Our antics hadn’t gone unnoticed.
DJ started laughing and said, “Keep up the hand work, coach. She’s flustered now and we have a chance.”
At least my hand went unnoticed, I think.
“You never had a chance,” Joel said as he looked at me.
His hand continued rubbing across my lower back and hip, his fingers skimming down an inch or two past the waist of my pants. I needed to gather my wits. I was better than this and could wipe the floor with these guys. I moved my chair just a tad closer to Joel and rubbed my finger up a little higher.
I won.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Timberwolves’ stadium was smaller, but the excitement matched that at The Slam’s home field. Red shirts were scattered here and there with a few larger groups standing out among the sea of gray. I proudly wore my red shirt, which was a bit too tight after washing it and wearing a normal bra. From the heated look Joel gave me before we left our room, he didn’t seem to mind. My feeling of discomfort had lessened slightly, but as I walked around the stadium I couldn’t help but notice men looking directly at my chest. Women actually paid for breasts the size of mine, which was mind-boggling. Another fracture occurred in my shield taking away the desire to hide my breasts. I straightened my shoulders and walked with my head up.
I took the borrowed camera into the locker room and caught a few players in their undershorts. At least Joel told me that was the correct word for the skin-tight material that left nothing to the imagination. If the guys wore these when they played rugby, the sport would be a tad more popular. Joel just rolled his eyes when I pointed this out.
I caught a picture of him too. They were tossing a rugby ball around and I snapped the shot as his arms extended over his head and he caught it. The small digital viewing screen on the camera didn’t do his powerful build justice. I couldn’t wait to transfer the photo to my laptop. All of Stub’s photos were pre-approved by the players and I planned to get Joel’s consent to use this one.
I had a stadium seat along with a pass to the field again. I walked among the friendly Timberwolves’ fans and took good-natured ribbing for my team color. The college football games I attended did not have this kind of acceptance with one team versus another. In my first article for the Journal I tried capturing the camaraderie between opposing teams, but I’m not sure if I could with words.
Fun. That’s what rugby fans attended matches for.
Beer. The after party celebration regardless if your team won or lost.
Loyalty. To rugby—to your color.
My descriptions fell horribly short. In the article, I tried explaining how rugby was slowly changing me—a non-athletic person, and all around unenthusiastic sports dissenter. Changing me into a proud fan.
The pre-match events began. I sang the National Anthem as loudly as everyone else and wrapped the spirit of the match around me. Joel walked onto the field and shook the referees’ hands along with the opposing team’s captain’s hand. Joel and Van captained together and traded off representing the team each match.
The whistle blew and the first forty-minute half began. I watched from the sidelines. The pace seemed faster than the previous match I attended—the grunts louder—and the blood flowed freer. It wasn’t my imagination. The whistle also blew more often than during my first match, interrupting the game with penalties. Both sides earned attempts at goals and by the end of the half each team had scored from two kicks apiece. I heard Joel yelling at his guys, lining them up, and then I heard Van.
Van hadn’t played cards in the hotel lobby, and I have no idea what he did before the game. Without him around I relaxed and had more fun. I had trouble believing a couple of blows to the face knocked some sense into him. I needed to discuss my feelings with Joel sometime over the next week, if they won, that is, and I remained in town.
After the ten-minute recess between halves, Joel went to the blood bin with a particularly nasty cleat to the forehead. I was close enough to see a trainer hold the incision together and apply Super Glue to it. I could also see a large scrape on his elbow and the match was barely half over. He was back in the match two minutes later. If he hadn’t returned in ten minutes his substitution player would be permanent. Joel wasn’t the only one beat up. Scrapes, bruises, and dirt covered players from both teams.
After Joel went back on the field, I had all I could take of up-close-and-personal rugby. I headed to my seat in the stands. Gray shirts surrounded me. I knew Charlie and Stub were here somewhere, but I had no idea where their seats were located. The couple next to me was nice enough to explain what I didn’t understand. Even after all my studying there were nuances I needed help with.
Halfway into the second half, the referee sent Van to the sin bin and boos came from around the stadium.
“What happened?” I asked Stacy, the woman beside me.
“Late tackle. He received ten minutes in the sin bin. Van’s a great player, but he’s over the top, along with being a sneaky bastard when it comes to getting out of penalties. The refs don’t catch half of them.”
She seemed much too familiar with Van’s reputation. “You know Van?”
She gave me a long look. “I’m sure every single woman in all surrounding state knows Van Stelson.”
Her husband, Ben, gently bumped her. “No,” she laughed, “I don’t know him quite like that, but he wreaks havoc with the ladies before and after a match. My cousin spent a night with him last year. I had to listen to her sighs over the man’s body for months.”
“You enjoyed every play by play,” her husband muttered with a smile.
“He’s wrong,” she said, giving her husband a small jab with her elbow. I want to know about the other brother. Can’t you tell that I like the large brooding type?” She nodded to her short, bald husband, but he didn’t seem to mind. “My cousin told me the brothers had a knock down drag out fight over a woman yesterday. Lucky girl.”
