Emma sips on her tea while she holds eye contact over the rim of her mug.
My phone buzzes again, and she tosses a puzzled glance at my jeans. “Who the hell is up your ass?”
Pete the Prick: Get it, boyo! Banging rugby royalty, how the fuck did you bed that one?
Pete the Prick: I’d be jealous if it didn’t work in our favor.
Pete the Prick: Told you the story should be rugby. Fuckin’ football, don’t be a pussy just cause you’re afraid of her aul da.
Pete the Prick: Morrigan’s almost-wedding scandal perfectly fits into the angle that women athletes are held to different standards than men. You can’t deny it. She’s not the only rugby player in the hot seat, either.
He’s right, I can’t deny it. And I can’t think of a single other woman in a single other sport who is currently in any way problematic, visible, or out of step and worthy of writing a story about ethics and image in women’s sports to counter his suggestion.
He also knows I’ll bite at the suggestion that something else has gone on.
Robert: What happened?
Pete the Prick: So glad you asked.
He sends a link to a story about one of the Swords Serpents down south. The story is new, but the incident isfrom right at the end of the last season. I have no idea how this hasn’t gone bigger, how we’ve just heard about it. The player in question has a reputation for being brutal off the pitch but almost a shrinking violet when she leaves the game. Turns out, she’s gone viral for a post-match fight that ended with her punching a sexist commentator on TV.
Scrolling the article, it tells me it wasn’t live, but the B-roll footage has just been leaked.
Pete the Prick: That covers the section on gender norms about aggression and femininity. And this, as well as your girlfriend’s scandal, works for consent and boundaries, and who controls your story.
Another link appears: there’s a Scottish women’s rugby player who was outed by the press as being queer before she was ready.
Fucking hell. Why is Pete actually being half decent at his job right when I need him to forget all about Rhiannon Morrigan and move on to someone else?
Pete the Prick: Practically writes itself, lad.
He’s not going to let it go. And since I can’t think of anything better to write about, and it’s not just a Rhiannon-centric story based on me fucking her in the bathroom, I relent.
Robert: Fine.
Pete the Prick: I’ll keep digging for more.
I heave out a sigh. Emma’s still staring at me. She knows me well enough to know that I’m avoiding answering her, doing what I do best when things are hard, and dipping intomy work, except that’s what caused this godawful mess today.
Don’t they say to never mix business with pleasure?
After a long, weighted pause, Emma takes another drink from her mug. “Did you even consider that Mum would know where your dick was today, either?”
I hate being chastised like a child, handled with kid gloves, especially by my younger sister, but no matter how old we get, she channels Mum like a pro. There’s no point in arguing, though; it’ll just make it worse, but there’s a myriad of retorts bubbling on my tongue. It’s a matter of time before one slips out and we end up yelling at each other.
Speaking of Mum, my phone lights up between us on the table.
Mum calling.
“You think she’s seen it?” There’s hope in my voice, but I have no idea why, we both already know the answer.
Emma slow nods like I’m a friggin’ idiot. “I’d say that’s highly likely. If not, a tenner says one of her friends has…”
“And I’m about to get torn a new arsehole.”
She nods again, taking another sip. “And you’re about to get torn a new arsehole.”
CHAPTER 10
