But she doesn’t look bored to me. Guess she’s not used to being told no. That’d explain the pink climbing up her cheeks.
A rush of heat surges through me – not just anger, but something sharper. I hate that she has this effect on me. Like she’s carved out a space in my head just to fuck with me. And for a moment, my eyes drop to her mouth.
She notices. Of course she notices.
‘You done staring, MacRae?’
‘You done trying to control my life?’
‘When you stop being a liability? Perhaps.’
I lean in, sweat-soaked shirt clinging to my back, and use my height to loom over her. ‘Youreallywant to push me, Harrington?’
She doesn’t back down an inch. ‘I don’t push, MacRae. I manage.’
I jut my chin out. ‘That what you think you’re doing?’
‘That’s what I know.’ She presses a finger to my chest. ‘You’re doing the show. You’re doing the photoshoot. And you’re going to smile and play nice. It’s in your contract. And believe me, you don’t want to get on my bad side.’
My blood boils. ‘That’s blackmail.’
‘That’s business.’ She steps back, smoothing her shirt. ‘I’m picking you up Monday at nine. Wear something that isn’t black. And for god’s sake, get a haircut.’
‘This a fetish of yours, Harrington? Bossing men around?’
Charlie holds the line, unbothered. ‘You’re the only one who needs this much bossing. Which makes me wonder whether or not youarea man.’
Some of the players whistle and chuckle.
Low blow. Meant to cut. I don’t give any of them the satisfaction of seeing if it landed. Which it did.
She spins on her heel and stalks back to her car – full hips swaying in those painted-on shorts – and leaves me with a pitch full of gawking teammates. I watch her go, fury and something else churning in my gut. My whole team is staring at me like I’ve just been neutered. My head throbs, as if I just took a boot to the skull.
‘Oi, MacRae!’ Finn grins like it’s Christmas. ‘Bit fucked there, eh?’
‘Shut your mouth. Or I’ll do it for you.’
He laughs. ‘I’ve not seen anyone handle you like that. It was beautiful, man. Scottie, did you see that?’
Scottie appears from nowhere, still in his training kit. ‘Saw it. Filmed it. Sent it to the group chat.’
I’m going to murder them both in their sleep.
‘The great Brodie MacRae,’ Finn continues, ‘taken down a notch by a gal in heels. Poetry, that is.’
I let out a grunt. Recently, my signature sound.
‘What’s wrong, Captain?’ Finn wiggles his eyebrows. ‘Can’t decide if she handed you your arse or gift-wrapped it?’
Scottie laughs. ‘Both.’
The tips of my ears are burning. ‘You’re running suicides next practice.’
‘Worth it.’ Finn claps my shoulder as he passes. First time he’s ever done that. ‘Have fun on your cooking or baking show, Captain. Perhaps you can teach me how to make a Victoria sponge?’
‘I can teach you how to eat dirt.’
Finn sighs, mock wistful. ‘Just think, MacRae. A year ago, you were taking down the All Blacks. Now? You’re rolling pastry for daytime telly. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.’