Crap, gossip was everywhere. I wasn’t lucky, just really stupid, and the fight was my fault. Maybe it was Van that I needed to settle this with. A cheer went up around me and I turned my thoughts back to the match.
The Timberwolves scored the first try of the match and they were up by six after their field goal. I could see by Van’s body language that he was furious. He kicked a cup of water and said a few choice words I couldn’t hear and could only imagine. His time in the sin bin was finally up and he re-entered the match just in time to join the scrum. Van’s late tackle took The Slam down a player and the Timberwolves had used his sin bin time to their advantage.
Joel slapped his brother on the back. I think to calm him down. Van was the impulsive one and the chick magnet. Like I would ever forget that.
The Slam gained control of the ball on the scrum and began attacking the goal. Three perfect passes later, Van was tackled. Elf scooped up the ball, tossed it back to Joel and Joel tossed it to Quibly, who returned it to Van. He dove onto the try line and I was on my feet. Quibly’s following kick was good and it was a tie match with two minutes of play left. Everyone remained standing as the excitement swelled around me.
In the last seconds, Van tossed the ball to Quibly and Quibly drop-kicked it. I went to my tip toes as the ball flew upward. In what seemed like slow motion, it traveled through the goal posts. Whistles blew and the match was over.
Shouts went up from Slam fans and I was part of it. A few minutes later, I shook hands with Stacy and Ben and thanked them for helping me. I slowly made my way back to the locker room. The cheers met my ears before I arrived and I couldn’t help smiling. My smile only grew when I walked into a plethora of bare skin and muscle. The guys were slapping Quibly on the back and he was grinning ear to ear. Van noticed me first and picked me up, giving me a big sweaty hug. Before I could panic, Joel was there taking me from Van’s arms. Excitement showed in every line of his face. I couldn’t help lightly touching his glued wound.
He shook his head. “Doesn’t hurt,” he said giving me a muc
h longer hug than his brother had.
I started taking note of all his scratches and bruises. He had another gash on his shin with a trail of blood running down his leg. I couldn’t believe he escaped the blood bin with that one. The players’ wives had told me their men came home after a match beat up and wild in bed. They said it was the next day before the true baby in them came out. I had a feeling I would be finding out firsthand.
With this win, I had another week with Joel.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After a few pictures of beat-up but happy players, I left the locker room and waited for Joel outside so he and the rest of the team could shower. He walked out wearing shorts that showed his scraped up legs, a red t-shirt molded to his chest, and his bag slung over his shoulder. I wanted to thread my fingers through his wet hair. He gave me a relieved smile when he saw me waiting outside the locker room.
Sitting his bag down, he planted his arms against the wall behind me, caging me in. “Thanks for waiting.” His head dipped and he kissed me with an intensity that had my pulse soaring.
“Get a room,” was shouted from one of his teammates as a group of them left the locker room. They all laughed.
I blushed, but Joel didn’t look their way or acknowledge them at all. “We’ll be drinking heavily tonight. Are you ready?”
“Ready?”
“You didn’t stick around last week. I want you with me tonight. I just need to warn you that it gets rowdy.”
“I can handle rowdy.” His teammates forgotten, I went up on my toes and kissed him.
We walked to the bus hand in hand with a few other players joining us. Before the bus took off, cold beer cans from a cooler in the back were tossed to all the players. Joel captured one for me and gave a sly grin. “Tradition,” he said before the countdown began.
They shouted, “Three, two, one, slam it.”
As one, cans were tipped back and guzzled. I tried. The beer was horrible. Joel removed the can from my fingers and drank it down. He added my empty can to the others tossed into the center aisle as “Slam, Slam, Slam” filled the small confines of the bus.
Rowdy didn’t quite cover the beginning of the celebration. It wasn’t until we reached the bar that I understood the significance of the cans thrown on the bus’s floor. The stomping crackle as players left the bus was pretty juvenile. They purposely smashed and kicked the cans forward as they left the bus.
Joel and I left the bus last and Joel held a plastic garbage bag while the bus driver gathered the cans. They had obviously done this before. We walked into the bar and I immediately noticed players from the other team. Pitchers of beer lined the bar along with glasses. Joel kept me close to his side and grabbed a pitcher. “Grab two glasses,” he yelled as he looked around for a table. The noise was deafening, and ordering wine was out of the question. I grabbed the glasses and followed him to the table where his brother and Mike sat.
Charlie and Stub walked in and scrounged two chairs to sit with us. I hugged them both before they began guzzling beer as fast as everyone else.
One of the players, I think it was the Timberwolves’ captain, jumped onto the bar and raised his glass. “To the badass Slam. All the way, motherfuckers.”
I could only shake my head. An hour ago they were killing each other on the field and now the Timberwolves cheered The Slam. The tap beer was better than the canned variety and after the second one it wasn’t so bad at all.
Two women walked in, one laughing loudly as they both gave obvious looks Van’s way. I glanced at Van, who was watching the ladies like they were prey. Without saying a word, he got up from the table and left us. I turned to Joel.
“You okay?” He rested his hand on mine.
I smiled. “Quite okay.”
“You ready to get a little more rowdy?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, just nodded my head.
“Hand me my beer when I’m upright.”
