“JESUS CHRIST,” Ian bellowed. “That was a SEED!”
“BOWLED HIM!” Jordan’s voice rang out over the yard like he’d just seen the face of God.
He was frozen, mouth open, eyes wide. His hands were raised in awhat in the actual hellgesture that had me grinning so wide it hurt.
I gave him a little wink. “I said I played a bit.”
Roger came over from the barbecue, still laughing. “Bloody hell, love. That’s the cleanest delivery this garden’s ever seen. You’ve just put half of them to shame.”
Brody nearly dropped his beer. “Mate, she’s carrying your kid andstill bowls you under the table. Career highlight, right there. Forget Centre Court.”
Jordan groaned, pointing at his brother. “You just wait, Brodes. You’re next in the firing line.”
Brody smirked at me, raising his bottle. “Rather face him than you.”
The laughter roared around me, and Jordan stalked toward me, grinning like a man undone.
“You lied to me.”
“No,” I said, still grinning. “You just didn’t ask the right questions.”
“You’ve been holding out on me.”
“I like to pace myself.”
“You’re bloody outrageous.” He reached me, grabbed my bum with both hands, and spun me around with a delighted groan.
I yelped, laughing. “Jordan!”
“You absolute menace. You’ve made my whole year.” He kissed my temple. “God, I love you. That was so hot.”
“Glad to be of service.” I leaned into his chest, catching my breath.
Brody called over, “She’s on my team next year!”
“Hell no!” Jordan shot back. “I’m signing her to a long-term deal.”
The rest of the game went on in a blur of laughter, and sausage rolls, and heat, and half-hearted cheating. I sat with Sue after my two overs, feet up, belly full, sun on my skin. Jordan glanced over at me constantly, like he couldn’t quite believe it, and honestly, neither could I.
Because this wasn’t just a game.
This was family.
This was home.
And I’d bowled myself right into the heart of it.
?By nightfall, the cricket pitch had transformed into something out of a bloody movie. I quickly learned Sue was the hostess of the family. Thrived on it. I could only imagine the birthday parties these kids must have had.
Fairy lights twinkled between the trees like fireflies. Benches and folding chairs had been arranged into haphazard clusters around trestle tables, now groaning under the weight of every type of homemade food imaginable. Sandwiches, pastries, salads, desserts. All of it out under the stars. There was music humming from an old Bluetooth speaker on the patio, the playlist flickering between 70s rock and early 2000s hits before Bella started demanding the soundtrack toWickedin preparation for her solo performance. To which I was the guest of honour apparently.
The air had finally cooled, soft and honeyed now, though the laughter was still loud. Kids darted barefoot through the grass with glow sticks in their hands. Someone had lit citronella candles, the scent of lemon and eucalyptus mingling in the warm air.
And Jordan was three beers deep and unreasonably proud of himself.
His shirt was still nowhere to be seen. The backwards cap was still on. He had a red Solo cup in one hand and was currently engaged in a beer pong match with three of his cousins and his brother, which had somehow turned into a full-contact sport.
I watched, in complete hysterics, as he did some kind of aggressive pre-serve shimmy that included a pelvic thrust and a celebratory shoulder roll.
