2. Round 2

2

ROUND 2

Paige

“ A nd how many for you, Paige?”

I could never remember this guy’s name. Maybe Mitch? “I’m in a rush. Later?” I have an appointment and started work a little early, so I can take extra time at lunch. It meant I spent the morning focusing on editing copy for a local landscaping firm for their social media.

It wasn’t what I trained for specifically, but it was something I could do, and it meant I hadn’t been deported.

“Come on. Five dollars each, or five for twenty.” The guy who was maybe Michael encouraged. I’m sure it started with an M.

I handed over a twenty-dollar note. It was still strange having plastic notes, but I washed fifty dollars in my jeans pocket last weekend, and there were no tears at all. This office lived on raffles. The social club had a fundraising arm, and this year chose the kids’ ward at the Bayview Cove Hospital to receive the funds. I swear last week the tickets were two dollars each or three for five, but inflation, hey? Last Friday, Jenny, our boss, won a meat tray, like a tray filled with sausages, ground beef, steak, and hamburger patties .

Rushing out the glass doors that were emblazoned with the company logo, I was glad that fall was with us and the sweltering temperatures of summer were behind us. I keyed the address of the building I was heading to into my phone and am following the map, even though it literally was just around the corner.

We are in an older part of town. The streets are lined with towering oak trees that look as though the branches are reaching for the sun. I can’t blame them. I want nothing more than to spend my lunch break sitting in a park, pointing my face to the golden orb in the sky, but I promised to be somewhere else today. This isn’t New York. It isn’t even Sydney. There are a few people on the sidewalks, but definitely no crowds.

I find number twenty-three, the old Bayview Prudential Building, and check my watch. Whereas our building had an automatic glass door that ushers people from the street, this building has an old-fashioned timber and glass door with a large brass handle that I have to pull to enter. The floors are tiled with what looks like black-and-white stone, and you can see where they are worn in patches. They show character.

The email said Marj Tang was on the second floor. I have to remind myself that this was actually the third floor, as Aussies have the habit of having a ground floor and counting it with the first floor being on level two. The elevator doors creak as they open, but I’m not nervous to take the ride. I’m nervous to be meeting the therapist I’ve agreed to see.

The lift stops on the right floor, and I follow the arrow to Bayview Cove Psychology. Another timber and glass door greets me, but this is lighter than the one at the entrance to the building.

“Hi, I’m Paige Larson. I’m here to see Dr Tang,” I blurt as the receptionist looks up at me.

She puts me at ease as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and offers me a smile. “She’s not a doctor, Paige, but she will get a kick out of you calling her one. I see you’ve completed your forms online, so take a seat, and Marj will be with you shortly.”

The room is decorated in purple and gold. The cushions on the chairs are purple with gold crowns in the centre, and there is a framed jumper with a similar logo. It must be the town colours, as they are prominent everywhere. There are magazines on the table in front of me, and I pick one up to flick through, but slam it shut when there is yet another spread featuring Lyle J. The image of him makes bile rise in my throat. Once again, his indiscretions get glossed over while I’ve been left to pay the price by having to move interstate.

He’s one of the reasons I’m here, I suppose.

Actually, he’s the reason I’m here. Well, that and Brittany threatening to jump on a plane and drag me to talk to someone herself. Although, I’d love to see her. I miss her so much.

“Paige?” I drop my purse nervously as I stand. Fortunately, it’s zipped closed, so nothing falls out. I bend to pick it up, throwing the strap over my shoulder before knocking my shin on the low table as I try to make my way to the doorway the therapist stands in front of.

“Hi, sorry.” I giggle. I actually giggle like I’m a teenager again. This is not going well.

For all my jerky movements, Marj is graceful, moving like a swan on the water. Her neck is long, which probably has me thinking of swans, as are her fingers. Her dark, bobbed hair is peppered with grey. Even though she is dressed in an all-black ensemble, multicoloured chunky earrings adorn her lobes, and her fingers are covered in gold rings, many of which look like they house precious stones.

“Take a seat, Paige,” Marj instructs as she closes the door behind me. I walk across the room and sink into a luxurious armchair. I want to ask her where it came from, as I want one at home. It moulds to my body, and I feel like I’m being enveloped in a warm hug. It’s a weird feeling and one that has me letting out a deep breath as I immediately relax. Marj takes a seat opposite me and pours us both a glass of water from a tall jug. “Now, I’m Marj Tang, and I understand these sessions are being paid for by your employer?”

“Ah, former employer, yes.” I nod.

“Okay. Well, I want to assure you that none of the content of the sessions will be relayed back to them or to anyone else.” Marj picks up a digital tablet and presses some buttons on the screen. “Now, it says here you work in media.”

I close my eyes before letting out a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Thanks, Nate.” Jenny claps her hands, and we all join in the applause. Nate, not Mitch or Mike as I thought earlier in the week, was showing a new digital platform he thought we might adopt in the office. It was our weekly Friday afternoon staff meeting. All twenty-three of us gathered in the largest space in the building. It was hard for everyone to see, and as I wasn’t really involved in digital manipulation, I chose to hide in a back corner.