I watched in shock as shy Joel stood precariously on the table. He put his hand down for the beer. “Memememememe,” he kind of sang, or more like croaked out in a loud voice. It got everyone’s attention and they all turned his way. I about died when he held his beer out and started singing.
“I know a bear that you all know.”
The crowd shouted back, “Yogi, Yogi.”
“I know a bear that you all know.”
“Yogi, Yogi Bear. Yogi, Yogi Bear, Yogi, Yogi Bear.” Their combined voices were deafening.
“I know a bear that you all know.”
“Yogi, Yogi Bear.”
Van’s voice took over as Joel downed his beer and jumped off the table, “Yogi’s got a little friend.”
“Booboo, Booboo.” I turned and saw Charlie and Stub yell-singing too.
“Yogi’s got a little friend.”
“Booboo, Booboo Bear, Booboo, Booboo Bear, Booboo, Booboo Bear.”
Van kissed the closest woman to him and continued. “Yogi’s got a little friend.”
“Booboo, Booboo Bear.”
I caught on to the lyrics as someone else took over another verse. The next verse was about Yogi’s girlfriend, Cindy, followed by Cindy likes it on the fridge, polar, polar bear. I almost died again when the next guy sang, “Booboo likes it up the ass.”
And the crowd came back with, “Brown Bear, Brown Bear.”
Um, I missed something in all my research. Joel put an arm around my shoulder and sang with everyone else. From Cindy being a grizzly bear because she never shaved her pubes to Yogi being a daddy bear because he didn’t use a condom. I was laughing as much as singing.
I had no time to grasp how crazy rugby players and fans were because when that song ended, another began about a gang bang. Joel sang as loudly as everyone else. More beer flowed and more songs about sex filled the bar. Nothing had anything to do with rugby. I have no idea how many beers I drank, but I had one of the best times in my life.
Insane.
Rugby players and fans were insane. There was no way I could ever write about this night, it was past being obscene and halfway to indecent. The songs continued off and on for hours.
“You’re a true rugby fan now,” Joel said as he kept me from falling on my face, turning me to the first bus seat instead. I rested against him hoping my head would stop spinning. How he was still walking was beyond me. The man never stopped drinking even after I switched to water.
“Do rugby fans get a kiss?” I slurred followed by a hiccup.
Joel twirled his finger in my hair bringing me closer. He kissed my forehead and pressed the side of my face against his chest.
“You’re going to hate me in the morning.”
“No, never,” I mumbled against his shirt.
Joel practically carried me into our room. I remember him trying to help me out of my clothes and then my rowdy night ended as the world went dark.
The blackout curtains didn’t show the nine-thirty morning sun when I finally woke up. My splitting headache held all the memories from the night before. Joel’s hand rested on my belly, and from the sound of his breathing, he was out cold.
What time did the bus leave? I thought sleepily. I pulled eleven from my fuzzy brain. I was safe. I rolled over and managed to push off the bed. The room spun a little, but I got myself upright without falling.
I heard Joel groan, “What time is it?” He pulled a pillow over his head, the rest of him deliciously naked, though there was no way I was in the mood to take advantage of it. Such a shame, I thought as I stumbled to the bathroom.
I looked down at myself and realized I wore my bra and underwear. I can’t believe I slept that way. “Nine-thirty,” I finally answered.
“Wake me in an hour,” he said with another low groan. It was nice to know the beer affected him more than I’d thought. I made it to the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and cringed when the lightning stabbed into my brain when I switched on the light. I took some ibuprofen, brushed my teeth, and stepped into the shower. After about ten minu
tes, I felt better, though I needed food. Joel slept through me getting dressed and leaving the room. I had to smile. He’d surprised me with his singing the night before. I liked all facets of Joel Stelson. Hell, I needed to admit to myself that I loved everything about the man.
I took the elevator downstairs, turned the corner into the breakfast area, and came to a sudden halt. Van was the only player sitting in the room. A hotel employee was clearing the last of the food away and my stomach flip-flopped.
“You missed breakfast by ten minutes,” Van said after he took his last bite of food.
“I’ll go to the diner across the street.” I turned as soon as I said it. I didn’t want to be alone with Van.
“Hey, wait up. I’m finished here and I’ll keep you company.”
I turned back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He was already sitting his empty plate on the counter with the other dirty plates. He walked over. “You still got a thing for me, Cami?”
He was such a jerk. “No.”
“Then what’s the problem? Come on, I’ll buy.”
“No, thank you. I’ll buy my own food.” God, I sounded like a bitch. He had the right to go wherever he wanted. I just didn’t want him near me. Not alone at least. I walked out and made my way across the street. Van walked beside me and had me hustling when a car got too close.
The waitress seated us immediately. I hid behind my menu, covering my face, and examined the all-day breakfast entrées. I didn’t lower the menu until the waitress came back with our coffees and took my order. She walked away with my shield and Van knew it.
“What are you going to use now?” He was fighting a grin, which just ramped up my anger.
“This is such a joke to you. I’m one of too many women who fall for your shit and now that I’m conquered, you need to rub it in. Please leave me alone.”
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