby, y’all just hug each other down to the ground, and apology accepted.”
He jerked forward, eyes wide. “Oh no,youdidn’t. ‘Hug each other to the ground?’ ”
“I think I just did.”
“All right.” He rubbed his hands together, well aware he was treading on familiar ground, venturing into fall-in-love space. “How about a little wager?” Beyond the window, the protection officers paced, passing around the box of puffs, sipping from paper cups. The hour had grown late and Stephen didn’t want to make them wait too much longer to go home, but he wasn’t quite ready to leave Corina’s company.
“What kind of wager? And no sucker bets, like name the all-time leading scorer in rugby.”
“Dan Carter, New Zealand. He’s a hundred caps. I was aiming for half of that by now.”
She glanced down at his bandaged ankle. “Will you be able to play soon?”
“The fall Premiership is my goal.” He didn’t mention how he pushed himself this morning on the pitch and ended up with his foot in an ice whirlpool for ten minutes, enduring a stern lecture from his physiotherapist.
“What’s the bet?” With that, a lock of her black hair bounced between her hazel eyes, twisting to the tip of her lean nose.
“The first day we spoke . . . where were we?”
“That’s the bet?”
“That’s the bet.”
“Do you want to lose?”
“I aim to win.”
“And if I win?”
“I will declare, in the city square—my city, mind you—that American football is the most superior sport in the world.” He winced. Could his soul endure such a thing? Such a lie? Even for her? For true love? “Isn’t that what you Americans really believe?”
“Absolutely. It’s true.”
“But if I win,” he said, leaning toward her, propped on his elbows, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her skin, “you must stand in the square, declaring that rugby is the most superior sport in the world.”
“You’re kidding.” But her smile told him she loved the wager. “You must not believe in your sport very much, Stephen.”
“I believe wholeheartedly in my sport and this, shall we say, throw down.”
“Deal.” She stuck out her hand.
“Deal.” He hesitated, then took her hand in his. As he feared, her touch blew passion over his dormant fires. He didn’t want to let her go. How easy it would’ve been to pull her into him and reacquaint his lips with hers.
“Professor Reuben’s class. When you sat behind me. That was the first time we spoke.”
“As I suspected. Wrong.” He slapped his hand on the table. Dates were not typically his specialty, but he’d never forget the first time he saw her, spoke to her. He could count every day he spotted her crossing the oval, her hair floating behind her. “Off with you now to the city square.”
“Wrong? I remember expressly—”
“Do you remember the first day of fall semester? Outside the registrar’s office? You came out the door so fast you ran into someone, dropping your books.”
She gasped. “That was you?” She made a face, refusing to believe. “No, that man was . . . nice. He picked up my books, asked if I was all right. Apologized even though it was my fault.”
“Did he say something like, ‘Afternoon, miss. I’m so sorry. I seem to be in the wrong place at the wrong time these days’?”
She crossed her arms with a defiant chin raise. “What was I wearing?”
