Page 36 of Just One Look
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She changedher clothes four times, and then she gave up and made a call.
“Hey,” Jordan said, picking up on the third ring. “It’s, uh … midnight.”
“Oh,” she said. “Sorry. Time zones. I got desperate, and I never thought to check. Never mind.”
“No,” he said. “It’s fine. Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“Oh. I guess it is. It’s Sunday evening already here. Are you sure? Because I could use some help, but …”
“I’m probably waiting up for Clement anyway. I must be, because I wasn’t asleep. Mass shooting.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah. Guess they don’t have as many of those over there.”
“Just the one you’ve heard about. I did a hard shift yesterday, and that’s the one thing there was none of. Zero gunshot wounds. Novel.”
“So is that why you’re calling?” he asked. “Why you’re desperate? Need to catch me up on cultural differences?”
“No. It’s just … All right, it’s stupid. It doesn’t matter anyway. Why do I even care?”
“Oh, boy. It’s a guy. You’ve been there a week, and you’ve met a guy. Hot doctor? This reallyisyour reboot, then.”
“No, not a hot doctor. I just … I can’t believe this, but—a rugby player.”
He sighed. This sigh sounded completely different. “Gay nirvana.”
“What? He’s not gay. At least—no. He’s not. When I saw him before, he was with two women, and they were both beautiful. They also looked like they were going to fight over him. Definitely not gay. But it’s not like you’re thinking, dating or something. At least, I’m going to dinner with him, but it’s not a date. Not after I went all Rain Man on him, anyway.”
“Uh-huh,” Jordan said. “How is it not a date? Who asked who?”
“He asked me, but it was … it’s complicated. It has to do with this dog I have, and …”
“Less about the dog, please,” he said. “I don’t care about the dog. He asked you. What’s the question, exactly? Clement’s going to come home at some point and I’m going to have to listen and be supportive, so let’s cut to the good parts. How much of a rugby player? Are we talking about spending your weekends immersed in some homoerotic bro-culture amateur league, or …?”
“Or,” she said. “Very much or, I think. He was on TV last night, anyway.”
“Better and better. What’s his name?”
She paused, then said, reluctantly, “Luka Darkovic.”
“Oh, honey,” Jordan said. “That is aname.Wait, I’m looking him up.”
“I just need—” she said, but he said, “Ssh. I’m reading. Also converting kilograms and meters.”
“You don’t have to know his height andweight.”
“Sure I do. OK. Six foot four inches and two hundred forty-eight pounds of solid man-flesh.” He sighed. “Oh, yeah. Wait. I’m looking at pictures. Honey, you didgood.This guy is an All Black. ThestartingAll Black in his position, which is pure meat and potatoes hard rugby man.”
“You’ve lost me. Meat and potatoes? And all what?”
“They’re going to kick you out of the country,” he informed her. “The All Blacks? New Zealand national rugby team? World’s most famous sporting brand? Hello? And he’s a forward. Animportantforward.”
“A forward what?”
“A forwardgod.The forwards are the ones doing all of the shoving and most of the tackling and bashing. You know, the good stuff.”
