Free The Reluctant Wag by Mary Costello

way.’
    He looked at her, a little smile in his eyes and said, ‘Eat your gazpacho, it’s getting warm.’
    The meal was delicious and for a while she found herself relaxing as Cal answered her very basic questions about the game.
    ‘The tackling seems to work quite well,’ she said over dessert. ‘Why don’t you do it more often? The stats on the screen after the game said that Yarraside only had a hundred and thirty-one tackles.’
    He threw his head back and laughed. ‘That’s almost a preseason record for tackles. We did fine. We can’t spend the whole game on the ground.’
    ‘No, I suppose not,’ she said thoughtfully, absently tucking a stray curl behind her ear. ‘But there’s one thing I don’t understand. Everyone tells me that Yarraside is a powerhouse of the game – that you’ve got the greatest number of supporters, the best facilities and training staff, yet you haven’t won a premiership in such a long time. Why is that?’
    He paused and looked at her for a moment. ‘Are you sure you don’t barrack for the Devils?’ he asked bitingly.
    ‘No, I didn’t mean . . .’ She realised that she’d touched a nerve – she’d said the wrong thing. It was only a game to her, and one she didn’t begin to understand, but it was his whole life. She’d certainly put her foot in it. Her boot, even.
    ‘Look, I really don’t want to talk about footy any more. I get enough of this sort of grilling from the media.’ He paused and looked at her warily, ‘But then I suppose you’re part of the future media, aren’t you? Is that why you’re cross-examining me?’
    ‘I’m not cross-examining you. I’m just trying to understand —’
    ‘Don’t bother,’ he said, signalling to the waiter for the bill. ‘I’m sure that when you graduate you’ll turn your writing talents to something much more important than sport.’
    Damn! She’d done it again, and it had been going so well until she’d opened her big mouth.
    Fifteen minutes of tense silence later he pulled up outside her apartment and got out of the car to open the door for her. She smiled up at him, anxious to make up for her clumsiness, her ignorance. He’d been such good company before that. She’d actually enjoyed being with him.
    ‘Thanks for dinner. I had a great time. And, I’m sorry if I said anything, ah . . . inappropriate about the Wolves.’
    He merely smiled – somewhat sceptically, she thought – got back into his stupid, fancy car and drove off.
    Dinner had been a mistake, Cal told himself as he sat on the stone balcony of his home, staring out over the open spaces of Royal Park. It was almost three in the morning, he still couldn’t sleep, and not just because of the adrenaline. It was her. The most attractive and the most maddening woman he’d ever met. Correction – girl. She knew nothing and she knew everything. She had him puzzled. At moments she seemed completely naïve, but then she’d throw up that icy wall of superiority.
    And she had the gall to judge him. He could take it; he’d been judged by strangers, for as long as he could remember – the price you paid for having a father who captained the most famous sports club in the country. Strangers had been heaping expectations on him since his first day at school. Would he be like his dad? Could lightning strike twice in the same family, just a generation apart? He’d see to it that it would. He’d worked like a dog and fought like a Spartan to get where he was today. He would be mad to take his foot off the pedal now, just because of a woman.
    He sighed. But what a woman! He should have known he wouldn’t be able to resist her – she was so hot, even if she was prickly as hell. He stood up and paced along the balcony, even the smell of the gums sweating in the warmth of the night reminded him of her. He’d smelt the lemon myrtle in her hair that day at training. That day he’d just wanted to scoop her up and carry her inside into the shade.