Only the Brave Try Ballet

‘You OK?’ Elise touched her arm.

Jasmine nodded. Now that she was outside, away from the dismissive glances and claustrophobic atmosphere of the Long Room, she felt marginally better.

Still, she’d prefer to be at home with a blanket, a good book and a cup of hot chocolate. Not here, freezing her butt off in a dress that seemed to be too dressy and yet not dressy enough. But Elise could be a bulldog when she wanted to; sometimes it was easier to give in rather than indulge her Goldilocks complex about her wardrobe.

More members piled out of the Long Room and into the balcony seats. They were mostly men in suits; the women seemed to be staying inside, except for a group of younger girls with extra-long hair extensions and too-short dresses. They occupied the front row, giggling and pointing as the players took to the field.

It was match time, and the fans were chomping at the bit. The Jaguars had won the coin toss and the players now jogged into position. The noise level in the stadium swelled. Even Jasmine couldn’t help but get caught up in the rush...just a little.

For some reason her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing Grant out there. She jumped as the siren sounded and the game began. A centre bounce set the ball into play and the crowd was on the edge of their seats from the first few seconds.

‘It’s going to be a close game,’ Elise said, her tone serious. ‘The Jags lost by a point last time they played the Suns, and only by two or three points the time before that.’

‘Since when are you such a football expert?’

‘Since there are hot guys in tiny shorts.’ She laughed.

Jasmine nodded. ‘Where’s Grant?’

She scanned the ground, looking for a familiar head of thick blond hair since that was about all she’d be able to see from the balcony. The players were quick, running at full speed as the ball flew from the centre towards the goalposts at one end. There was a mad scramble and the ball went out of play.

‘He’s the full forward.’ Elise pointed to the other end of the field. ‘Number eighteen.’

Jasmine spotted Grant’s hulking frame, his arms bulging in the sleeveless Jaguars guernsey. His muscles rippled as he moved, tense and ready to spring into action. She noticed one of his shoulders was covered in tattoos—something she hadn’t seen beneath the T-shirts he wore to her lessons. His blond hair shone under the stadium lights, and even at such a great distance she could see the focus on his face.

Her stomach clenched.

He was so masculine out there. So powerful. He moved with all the strength and grace of the big cat his team was named after. Each movement was practised and precisely executed. He tracked the other players effortlessly, moving to cover and dodge with incredible agility.

She swallowed, pushing down the attraction humming through her. He was so...virile.

The ball hurtled towards Grant. He sprang into action. It bounced, there was a flurry of arms and legs, and then he got his hands on it. He kicked. The ball sailed into the air, straight through the goalposts in a single graceful arc.

Around her the crowd roared; flags and scarves waved in a blur of black and green. She jumped to her feet and cheered. The air rushed out of her lungs as she shouted his name.

The players clapped one another on the back and Grant looked up towards the members’ area. Jasmine was certain he was looking straight at her. OK, so maybe she did get the appeal of the footballer...

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