Page 54 of What Are The Odds?
I shouldered my way through the crowd until I reached the hockey table. Tripp jumped up, draping a heavy arm around me in a one-armed hug. The hockey boys were all dressed in their hockey jackets. They’d had training this afternoon too. They’d been leaving when I arrived.
“You need a drink?” Tripp asked.
“Um–”
“I’ll get you one. Be right back.”
I guess I was drinking tonight. I stood on my tippytoes to scan the bar. Ryker had text earlier to say he was here. I could see a swarm of football jackets on the far side of the room. He must be over–
“Looking for me?”
Ryker’s familiar voice came from behind me. Turning, I looked up at him.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he smiled. “Perfect timing. The game has just started.”
I slipped off my jacket and draped it over my arm. With this many bodies, it was incredibly hot in here. Though without it I looked like I ought to be climbing into bed, not gearing up for a night at a bar. I should have taken Ryker up on his offer and just gone to his house tomorrow. I doubt we’d even be able to pay much attention to the game here. Most people seemed like they were gearing up to party. Not study. A table opened up between the hockey and football boys. Ryker gestured to it.
“Did you want to sit down?”
I nodded. He placed his hand on my lower back as he guided me to the free table. Sitting down was heavenly. I’d been on the go all day.
“Sorry about yesterday,” I said as Ryker pushed in my chair.
He was very chivalrous. Ryker’s team had their first loss of the season. He’d told me when I messaged him with the change of plans.
“We’ll bounce back. How was class?”
“You didn’t miss much.”
Rather than sit in the seat opposite me, Ryker sat beside me.
His leg brushed against mine as he leaned in and asked, “Who are we going for?”
I hadn’t taken a second to check who was even playing. Fremantle and Hawthorn. I didn’t overly care for either team. But, hello. Nat Fyfe.
“Freo,” I answered.
“The purple team?”
I nodded.
“Freo it is. Where are they from?”
“Western Australia.”
“And where are you from?”
“South Australia. We’re neighbours.”
Ryker edged his chair closer, craning to hear me. It was so loud in here.
“How do you score in this game?” he asked.
I gave him the abridged version of AFL. I’d learnt last week it was easier to explain as the game went on rather than try and sum it up. To his credit, Ryker listened patiently, asking questions to make sure he understood properly. With my hair now mostly dry, I combed my fingers through it before securing it messily atop my head. I had no idea what it looked like. Truth be told, I didn’t care either.
“What happened to you on Saturday night?” Ryker asked during an ad break. “Holloway told me you wouldn’t be back.”
