Sweat broke out across his brow. “Can I… think about it?”
“Of course.” Mick slapped his thighs and stood. “We’ll talk soon. But you don’t have all the time in the world to mull it over, understood?”
“Understood,” Patrick echoed, but he didn’t understand. How had he just been offered the captaincy?
He watched Mick leave the weights room like he hadn’t just chucked a bomb into the middle of his life. He thought about what Derek had said back on the yacht. Becoming one of the youngest-ever captains in the history of the AFL would definitely elevate his career. But it was hard to get excited about that when the woman of his dreams wouldn’t speak to him. Maybe he should have told Mick about Cheryl. ‘I just need a month to make things right with this girl, boss. Lemme lock that down and then I’ll think about taking the best job I’ve ever been offered.’
He stared at the weights rack. Cheryl wasn’t coming and it was too sad to just sit here and mope. But then so was heading home to beat off and wait for her to message. Once upon a time, he’d have called Willow for a beer, but he should be making more of an effort with his actual teammates, especially if he was going to become—
“Don’t think about that,” he said. “Later.”
He scrolled through his phone contacts, settling on Curtis Ingram. He was a nice enough dude, still in Melbourne, and usually down to party. He sent a text.
Beer tonight?
Sure, Curtis replied. Surprised you aren’t busy though. Heard you took a hard stand about your sexy not-missus on Saturday.
Patrick scowled, but he wasn’t annoyed. Ingram was okay. Cheryl’s not around.
Back in the friendzone?
He couldn’t help laughing. After days of stewing, it was nice to have it put bluntly. I’ll tell you after nine beers.
Ingram sent a laughing face emoji and a thumbs up. Where and when, bro?
He was about to suggest The Grace in Collingwood when the weights room door swung open. It wasn’t Mick. It wasn’t anyone from the team. Cheryl stood in the doorframe in booty shorts and a scarlet crop top, looking like heaven on earth.
“Hi,” she said in the worst casual tone he’d heard since he’d been talking to Mick. “Are you still working out?”
Patrick could only stare, his heart galloping like a stallion. She’d come to him. The woman his every romantic road led to. He wanted to pound his bare chest in victory. Being asked to be captain was nothing compared to this. To her.
Cheryl’s gaze fell to his abs, and he realised he couldn’t have picked a better way for her to find him. Shirtless, laughing at his phone, apparently unaffected by her ghosting him.
She shifted from side to side, a kitten weaving just out of reach. He’d grown up with cats, his mum bringing rescues home until she found them new owners. Some were as friendly as dogs, others needed space, to approach in their own time. Cheryl, with her wide eyes and angular face, had always reminded him of a kitten.
“I could keep working out,” he said. “Just let me text someone.”
Her dark eyes narrowed, and he realised she thought he meant Lola. He didn’t correct her. He hadn’t wanted to use jealousy against her, but that was before she’d spent half a week avoiding him. Besides, it got her riled up like nothing else. He bent his head to reply to Ingram.
Sorry, mate, gotta bail.
An angry emoji. You just invited me out, dickhead!
I know. Something’s come up. I’ll buy the beers when we rain-check.
A devil emoji. She wants it, doesn’t she? Your not-missus?
Patrick glanced at Cheryl. She looked equal parts stunning and murderous.
Pretty much.
The man is in the house! All is forgiven.
Patrick liked the message and put his phone beside him on the bench.
“Done,” he told Cheryl. “Where do you want to start?”
She didn’t answer. A strange tension was looping them together like string. He knew he needed to pull it the right way. Reel her closer. “We can do dinner if you want? Drinks?”
