Page 10 of Hard Ruck
“How many times did they dress you up as a fairy princess?” I asked.
He ended a longer silence with the words, “Too many.”
“So you took up football.” One of the most brutal sports a person could play.
He let out a frustrated sigh. “Two of my sisters played. They got me into it.”
“That’s kinda sweet,” I said.
He glanced over at me and grimaced. “Yeah, exactly. Assholes on my team used to call me Princess Atlas. I got them back by punching them in the face.”
“How old were you?” I asked.
“About eight. Don’t know how I didn’t get kicked off the team.”
Now I was picturing eight-year-old Atlas, a head full of curls, running around the footy field, taking swings at the other kids.
“I bet you were a handful,” I said.
He glanced over again and grinned. “Babe, I’ve always been a handful.”
I glanced down at his groin. “I’m sure you are.” He certainly looked like it.
“Happy to show you any time.” He pulled the truck onto the highway and drove for a few more minutes before pulling into a parking lot beside a small deserted beach.
“Isn’t this private property?” I glanced around before I followed him out of the truck.
“Yep.” He opened the back of the truck and pulled out a blue, plastic cooler. As long as his arm and almost as wide, it looked heavy. He made it seem effortless as he carried it to the beach, only the bulging of his biceps giving away the effort.
He lowered the cooler to the sand beside an unlit fire. He opened it, grabbed out a blanket and flicked it open.
He gestured for me to sit, before crouching beside the fire to get it started with a gas lighter. In moments, he had flames dancing, warming the cool evening.
“Let me guess, you own the place,” I said.
He glanced over at me as he tossed the lighter back into the cooler. “Yep. The beach and the ten acres around us.” He snatched up a couple of sticks that lay in the sand and took sausages out of the cooler. He speared the sticks through the centre of each sausage and handed one to me.
“I’ve never been big on fancy restaurants. Too many people watching you, curious about what you’re doing.” He sat beside me and dangled his sausage amongst the flames.
I followed his lead, watching carefully so I didn’t burn mine.
“I’ve noticed that,” I said. Had he had run-ins with Belinda? Chances were, he had. People like her got around. Until they didn’t. “Any regrets about going pro?”
“Only that one. Being scrutinised sucks." He turned his sausage to cook the other side. “And having to put up withdickheads like Storm Keller.” He glanced back in the direction of the road, as if expecting the fullback to appear and try to whisk me away.
“Storm isn’t so bad.” I turned my own sausage. “But this is nice.” The fire was warm enough to fend off the rapidly cooling air. The flames reflected off the waves, making them dance as they rolled onto the sand.
“I don’t usually bring people here,” Atlas said quietly. “I wanted us to go where we wouldn’t be disturbed. By anyone.”
“Are you talking about paparazzi, your teammates or both?” I asked, although I knew the answer. I got the impression he hadn’t had many male friends growing up. Like there were things girls only talked to other girls about, there must have been things boys kept between themselves. Not having that must have been difficult.
“Both,” he agreed. “Are they going to give you shit about going out with me?”
I responded the way he had. “Nothing I can’t handle. I’m seeing all three of them, but we’re not exclusive.”
“But you will be.” He pulled his sausage out of the flames, inspected it before plunging it back in.
“I might be,” I said. “Not with only one of them.”
