Page 45 of Blindsided By You

The ache in my head has gone, now replaced by other more pleasurable ones; a deep longing for the feeling of his long body pressed against mine, and a little tug at my heart.

“I may have a solution for that,” he offers. “That’s if you still…”

And there it is again. An opening for me to escape through. I’m not taking it. Instead, I place the cup down, lean forward, propping my chin on my elbows. I’m not sure if he has doubts about me or himself, too. Either way, I plan to erase them.

I know as a kid, under Geordie’s sunny smile, was a little boy who struggled with lots of things others found easy, and cried in his room at nights. I know his father was hard on both children, quick to criticise and never one to hide his disappointment when they fell short of his standards, but more demanding of his son. I suspect as a man, Geordie’s exterior confidence is still a thin veneer, easily broken, and I leap in to protect it.

“Nothing’s changed since Sunday, Geordie.”

My voice is husky, partly from lack of use, but also thick with a memory of heat and skin and his mouth all over me. I fix my gaze on his for a moment, and from the smoulder in his eyes, I can see he’s remembering too. My eyes drift down to the sensuous lips now tipping up in a small, knowing smile, and I’d like nothing more to lean over and kiss them. But jerking back into the reality of my unkempt state, I postpone the possibility.

“Tell me about this solution.”

Chapter 23

GEORDIE

Ibarelyhearthetiny chirp of a text above the rumble of men’s voices and laughter bouncing off the walls of the rugby club changing room. I groan, immediately regretting my offer to be on call for a couple of hours this evening. Sparky has something at his kid’s school, and while the thought of him as a parent is terrifying—one Sparky is already plenty, never mind a mini version—it’s good to see him trying to do right by the wee lad.

Diving into the depths of my gear bag, I pray it’s the sort of electrical emergency that can at least wait until later in the evening. Coach wouldn’t be impressed at me bailing on practice, not with our first match of the season looming on Saturday, even if it’s just a friendly against an Inverness club.

However, Razor would be more than pissed off if he saw the name on the text that lights up my screen.

Jenna:I’m here. Come and say hi. I’m in the stand.

I swallow hard, my stomach clenching. A sheen of sweat appears on the palm of my hand clutching the phone. I stare at it, blinkingin disbelief, weighing what to do. She’ll know I’ve read it, and now I must choose.

If I do as she asks, I risk her father’s hawk-like eyes spotting me; more evidence there is something going on between us. From his strategic seating choice on the bus trip back on Sunday, he may already suspect.

The other option is hiding in here, disappointing her and souring this new but still fragile thing between us. How can I feel her eyes on me as we settle into practice knowing she asked, and I didn’t go?

If I do, should it be now, before this lot ambles out the door? Less witnesses that way, but a lone man crossing the pitch to the stand will be very obvious to anyone watching—like her father. He will see exactly who that man is. It may only be seventy yards, but it’s a long way on your own, exposed like a deer on a ridgeline, the perfect target for a bullet.

Perhaps I should wait, choosing the safety of the herd as cover. The guys gave me lots of stick about Jenna after I sat beside her on the bus trip, so it’s not as if they’ll be surprised. The winding up will start again the moment they see her anyway, so maybe I’ll chance it.

I’m hoping no one is stupid enough to make a scene that will draw Coach’s eye. The first ten minutes or so while we’re doing warm up laps is always our last bit of downtime before he turns his full attention to us and starts bellowing. Surely, they won’t sacrifice that peace just to land me in it?

“You OK, mate? You’re looking a bit pale.”

Nathan’s concern for my welfare isn’t helpful right now, but I won’t brush off a friend who’d think to ask. He’s excited about me taking up the offer to move into his place up at the distillery. My textto him as I left Jenna’s this morning was met with an immediate, enthusiastic response.

I haven’t broken the news to my parents yet, but I know Dad will be glad to be rid of me. With Mum doing well, he’s already turned his attention back to me and my many failings, so it’s time I got out of there.

“Yeah. Just work stuff,” I lie.

“Better not be someone from up at MacFarlane’s with bad news about that fucking plant.” Nathan’s dark brows frown down at me.

“Nah, all good. Not your lot,” I reassure. “And nothing that can’t wait.” I bury the phone in my bag.

I sit elbows on knees, hunched over, deliberating, but the decision is taken away from me.“Right lads, let’s look lively.” For a gentle bloke, Connor’s voice as captain has a surprising steely authority, and we all automatically respond.

The grass underfoot is a lush carpet, rain-fuelled and thick. While softening the ground beneath into a more forgiving surface for bodies crashing onto it in a tackle, it’ll also make it more challenging for guys like me to brace the weight of the scrum. Either way, I’m up for the physicality of it tonight. Anything to take my mind off all these thoughts and feelings that have held me in their grip since Jenna walked into the piano room this morning.

Our footsteps pound in unison, the team falling into an untidy group, their matey banter echoing across the empty pitch. I sneak a glance across to the white-painted weatherboard grandstand that has proudly stood guard over the hallowed turf of Cluanie R.F.C. for more than a hundred years.

There she is, a small bundle of red jacket and dark hair, shining like a lighthouse across the sea of club blue and white plastic seats.We make eye contact, and her mouth turns up in a smile. While Jenna’s face is still pale, even from here I can see the usual liveliness dancing in her eyes. She beckons me with a subtly raised brow and a small lift of her chin.

We round the northern goal post and head back along the other sideline towards the stand. My breath quickens as we approach, and it’s not from the exertion. I feel Nathan’s knowing gaze upon me, but as we cross the halfway line, he mercifully ignores it when I slip out of the pack. I crouch down, pretending to tie a rogue lace. As the others draw away from me, I look up and, as if noticing her for the first time, stroll casually across to the stand. My face involuntarily creases into a grin despite the very real fear I’m a man about to die tonight.

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