‘Yes, but he’s looking at you.’ Elise sighed. ‘You’re too blinded by your own stubbornness to see it.’
‘I am not stubborn.’ But even as she said it Jasmine knew it was a lie.
‘Right.’ As if on cue, Elise cocked her head and rolled her eyes. ‘You know not every guy is like Kyle. Grant is different. He—’
‘Stop it.’ Jasmine shut her eyes. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’
She loved Elise, but this was crossing the line. She didn’t want anyone pushing her towards Grant—especially when she was having a hard time controlling herself around him as it was. There was something about him that drew her like a magnet.
Magnetic attraction or not, she knew a relationship with him would never work because she didn’t belong in his world. She’d had her time in a glamorous community filled with extreme wealth, cliques and persistent paparazzi. She’d promised herself she’d never go there again. But something pulled her to Grant—something deep and inexplicable.
She watched him through the viewing window while he warmed up at the barre. Against her better judgement, she didn’t look away.
* * *
The pre-game rush was what had drawn Grant into the world of football back in his childhood. Some guys lived for the relief that came when the siren sounded, others purely for the swell of the crowd’s cheer upon victory. But Grant was all about the build-up, the anticipation...and this match had it in spades.
He told himself it was because the Jaguars were playing their fiercest rivals. But deep down he knew the jangling of his nerves was caused by two things: Jasmine, and the niggling sensation in his hamstring. He couldn’t let it get the better of him today...not when so much was at stake.
‘Bloody hell, you’re a space cadet today.’ A hand slapped down onto his back, the sound barely registering above the locker room din.
‘Huh?’ Grant turned to see his team-mate, Archer, standing beside him, shaking his head. He was a small guy, as rovers tended to be, but he had a larger than life personality. His eyes glittered with mischief.
‘You seem light on your feet lately, mate. I should start calling you Twinkle Toes.’
‘Now, now...’ their coach warned, his voice booming above the noise.
‘I thought Grant might be able to share some of his experiences with the team.’ Archer looked up at Grant, unperturbed by the half a foot height difference between them. ‘How are the pirouettes going?’
‘You don’t want to go there, Arch.’ Grant stretched up to his full height. ‘Even doing ballet I’m still twice the man you are—mentally and physically.’
‘Short jokes...clever.’ Arch rolled his eyes as he stretched out his quad.
‘Nothing wrong with getting in touch with your feminine side, is there Grant?’ Another player chimed in.
‘Back off.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a bad sport.’ Arch elbowed Grant in the ribs. ‘I’d say pink is your colour.’
‘You’re just jealous, Arch.’ Grant felt the frustrations of the past year building, but he remembered the breathing exercises and calming techniques he’d learnt. Unclenching his fists, he let out a slow breath. ‘I get one-on-one time with a hottie ballerina and you’re going home to your old lady. I know who I’d rather be.’
Den Porter came up to the two guys and clapped them both on the back, chuckling at Grant’s joke. ‘Can’t argue with that, can you, Arch?’
Archer muttered a retort but left Grant alone. The locker room buzzed around them, pre-game jitters filling the air with a crackling, unpredictable energy.
‘You have been a bit of a space cadet,’ Den echoed, taking a long swig from his water bottle.
‘I’ve got things on my mind.’ Grant shrugged.
‘They’d better be game-related things,’ the coach said as he walked past. ‘This season is your chance, Grant. An opportunity for redemption.’
‘He sounds like a goddamn evangelist,’ Grant muttered as the coach disappeared from earshot. ‘He’s got the memory of an elephant too.’
‘Maybe you should have thought of that before you dragged the club into your personal life.’ Archer’s voice was stony. ‘You cost us that season.’
‘If I remember rightly, you didn’t score a single goal that game,’ Grant said through gritted teeth.
‘Who could concentrate, with you stumbling all over the place? You were a mess.’
Grant slammed his locker shut, enjoying the loud crack. He’d been on the straight and narrow for over six months now, but his team would never pass up the opportunity to have a go. They thought he’d cost them a winning season—their first winning season—and that his antics had distracted the team.
He’d given up the partying, he’d given up the booze, he’d even given up the groupies. But it wasn’t enough; in everyone’s mind he was the reason for their failure. He could still remember the last call he’d had with his father in the days after the story had hit the media. ‘Now you’re a deserter and a drunk. You’re no son of mine.’
‘You whinge like an old woman, mate.’ Den rolled his eyes at Arch.
The coach approached Grant, his weathered face drawn into a stony expression. ‘Don’t forget you promised me this season would be a winner, Farley. When I agreed to give you a second chance you told me you’d give me a winning season.’
‘I will.’
‘You’d better not have any distractions this time.’ Two hard eyes bored into him. ‘I make it a rule not to give third chances.’
Message received.
* * *
Jasmine and Elise arrived early to the Melbourne Cricket Ground, where all the big AFL games were held, to collect their tickets. As they were gaining access to the most exclusive part of the MCG they hadn’t been able to dress down like the rest of the fans who were streaming into the stadium. Amidst the black-and-green Jaguar guernseys, and the occasional fan sporting the red and yellow of the away team, they looked out of place.
The winter air bit right through Jasmine’s coat and boots, a fine mist of rain dampening her exposed neck. She shivered and huddled closer to Elise. They moved with the crowd, searching for the ‘Members Only’ area.
Following the signs, they eventually ended up in the Long Room, with its floor-to-ceiling views of the ground. It was another world. Away from the crowds and coloured flags of the general admission area. Away from the manic cheering, meat pies and scarf waving. Away from the ‘real’ football experience.
Up here men wore tailored suits and women dressed in all manner of finery, toting handbags that probably cost more than a month’s rent. The sound of dramatic air kisses and tinkling laughter rose above quiet conversation.
‘It’s something else, isn’t it?’ Elise looked around, dazzled.
Jasmine shifted on the spot and removed her coat, slinging it over one arm. She smoothed her free hand down the front of the vibrant emerald dress she wore over thick black tights and boots. She’d changed a dozen times before leaving, even though she knew she was unlikely to see Grant after the game. Still, she’d fussed over endless combinations until she’d ended up back in the first outfit she’d tried on. Last minute, she’d thrown a long strand of onyx beads around her neck to try and fancy up what essentially was a plain cotton dress.
She looked even more out of place here than she had in the crowd. Elise loved being amongst the rich, but Jasmine