This is my second meeting, and it contained a lot of things that could have been dealt with in an email. Actually, many of them were an email that had already been distributed. It was still not a bad way to end the work week, away from our desks.

“Don’t forget to get your footy tips in before you leave today.” Jenny is running through the list that Toni, her PA, handed her. “No one tipped the card last week, so we’ve jackpotted. Ten bucks if you get eight out of eight tips this week. And Nate, you’re up again to draw the raffle.”

My colleagues visibly shuffle in their seats, many leaning forward, waiting for the weekly draw. There was no tray of meat this week, but people seem eager to win whatever is on offer.

“Drum roll, please, Jenny.” Nate holds a bucket above his head. Several colleagues tap their hands on their knees imitating sticks on skin. “And the winner of the ticket to the President’s Lunch is…” Nate pauses as he hands the bucket to a colleague and unravels the ticket. “Paige Larson. Well done, Paige. Come and see me, and I’ll give you the details.”

Wait, what? What president? Australia had a prime minister, not a president. And why would you have lunch with them? This must be some sort of weird Aussie thing I haven’t worked out yet.

“OMG, Paige, congratulations.” June, a colleague who I’ve never seen so excited, clutches her hands under her chin and bounces in front of me. “If Lover Boy is there, give him my number.”

“June, what have I won?” I lean in and whisper. My face must look blank as June slowly realises I have no idea what’s going on.

“Okay, where to start?” June is now shaking her hands. “So, each home game, there’s a lunch hosted by the club president for sponsors and mega fans and?—”

“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Home game? So, this is…”

“Footy, football, Aussie Rules. You know, the Bayside Monarchs, our local team.” June’s hands are now still, but her head bobs as she talks.

“Okay, so it’s a lunch before the footy? So, where is it held?” I ask, wondering why my colleagues are so excited about a lunch.

“It’s at the ground, at Kings Park. There’s, like, a function area, and then you can watch the game from the box—or there’s seats—and they’re meant to be the best in the house.”

I’m just about to open my mouth and tell June she can have the ticket, as it’s not something that excites me, when Jenny and Nate come over to congratulate me. “This is wonderful, Paige. You will get to watch a game in luxury,” Jenny enthuses. Everyone seems so much more excited than me about my win.

I don’t really do sports. I mean, I get the basics, and when I was in college, I went to cheer our team on. But I also know that I know I need to work at fitting in here. It’s a nice enough agency to work for, but it’s not the reason I came to Australia. Getting a job in radio, let alone any other field of journalism, is all but gone with the scandal I was in the middle of.

Turning around and heading back to New York was an option I was going to take, but Tim, the producer of the morning show at Hooray FM, pulled some strings and got me a job in Bayside Cove at his sister, Jenny’s, agency. I should be glad I’m still here and able to continue with my year-long Australian adventure, but I’m not sure if I’m feeling it as much.

“Great.” I smile, but the shape of my eyes doesn’t change. “Is there a dress code?”

“Yeah, no denim. Men need to wear a jacket, but don’t have to wear a tie,” Nate says without looking at any instructions. It seems the entire office is keen on this prize.

“We’re a sponsor,” Jenny explains. “We get a ticket to the function each home game. They really are a lot of fun. There’s a lunch before the game and then more food at halftime. Plus an open bar.”

I’ll take their word for it. The food had better be good. I suppose I don’t really have any other plans this weekend.

“And remember, if Lover Boy is there…” June raises her eyebrows repeatedly.

“Your lover boy?” I ask.

“No, William Lovemore. He’s the spiritual leader of the team, but still out with an injury. He’s also one of the hottest men in Bayside Cove. I mean, he’s so dreamy. It’s that fop of dark hair that he’s always pushing away from his forehead in interviews…” June sighs, and Jenny and Nate both nod their heads. “Plus, after everything he’s been through, and he still makes time to visit sick kids in the hospital and do appearances and…”

“And he’s a player?” I ask.

“Not at all.” Jenny chuckles. “The Lover Boy is more about his surname. It’s one of those ironic Aussie naming conventions we were talking about the other day.”

Ah yes, calling a redhead ‘Blue’ and a tall guy ‘Shorty.’

I still wasn’t sold on the event, but I would go and report back to my colleagues on Monday, telling them what a great time I had, even if I end up leaving before the game starts. Food and an open bar, I could get behind.

“You look gorgeous, babe,” Brittany coos through my laptop.

I’ve changed several times already, trying to work out what to wear to a football game where I can’t wear denim. I’ve settled on some wide-legged black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. Purple beads drape around my neck, as the club colours are purple and gold. The temperature is meant to be in the seventies today, but I’ve learnt down here that it could be for five seconds, and then it could be in the fifties for the rest of the day.

“I’ve got no idea what I’m going to watch.” I push some gold hoop earrings into my ears and run my fingers through my hair. For once, the waves sit in an almost acceptable way, and I can’t be bothered putting it up. I use the camera on my computer to apply some red lipstick. If red’s good enough for Taytay, it’s good enough for me.

