Page 50 of The Player in New Zealand
We paused, watching the bar and the people around us. Most of the rest of the group was made up of tourists. Not many Kiwi accents that I could pick out.
“Just for the sake of discussion: How is this different from a date?”
“There’s no hope of a relationship, Tane,” I pointed out.
“But,” he said, gearing up to argue, “it’s a romantic setting. I’m buying you dinner. We’re going back to the same hotel where, unless I muck it up big-time somehow, we’re having sex. Guaranteed orgasms, right? I think you’d agree most dates don’t include that.”
“Too true,” I conceded.
“But at the same time, most dates don’t have a guaranteed relationship at the end either.”
Damn it. He was kind of making sense.
“What’s in it for you? Why do you want to call this a date so badly?”
He shrugged. “Maybe an ego boost? I haven’t had a date in years.” He gave me a self-deprecating smile.
“Years?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Not since I retired.”
“Hang on a minute. You’re hot, rich, and you played professional rugby. How are you not every Kiwi woman’s wet dream?”
He shrugged and frowned down at the glass in front of him, playing with the condensation on the outside. “While I was on the team, I definitely pulled my fair share of women.” His tone was flat, factual. “Once I wasn’t a pro anymore, I felt like I lost my luster. Or maybe it was my behavior for a while after my forced retirement. Either way, it’s been a while.”
“But that time I saw you in Wellington, when I was moving hostels? You were meeting a woman for dinner then.”
“Ah.” He shifted a little bit, embarrassment rolling over his face. “She wasn’t a date. She’s a sobriety coach.”
“What about...” I scrunched up my face, trying to remember the name of the woman he’d been pictured with at some black-tie rugby event. “Blond? Busty?”
“Nelly?”
I nodded and something dark flashed across his face. Anger, or hurt?
“We were nothing.” He said it curtly enough that I felt the sting. “She was a gold digger, basically.”
“Her loss. Well, if it makes you feel better, it’s been a while for me too. I’m sure I haven’t forgotten anything, though.” I winked while taking a sip.
“I may have forgotten things, but I take instructions well.” His mood shifted, eyes twinkling at me in the firelight. “So tell me: If your fingers don’t do it, what does?”
“Ooo, looking for tips?” I teased him, leaning in close so as to not be overheard by the guests around us. Tane came closer, and I brushed my lips against his ear while I answered, my voice dropping low. “I like to be bent in half and fucked hard.”
Any response Tane had was lost as we were interrupted by the announcement for dinner. I stepped ahead of him, assuming he’d follow.
The guests were led to the next room over, where long family-style tables were set up and laden with large platters of food. Everyone took random seats, and I turned around to ask Tane where he wanted to sit but found that he wasn’t behind me.
I backtracked to the main room. Tane was still standing behind the high table like a loner at a high school prom.
Come on, I gestured.
Tane looked pointedly down at his lap, which I couldn’t see in the shadows under the table. I twisted my lips to keep in a laugh.
I snagged a seat next to a couple who introduced themselves—Amy and David from America—and put a napkin on the back of the empty seat next to me for Tane. A staff member drew our attention and described the dishes. As he was explaining dessert—something called pavlova—the chair next to me pulled back and Tane took a seat. He mock glared at me and I gave him wide innocent eyes.
A steady hum of conversation grew as plates were passed and stories shared.
And Tane was back to his fake-boyfriend setting. He had his arm around my chair, giving gentle nudges while he teased me, making eye contact when someone asked us questions as if we were a couple.
