Page 32 of Wide-Eyed
“I’m good for coffee, thanks. I came prepared.” I showed her the insulated travel mug that Kev had poured one of his flat whites into for me.
“Sweet. Do you want to level it up, though?” Tanz pulled a hip flask from her coat. “This is just coffee liqueur, it’s not strong, but it makes being here so early more bearable. I had to drop my kids off at their gran’s at six this morning. Six.”
I held out my mug, and Tanz added a splash of something that made my coffee smoother and sweeter. We chatted as the referee blew their whistle and the game started.
The ball flew through the air as the players yelled things to each other. I was totally unprepared for how collegial the whole thing was. There was an undertone of competitiveness, like any game or, hell, any model casting call I’d ever witnessed; but largely, everyone on the field seemed to know each other and be having a good time.
Mike played with his usual wide grin. Some of the players cursed or scowled when they got touched and had to drop the ball, but when it happened to Mike, his grin only grew.
Mike wasn’t the fastest runner, but he dodged and wove better than anyone on the field. The more tired he got, the happier he seemed. He made good-natured jokes with his teammates and high-fived everyone who got a goal (a try, Kev had said), whether they were on his team or not. I cheered loudly when his team got the ball. Other supporters said things like, “Get in there!” or “What the fuck was that, ref?” and sometimes I said it too, just to feel involved.
Rugby players didn’t wear padding like football players back home. Happily, this rugby variant had the same uniform of tight T-shirts and little shorts as the All Blacks, and Mike wasn’t kidding: His thick thighs were on full display, all rippling and … ripe, if that was possible. I wanted to lick them. From his knees right up, up up?—
The ref blew their whistle and I jumped, thinking it was a personal admonishment, but it was a player who had done something wrong. Tanz elbowed me, waggling her eyebrows to show she knew exactly who I was drooling over.
The sun was bright, but the air was cold and the grass was still dewy. I was glad I’d brought my metallic gold puffer jacket with me to New Zealand even though I had to use a compression bag to fit it into my luggage. It fully hid the outfit I’d made last night, which I was going to reveal at the perfect moment—maybe at halftime. That was when the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders came out.
Tanz and I chatted happily. Her girls were looked after by her mother every Saturday during games, as her wife, Eloise, played on Mike’s team. She pointed out the extremely fast woman whose long blond pony swung behind her as she ran. Watching her made me think of Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war.
Fun fact: Athena was name-dropped as Pallas in Titus Andronicus and as Minerva in the Taming of the Shrew. Bonus fact: Titus was my most hated Shakespeare play, and Taming was one of my favorites (although often productions butchered it and didn’t correctly layer the text with irony).
I said hi to a few of the other supporters, most of whom I recognized from around town. They all returned the greeting, but it was surface level. I wasn’t able to strike up deeper conversations with anyone. I tried to be extra friendly, but the harder I tried, the more people avoided me.
At least I had Tanz. I suspected Mike had told her she had to look after me, which was embarrassing, but, as my failure to connect with any other Kiwis showed, necessary.
When a heated debate about a contested try paused the game, I opened social media to share a few shots of the players on the field—distant, none identifiable beyond universally sexy thighs—and of me wrapped up with my mug in the early morning sun.
Instantly, my phone started buzzing with notifications, making it hard to post without accidentally reading any of the persistent harassment.
have you seen the guy’s woman? no one’s throwing her off for this slop
fame hoor
nothing says innocent like storming a man’s office and screaming the place down
But also:
look at the tiny pony! brb booking flights
i’m obsessed with daddy kev and his lil coffees, he’s sooo clooney coded
Lulled into a false sense of security, I stayed too long, and saw:
women like you are why theres a male suicide epidenmic #teampaul
And the worst one of all, which was under a pic of me and Root Beer in my apartment.
someone should take out a mercy hit on her cat
I deleted the most awful comments, then double-checked all social notifications were turned off before closing the app again. As the rugby players ran around, I sat on the sidelines with a rock in the pit of my stomach, clutching my mug with hands that weren’t quite steady. It was weird and cruel and unfair that I was expected to endure relentless hate like this just because I shared my life on the internet.
When had I last genuinely enjoyed something the way Mike enjoyed rugby?
I loved fashion influencing, but the way people just said whatever cruel thing they wanted to was beginning to get me down.
I tossed my phone down on the grass and refused to think about it anymore. Under my breath, I practiced the cheer I’d come up with on the walk to Levitate this morning.
When the referee (there was only one) gave one long whistle, the players all stopped chasing the ball and jogged to the sidelines.
