Page 42 of The F*ck-It List

I catch her smile in my periphery and dart my gaze over to her, smiling back. “And you want to try them?”

“And I want to try them.”

thirteen

No. 11: Try a new sport

August

Eli and I have been on this Rugby team for over a decade. It’s not an official team, we don’t meet weekly or take part in any kind of league, we just play charity matches against similar teams when someone can be bothered to organise it. I always enjoy it and because I’m bigger than anyone else on the pitch, I’m at an advantage.

I brought Bea and Connor with me, my truck smelling like chocolate the whole journey, and now they’re stood behind a foldaway table talking to the onlookers for today’s match. Bea catches my eye and smiles, giving me a small wave that has my lips tipping up and that weird flutter in my chest kickstarting again.

“You are so into her,” Eli says by my side, ball tossing between his hands.

“Fuck off,” I snap, dragging my gaze from Bea and pretending like I wasn’t just giving her heart eyes.

“Nope,” my best friend says, obviously enjoying himself way too much. “We’re teammates, bud, you’ve got to put up with me. And I’m going to be pointing out every time you moon over that girl.”

“You know what?” I turn on him, totally ready to tell him how wrong he is, but my eyes catch on the team across the pitch, and my fake ire turn into real rage. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

Eli turns to follow my glare, and I see the way he tenses, making me all the more pissed. Ross Purcell stands with our opposing team, dressed in uniform and stretching. “I guess he’s playing,” Eli says.

Fucking perfect. “If he says anything to you, I’m going to punch him,” I growl and Eli turns back to look at me with sad eyes and his lips pressed into a thin line. “No, you won’t. That’s not you.”

“Watch me.” I stare Eli down, letting him know how serious I am. Ross was a dick to Eli all through high school, made his life difficult, bullied him for being gay, and even got physical with him a couple of times. He’s a fucking arsehole and I don’t want my friend to have to deal with that again.

“School was a long time ago, August.” Eli sighs. “I’m sure Ross has grown up along with the rest of us.”

“You’re too forgiving,” I tell my friend, wishing I could be so positive sometimes. “Just stay away from him and I’ll make sure he stays away from you.”

Eli smirks. “You know I don’t need a bodyguard, right?”

This is true. I’m taller than Eli, but I’m taller than everybody, but he’s jacked. He has a gym in the cellar at the pub, and he basically works out whenever he’s not working, runs every morning come rainor shine, and he’s a fucking beast on the pitch. I have height and a natural bulk on my side, but I can’t be bothered with working out, my belly is soft, and a fair amount of my bulk isn’t muscle. Still, I could take Ross fucking Purcell.

“No, but it doesn’t mean you don’t have one.” I clap him on the shoulder, and he gives me a small smile.

“Love you too,” he tells me, and I grunt. “But, remember your impressionable nephew is here. Hard to give him shit for getting into fights at school if you pummel Ross to the ground for looking at me wrong.”

I shrug. “I’ll make it work.”

Eli shakes his head, but he’s smiling as we’re called to start. The ref calls for a friendly game in keeping with the men’s mental health charity we’re raising money for and when Ross grins at me like a fucking psychopath, I know it’s not going to go well.

For a while I forget all about Ross and play a good game. Eli and I working well together, just as we have for twenty-five years, since our parents first put us into little league. Eli has speed and precision; I have the tackle power of a raging bull. Any time I’m not running, my eyes find their way to Bea, she seems to have a steady stream of people visiting her stall, and she’s always chatting and smiling to whoever’s there.

It’s when I’m distracted, looking in Bea’s direction for the approximate millionth time, that Ross flies into me, knocking us both to the ground with enough force the wind is knocked out of my lungs. Holy fuck, I might have broken a rib. The pain is intense but not too much for me to shove Ross off of me.

“Zelig, you okay?” Tony, our ref says, running over. “What the hell happened? I didn’t see anything.”

Yeah, probably because the ball is the other side of the pitch and there was absolutely no reason for me to be tackled.

“Sorry about that, Zelig,” Ross pants, clambering to his feet with a smug grin. “Didn’t see you there.”

I’m still catching my breath, so I don’t say anything, but I see Tony frown at Ross and hear thudding footsteps on the grass. “Hey, you good?” Eli asks, coming up to me with a look of concern and holding his hand out to pull me up.

“Peachy,” I say, letting him haul me to my feet.

Play continues and when I dart my gaze back to the concession tables, Bea is no longer behind her stall but standing on the side of the pitch, face pinched in worry. I give her a small smile of reassurance and jog back into position, ignoring the smarting in my side.