Only the Brave Try Ballet

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...

FOUR

Grant’s muscles were freed, tired and a little bruised—just the way he liked it after a good massage. Most of the guys in his team booked their treatments around the schedule of a pretty brunette masseuse, but Grant much preferred the stout, middle-aged woman with knuckles of steel.

He gave his shoulders a tentative roll. They moved better than they had an hour ago, but he was tender to the touch. The game against the Suns had done a number on him. He’d pushed himself harder than ever, stretching himself beyond where he’d thought his limits were.

And all because he’d known Jasmine was watching.

Pushing thoughts of her from his mind, he walked into the reception area. People huddled at the front door, waiting for a break in the weather before they made a dash out to the car park. Rain pelted against the glass doors and lightning flashed amongst heavy clouds, illuminating the small patches of sky peeking through.

He smiled at the receptionist as she handed him a form to sign, her eyes inviting him to linger. He didn’t bother. He was far too preoccupied to engage in flirtation.

His mind was on other things—namely the fact that he couldn’t get a certain ballet teacher out of his head. It had been years since he’d felt genuine attraction to a woman—years since he’d had the urge to pursue a woman for something other than sex...though sex would definitely be involved.

When his ex-fiancée, Chelsea, had left him, abandoning their five-year relationship, it had felt like losing his family all over again. Since then he’d reassessed his approach to women. She’d departed with nothing but a scrawled note. He’d responded by limiting himself to a string of football groupies who were more about scratching an itch than genuine attraction. If he didn’t invest in a relationship then he couldn’t have it thrown back in his face. They all wanted to use him for something, so he kept them at a distance. He kept everyone at a distance.

Grant glanced back to the group of people waiting at the door and noticed a slender figure with a long black ponytail. Jasmine.

He scrawled his name on the form with haste and handed it back to the receptionist. He walked to the front of the room and slipped into the group until he stood directly behind her. She titled her head to the side and her ponytail swished against her back like a thick band of silk.

‘Don’t tell me you walked today.’ He leant forwards, his lips all but brushing her ear. The flowery scent of her perfume immediately made his stomach flip.

She turned. Her cheeks were flushed and a black smudge ran across her upper cheek.

‘I learned my lesson last time.’ She managed a smile, but it didn’t crinkle the corners of her eyes as it usually did. Her arms were crossed tight across her chest, though it was stuffy and warm inside the waiting room. Her mouth was a harsh line, the corners downturned slightly.

‘Is everything OK?’

‘I’m fine.’

Grant didn’t miss the way her body stiffened next to his.

‘Somehow I don’t believe you.’ Something within Grant shifted as Jasmine looked at him, her face a mask of forced composure.

‘Great game, by the way.’ The catch in her words made him want to wrap his arms around her. He fought back the urge and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘You killed it out there.’

‘The Suns didn’t stand a chance.’ He grinned, puffing his chest out. ‘And nice attempt at changing the subject.’ He nudged her in the ribcage with his elbow.

‘Am I that transparent?’

‘Yeah.’ He reached out and ran his thumb along the black line on her cheek. ‘Plus you have a little smudge on your face.’

‘I’m fine.’ Her eyes were wide, cheekbones flushed where he’d touched her a moment ago. Her breath hitched.

‘Don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re clearly not.’

She shook her head, looking towards the doors. He had the feeling that if he didn’t grab on to her then she might bolt through the clinic’s entrance into the rain. Usually it was he who had the itch to run, but not now.

He slung an arm around her shoulders as though they were old friends. The gesture should have felt platonic, safe...but the way she automatically pressed into his side felt anything but safe.

‘Let me take you for a coffee. It’ll make you feel better.’

Her faced tilted up to his. ‘That’s very sweet, but I’m OK. Honestly, I don’t need your help.’

‘You know you’re only supposed to say “honestly” if you’re telling the truth, right?’

She poked her tongue out at him.

‘Just coffee, then, and I won’t try to help.’ He grinned. ‘In fact I’ll be actively unhelpful if that makes you feel better.’

‘Persistent, aren’t you?’ She rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.

‘Yes.’

‘Is there any chance you’ll take no for an answer?’

‘Never.’

‘I guess I could use the caffeine.’

He took the opportunity and linked his arm through hers. ‘Let’s make a break for it. We’ll go in my car.’

Pushing forwards, he opened the doors against the raging wind and held Jasmine close. She shrieked as the rain hit them head-on, and they rushed down the pavement towards the car park. The ground was slippery and he held her tight so that her body bumped against him as they sprinted.

‘Quickly!’ she cried, her black hair whipping around her face like wet ebony ribbons.

He pulled her towards the second row of cars and fumbled with his keys. Jasmine let go of him, dashing around to the passenger side. The doors slammed loudly as they fell into the car in a rush, their breathing fogging up the windows of the Mercedes. Jasmine’s laugh was a punch to his gut; even drenched and puffing she was a vision.

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