Patrick chased his straw around the bottom of the chocolate thickshake. He hadn’t really wanted it, but he needed to gain weight. The season was almost over, and his BMI dropped with every game. If he didn’t hold on to his muscle, he’d go into finals looking like a skater kid.
His shoulder stung where Marcus Holloway had flicked it with his sweat towel this morning. ‘What’s the opposite of bulking, Psycho? We should name it after you.’
Asshole.
“Patty-Bear?”
He glanced up and almost groaned. Cheryl’s dress was see-through in the afternoon sun, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. He thanked God he’d kept his Ray Bans on. “What’s good, KitKat?”
“I’m fine, is something wrong with you?”
Her tits rose against their lace border. She was wearing heart-shaped glasses and looked like a half-Greek Lana Del Rey.
“Patrick, seriously, is something wrong?”
He tore his gaze from her tits with difficulty. “Yeah, uh, just thinking about footy. My BMI going down.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you still losing weight?”
She looked so genuinely concerned, he felt like an asshole for perving. “Yeah. Some of the guys are being dicks about it.”
“What guys?” Cheryl asked, and from the edge in her voice, he knew she wouldn’t take ‘no one’ for an answer.
“Holloway. Mills. The usual. Since Willow and Derek left, they’ve been swinging their dicks. Trying to give me shit.”
“In front of the coaches?”
“Nah, they’re not stupid. In the gym. They can get me on my own in there.”
As soon as he said it, he was embarrassed. It sounded so high school. He was twenty-one and making out the big kids in class were bullying him.
“It’s nothing. They back down when I call them out and it’s not like it’s affecting my game. It’s just bad vibes coming into finals.”
Cheryl took off her sunglasses. She looked pissed. “I bet this isn’t even about your weight, it’s because you hooked up with Holloway’s ex.”
On the list of things he didn’t want to talk to Cheryl about, ‘girls he fucked’ was numero uno. “We didn’t… It wasn’t a thing. We don’t even talk anymore.”
“Exactly! He’s just immature. And he’s jealous because you’re taller and more handsome—”
“You think I’m handsome?”
“—and you’re a better footy player than he is. That’s why you hang out with Derek and Willow. They know you’re something special and Holloway has two years before he winds up playing for free pints in butt-fuck nowhere.”
Patrick laughed. “Thanks, KitKat.”
“You’re welcome.” She tapped the table. “Can you still get me free passes to the Sharks gym?”
“Yeah, sure. Wait, are you saying you want to…?”
“Tomorrow, let’s work out together.” She slid her heart-shaped sunglasses back onto her face. “No one messes with my Patty-Bear.”
* * *
Present Day
Patrick rubbed the towel over his face, collecting his sweat. He’d been at the club rooms for a few hours, running through his pre-season workout with Eliza, the assistant trainer. Now the weights room was empty. Usually, he liked the chatter of the gym, but right now it was better to have space. It was the twilight time before pre-season really kicked off. Most of his teammates were still in Bali or the US, where they could party as unknowns for a while. He checked his phone. No messages from Cheryl.
For years they’d worked out together on Thursday afternoons. He caught the train to the club rooms and Cheryl swung by after five, still in her office clothes, and he got to check her out in her tight skirts and high heels, then her gym shorts and crop tops. They did weights together, him glaring at any of the boys if they tried to stare at her ass, and afterward they grabbed dinner at a different place along Brunswick Street. Korean, Vietnamese, Kenyan, Tibetan, burgers, pizza. Their goal was to try every restaurant on the strip. ‘King the street’ as Cheryl called it.
