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“And you brought him because?”
“Because he made an arse of himself then apologised so damn sweetly I felt sorry for him. He’s my cuz. He’s the brother I never had. Why do you care that he’s here?”
Bree knew why she cared. It was too close for comfort, but she wasn’t sure which part of what Toni said to react to first. Anthony being an arse, that he could apologise sweetly, or that he could make anyone feel sorry for him.
The being an arse thing she could see. He’d been an arse to her this week, just for violating the unspoken principles of their territorial deal and coming into the office early. He’d invaded the peace of her mornings with his strong smelling take-away coffee, his brooding dark looks and general pissed-off-with-her-ness.
Then he’d written an absolutely cracker report on demand uncertainty that Doug had taken straight to Bryan, who’d come out of his lair to personally talk to Anthony. And she was supposed to be The Senior Analyst.
Worse she knew he was breathing down her neck in the share portfolio competition, which she was supposed to win. Had to win, otherwise everyone would think her promotion was about skirts and heels, not the quality of her work.
They’d been taking their places on the team bench when Detonator waved at him across the stadium and pointed him out. Bree nearly stacked. Anthony wasn’t in his Armani or Boss, just jeans and a t-shirt, he wasn’t even clean shaven, a dark shadow of stubble on his jaw. And he was tanned and his t-shirt emphasised what his suit didn’t—a wall of chest and shoulder, narrow hips and powerful legs. Yeah, he was a sex god out of the office as well as in. And that was so inconvenient.
He’d brought a crowd with him, three girls and four other guys. Bree watched them find a row of seats that would take them all and settle in. From the strategic placement of arms and hands she worked out the girls were all accounted for, which left a cute athletic looking blonde guy and Anthony as the only two not partnered up—unless.
“Tone, is he gay?”
“Ant! God no. He’s a player. Big time. Kind of a slut I suspect. He embarrassed himself by asking me out.”
“He asked you out. And you’re like cousins, siblings, and he didn’t know?”
Toni shrugged. “He stopped paying attention to me a long time ago. It was a very awkward moment, but since our families run together I’ll have to see him for the rest of my life, I didn’t want it to be strained, so I asked him to come watch. Anyway what does it matter? Why are you so concerned he’s going to recognise you?”
“Because I’m The Senior Analyst, and senior analysts at Australia’s oldest and most respected stockbroker do not play in a full contact roller derby league and wear undies everyone can see with Bite Me written on them.”
The Detonator laughed. “Well maybe they should. Why are you ashamed of it? I looked up your stats. Kitty Caruso is one of the league’s best jammers.”
“I’m not ashamed. I just don’t think it’s anyone at work’s business.”
Detonator took her eyes off the new bout in progress, Trash Talking Tarts versus Impossible Princesses and looked at her. “He’s a good guy, Bree. You could trust him.”
“I think he’s a jerk. There are only six of us in the mining equities team, we all got hired together twelve months ago and until I got promoted he hardly knew I existed. He only noticed me because I beat him and given
he’s a big boofy bloke, that damaged his fragile little ego. Now he’s trying to out-compete me. I can do without him knowing anything about me, especially something that could hurt my reputation.”
Bree puffed out a breath, snatched another. This really was annoying. Derby was her sanctuary, rough, loud, fast, intensely competitive. It was the place she could let off steam, shout and shove, push and parade around saying ‘looking at me’, and no one would judge her for being a show-off, a big mouth or an aggressive piece of work.
They’d love her for it.
If she did any of those things in the office, even toned down she’d be branded a diva, a trouble-maker, hard to work with and on her way out the door. Because what was good for the blokes was not good for the chicks. If a bloke was aggressive, loud, pushy and competitive, it was his hot ticket to the top. It was all so unfair. And now that dark and Euro-surly was sitting in her stadium, dirtying up her sanctuary she had one more reason to resent him.
Toni grunted. “Ah, it’s like that. I’m glad I work with knives and I’m top dog. No one threatens me in my kitchen unless they want to be looking for a job in someone else’s before the shift is over.
Bree sighed. Maybe if she waved a few knives around at Petersens they’d forget she wore heels and be too manhood-threatened not to get out of her way.
Toni bumped her, elbow pad to elbow pad. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
She nearly left the seat. “Oh fuck no!”
Toni elbowed her again and laughed. She shouted, “Okay, okay. I won’t say a word,” over the half time music starting up, Adam Ant singing Goody Two Shoes.
They waited while the Trash Talkers and the Princesses left the track, going to their team benches for a short break to allow the fans to top up on junk food and hopefully shell out on team merchandise, which along with the players’ dues kept the league alive.
There was little sponsorship, no prize money, no pay to play, no fame. Like lots of women’s sports, roller derby simply didn’t rate the attention of mainstream media, so the fan base was smaller than it might’ve been, and with the costs of the stadiums, event management and insurances, keeping the league running was a dicey undertaking.
It was easily as fast as basketball, almost as rough as football, it was strategic like soccer, and far more exciting than cricket, but since it was a woman’s sport, it was only second best. Bree tugged the snap on her helmet and resettled it on her head. Second best could very well be the story of her career if she didn’t stay focussed at work. Maybe Anthony showing up on her patch was a sign. Maybe it was time to give this up. She’d missed more training sessions than she’d made it to this year. The risk of an injury and having to lie about it was high, and now the risk of exposure was higher. Hopefully, G-man would only come this once and go back to whatever else it was he did when he wasn’t dissing territorial agreements and embarrassing himself by asking the wrong girl out.
She watched him and his friends, sharing out cans of drink and hot chips. It was hard to imagine him embarrassed. Harder still to imagine him doing anything sweetly, and impossible to conceive he didn’t have a girlfriend. Toni said he was a player; he probably juggled a dozen women. She sat forward and scrutinised him across the track with the benefit of knowing she could without being caught. If he juggled a dozen why did he come alone today, and why was he watching the couple beside him kiss with what looked like envy?
