Ten minutes into the second half, we’re two-nil up, and Eastshore are rattled. Their right side’s collapsing under the pressure, forced to overcompensate, and we’re feeding off it. As expected, their coach calls for a substitution and replaces his right back.
“A real leader,” Andy comments as Bentley reads the game like he’s five moves ahead and directs his teammates back to our standard formation, working with the back line to dictate the tempo, switching play when needed, never wasting a touch.
I glance over my shoulder to the bench, where Kincaid is watching the game intently. There’s been something simmering under the surface between him and Bentley since the latter joined the team after transferring from Perth University. I wonder if that will impact his ability to captain the team. A real leader has the trust of every player. I’ll need to check in with them before any decisions are made.
For now, we’ve got a game to win.
Eastshore claws one back off a scrappy header that bounces in off the post, but it’s a short-lived spark. Our response is immediate. Whitford intercepts a lazy pass in the midfield and threads a perfect ball through their broken line. West’s pace does the rest.
The fourth comes in the final minutes of the game. Eastshore’s frustrated centre back gives away a free kick for a late tackle, and Whitford fires an impressive shot into the top corner of the net.
The bus ridehome is rowdy, with the boys celebrating the win, but I’m lost in my thoughts. I’m ready to move on from my ex-wife. She had no hesitations in moving on from me while we were still married, so why do I feel so guilty about what I’m doing? Did Vanessa ever have these doubts when she started sleeping with someone half her age?
It’s not like I’ve forced myself onto this young woman. Everything we’ve done has been consensual, and if anyone’s driving this, it’s her. Maybe I just need to enjoy it while it lasts and not put so much thought into it.
Fuck, I haven’t even touched this girl and I’m freaking out. I don’t know if she’d even want me to touch her. Maybe the thought of being physical with an older man grosses her out. She might prefer the allure of me watching her behind the window or a screen over something more physical. I don’t know how all this kink shit works. All I know is I enjoy watching.
“Are you okay?” Andy asks, studying me carefully. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”
For a moment, I contemplate opening up to him, but then Walters shouts something inappropriate that has everyone laughing, and I’m reminded of where we are. This isn’t the place to have such a conversation.
“Fine,” I grunt out. “Just tired.”
He shoots me a funny look but doesn’t push it.
Half an hour from home, I discreetly open the Euphoria app to check for messages, but there’s nothing. Disappointment and relief settle in my gut—I had hoped she would make the first move this time. Maybe it’s a good thing she hasn’t. Maybe I should just delete the app altogether and go to a bar when I get home, try to meet a woman my own age so I don’t need to worry about possibly knowing her father or whether I’m grading her papers. One who knows who I am.
Yes, that sounds like a much smarter idea.
I’m sure there are plenty of single women my age in Beckford. All I need is a good wingman.
I swallow my pride and toss a glance at Andy.
“Do you want to grab a drink when we get back?”
“I was planning on hitting up the club,” he says with a wink. “Care to join me?”
Without hesitation, I shake my head. “I’m good.”
The next masked night isn’t until next weekend, and I’m not game enough to show my face in the club. It still baffles me that Andy isn’t bothered by people knowing he goes there. As a university professor, I feel like it’s a breach of ethics or something to frequent a sex club, despite the patrons being over the legal age of consent.
He sighs. “You really need to get laid.”
“I don’t need a sex club to get laid,” I hiss, casting a furtive glance behind me to make sure none of the players overhear us.
“You also need to stop being so sensitive about it,” he says, holding his hands up defensively.
“I’m not being sensitive,” I argue, rubbing my temples. “There are other ways to meet women besides the club.”
“Are you looking for a new wife, or are you looking for a quick fuck? That’s the difference. You just got out of a nineteen-year marriage. You don’t need to find the future Mrs Rourke, you just need some no-strings fun.”
“You’re really crude sometimes, you know?”
“I’m not being crude. I’m being realistic. You’ve been tied down with Vanessa and Dylan since you were seventeen. Think of this time in your life as reclaiming your twenties.”
“My son didn’t tie me down,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Christ, you’re practically his uncle. How can you say that?”
Andy shrugs. “At least he’s out there living his life.”
