Page 5 of The Player in New Zealand
I winced. “That’s a rough one. I was looking at pictures,” I said, defending myself.
Her tone got suggestive. “Looking at the pictures, huh? Why look when you can see him in person?”
“Excuse me, Miss I Have a Boyfriend.” Iris had been dating Chris for almost two years and they lived together in Chicago. I had hated that Iris had moved away from our home in Boston, but eventually, when things with my ex–best friend, Devon, had gotten out of hand, I was glad she was away from it.
“Come on, Claire. Eye candy. Hello.”
“Well, he doesn’t look like that anymore,” I insisted.
“This picture I’m looking at is, like, two years ago. He can’t look that bad.”
“He doesn’t look bad. He’s just... different.” I swiped up and carefully typed Tane’s name into the search bar and switched to image search. “First of all, he’s very trim in these photos. Tane now has gotten a bit... soft. And squishy.”
“That’ll happen when you quit playing sports professionally.”
“And when you drink too much,” I pointed out.
Iris was quiet for a moment. “Do you think he has a drinking problem?”
“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “It’s not okay to yell at people or to be sloppy drunk or have to have your sister take care of you when you can’t find your way home even if it’s just up a flight of stairs.”
She tsked over the phone line. “Maybe he needs help.”
“I spent five minutes in his presence and I know he needs help. But that’s not up to me.”
I couldn’t read the silence on the other end of the line, but I figured Iris was probably browsing photos or reading more articles, so I did too.
“I said shirtless,” she muttered a few minutes later.
“What?” I choked out while laughing.
“I’m talking to the internet. Looking for ‘Tane Taumata shirtless’ didn’t work.” I heard a huff of indignation through the phone.
“He’s not your type, Iris.”
“He’s not your type either. Raging asshole is no one’s type.” There was a moment’s pause. “But he’s still fun to look at.”
“So.” I tilted my head and took on a cheery tone. “How’s your boyfriend?”
I could practically hear her eyes roll from Chicago, but she allowed the change of topic anyway and launched into the latest news about Chris and his job. He wasn’t my favorite person, but he seemed to make her happy. And I knew that he made more money than my sister and helped her have a good life, which had freed up some of her cash to help me.
But I also think he complained about money a lot. It stung because I already felt bad enough about it. I didn’t need to also be responsible for tension in their relationship.
I listened to her talk while I flossed and brushed my teeth in the communal bathroom, finally saying goodbye as my sister, halfway around the world, got in her car to go to work.
I tiptoed into the dorm and lay down on my bed. Staring at the bunk above me, I wished I’d changed the topic of conversation away from Tane. The confrontation was all I could think about. I hadn’t lied to Iris—I really was okay. Really.
But my final thoughts were that even if I wasn’t going to be fired, maybe I should look for a new job anyway.
THREE
Morning brought reality.Leaving my job would be irresponsible. I needed to repay Iris and work on saving up for a plane ticket back home, as well as some basics like eating something other than canned soup and peanut butter sandwiches.
I might be fired. Or I might not.
As I turned on my phone, the still-open browser filled my screen with pictures of Tane. I gave them one more look. Then I clicked over and finally read the whole Wikipedia article—which, to be fair, wasn’t that long—and went down a rabbit hole. Beyond the rugby games played on the Boston Common or back in high school, I knew very little about the sport. Except that it was a rough game.
So Tane Taumata and his sister who, so far, I adored, owned the bar together. He had drunk too much the night before and was probably going to fire me.
