Page 3 of Stumped

One. Knight in a dirty ball cap

Elias

April, Present Day

Ishouldn’t be here.

You know what’s worse than being in a crowded sports bar? Being in a crowded sports bar with rowdy fans as they watch your team get thrashed ruthlessly. It’s packed with heads turned to the televisions playing the same thing—cricket.

“I really shouldn’t be here,” I repeat softly and tug my cap lower, blocking people from seeing my face.

Everyone boos loudly and obscenities fly, but I make it a point not to look up as I push through the throng. I should be sitting on my couch with a glass of expensive scotch as my team plays their way to a second losing game in a week. But the cabin fever was starting to get on my last nerve; escaping my house seemed like the only way to shake it off.

Obviously I haven’t been making smart decisions in the last twelve months.

First with the rotator cuff strain following last year’s terrible season. Then slacking off on physiotherapy in the first few weeks after surgery. Not to mention the fact that I don’t know how to sit still and do nothing. After the required eight weeks of restand wearing a sling every single day, I tossed it aside and went back to my regular routine. As you can imagine, my doctors and coaches were not impressed.

Here’s the thing, though. If I can’t practise and train with the team, I don’t get to play.Thatis not an option. Not after I spent the last eleven months waiting to get back on the pitch for the ICL championship. Having missed the World Cup because of my injury, I can’t lose out on this too.

The Indian Cricket League, or the ICL?1, is one of the most exciting times of the year for any cricketer and fans of the sport. For a small town boy like myself, it’s the chance to play with legends and athletes I’ve looked up to for a big part of my life. Working my way up to being on the Indian team was a big deal. Being chosen to play for an ICL team? That was an even bigger win. I was twenty-three when my name made it into the annual auction and I was absolutely shocked when the Chennai Renegades picked me out of the hundreds vying for a spot.

I’ve been fortunate that my playing has continued to improve over the years, enough that the team has retained me and I’m not at risk of being auctioned off. Chennai is my home and leaving it would break my heart.

However, given the way this season has gone already, I’m not sure the management sees the value in keeping me on if I can’t actually play. I’ve been working my ass off—PT every day and exercising at home. I don’t drive myself anywhere and give my shoulder the rest it needs. Cricket has been my entire life since college and I barely graduated with a degree in economics, so finding a corporate job after all these years would ruin me.

The crowd booms again, more profanity being flung at the screens, and I look up as one of my teammates misses an easy catch. My shoulder twinges at the memory of a similar move that benched me. I roll it back gently and try to catch the bartender’seye. Another wave of groans echoes as the opposing batsman hits a beautiful boundary shot that flies into the stands.

The Renegades fans arenothappy and I don’t blame them. We’ve won the championship six times, then suffered a pretty terrible loss last year, so we need to get our shit together.

So much for being champions.

“Can’t we watch something else?”

A husky feminine voice draws my attention. Her black dress stops right above her knees, with thick thighs and strong legs leading into well-worn Vans. Her dark hair is wavy, loose and in absolute disarray; flipped over, falling down the right side of her head, blocking her face from my view. She stands out in this crowd of obnoxious cricket fans.

“You’re in a sports bar, we’re going to watchsports,” someone calls back.

She finishes whatever is in her glass before saying, “There areothersports, you know? Hockey is supposed to be our national sport and honestly, kabaddi?2 would be better than this disaster.”

Another angry fan guffaws from somewhere behind me. “Hockey is not our national sport.”

“Actually it is.” Once the words are out, I’m surprised they came from me.

“My knight in a dirty ball cap,” she mumbles sarcastically, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

I tilt my head slightly and when my eyes meet hers, the wind is knocked out of me. I’ve met a lot of beautiful women before, but none have ever made me speechless. Her round face is full, cheeks soft and slightly flushed. Her plump mouth is curved up in half a smile. There’s no right way to describe her perfect nose. But more than anything, it’s her light brown eyes that snag me. Twinkling with mirth, nestled beneath thick dark eyebrows.I could live in those eyes.

“Half expected your eyes to drop to my cleavage,” she teases. And that’s what I do. Her dress dips low in the front, a hint of red lace peeking out the right side. She laughs, as husky as her voice, and I hate myself a little for falling for her trick.

“Fuck, sorry. That was inappropriate.”

“At least you waited until you had permission.”

“Still,” I mumble,finallygetting a chance to order my drink. “Hoegaarden?3, please.”

“Local beer not good enough for you?”

“If you’re into drinking flavoured water, sure.”

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