“It says online that there are two teams of eighteen players, yada yada, contact sport played on an oval ground. You can’t throw the ball, but there is some sort of hand movement. It sounds complicated, but I’m sure you’ll pick it up. Just hook on to a hot guy who would love to explain what’s happening to you,” Brittany jokes, but it falls flat.

“You know I’m off men.” I swallow and blink away the tears that suddenly pool in my eyes. “Plus, Aussie guys don’t like fat chicks. I think they made themselves clear about that.”

“Honey, that was a small sample of guys, and I don’t think they’re indicative of all Aussie men.” I wish Brittany was here to give me one of her wonderful hugs.

“Yeah. Well, I told Marj I was off men, and she said we’d discuss that next week.”

“Not every guy’s setting out to use you, Paige.” Brittany bites her bottom lip.

I know she’s right, but I’m yet to find someone who isn’t. I suppose I’ve always equated sex with acceptance. Sure, I’ve read articles about women embracing their sexual being and told myself that was what I was doing by sleeping around, but really, I think I was looking for more, for someone to love me and want me for me, not for being a willing hole for their dick .

Even the relationships I have been in haven’t been fireworks and roses. And it took Lyle accidently broadcasting to his listeners that I was an okay lay for a fat girl—but not someone he’d ever want to be seen with—for me to realise I’d been used yet again. It was embarrassing. As Marj said at the end of our first session this week, it was time for me to work on me, and we were going to have fun doing that. I’m still not convinced.

“Anyway. I have to go. My Uber will be here any minute. Are you sure I look alright?”

“You look beautiful, Paige. I expect a full report tomorrow, okay, and updates on the socials. I’m still laughing about that wine review you posted last weekend.”

I’ve kept up my social media presence documenting life as a Yankee down under. Maybe some footage at the football would be a good idea. It’s really only a few friends back home who are looking at it anyway. We blow each other a kiss, and I close the screen. A horn toots, and a notification on my phone pops up, saying my ride is here.

Letting out a breath, I throw my lipstick into my purse, grab my keys, and lock the door on the pretty cottage I’ve managed to rent. It is called a granny flat and is at the back of a house owned by a retired couple. They left on holiday the day after I moved in, so it is usually just me around, which suits me just fine.

“Off to Kings Park?” the driver asks as I climb in the backseat.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Gate two.”

“Canadian?” he asks as he looks in the rearview mirror at me.

“American. Originally from Minnesota, but I left there about ten years back.”

“Cool. Should be an interesting game today, what with the Monarchs losing last week. I mean, we never expected to lose, but I don’t think many were expecting the Warriors to beat the Panthers so convincingly.”

I have no idea what this guy is going on about. This could be a very long afternoon.

Thanking the driver as he drops me off, I pull up the app to leave him a tip. There are a few people milling around, and I find my way to the entrance listed on the information sheet Nate gave me. I don’t feel over or underdressed. Women are dressed nicely, even if most of them look old enough to be my mother. Older men mill about in jackets and ties, whereas a few younger guys seemed to have got the memo that a tie isn’t required.

A group of young men greet each other with hugs and fist pumps. I stand to the side, checking my watch every few minutes, hoping the doors will open early. Damn me for being organised and more than punctual.

A guy walks through the car park near where we are standing. Everyone stops and stares. He’s tall, definitely over six feet, and wears a navy suit as if it has been tailored for him. It probably has. A white shirt that looks as though it had been ironed within an inch of its life sets off the purple-and-gold tie. His jacket is buttoned closed, hiding the point of the tie. Brittany often jokes that guys only wear ties as arrows that point to their dicks, but this guy needs nothing to point to his. He gives off big dick energy in spades.

He stops and shakes the hand of one of the older gentlemen before kissing the man’s female companion on the cheek. He’s introduced to another couple and shakes their hands as well. Everyone else who had been milling around stops and gazes as if we are in the presence of royalty. He moves towards the door in long strides, stopping to greet a couple of the other folks waiting. I’m standing a fair way away, but I see some older ladies blush before grabbing each other’s arms as he leaves. Yep, men want to be him, women want to be with him.

As if his entrance had been choreographed, as soon as he reaches a side door and swipes an entry pass that hangs around his neck, it opens, and the rest of the surrounding doors are released. People rush forward, swiping passes through the turnstiles that lead to the corporate area. It’s well-signposted, but I have no idea what I am meant to be scanning.

“Do you need a hand, dear?” An older woman comes up behind me and places her walking stick over her arm. “I always print them out, too. I can never get my phone to work.”

She grabs the paperwork from my hand and shows me which barcode to scan, and the green arrow flashes for me to enter.

“He’s looking well. We need him out there. Coach said a week or two at his presser I saw online during the week. I’m Sue, by the way.” The woman removes her stick from her arm and almost waddles as we walk.

“I’m Paige.” I want to hold out my hand, but this woman is fast, despite her awkward gait.

“Sponsor?” Sue asked as we take the elevator to the next floor.

“I work for SleekSpeak. We’re PR and advertising, but yeah, my boss is a sponsor.”

“Oh yes. Jenny’s been a sponsor for years. I keep trying to encourage my granddaughter to move back down here to work. She’s in marketing, but she’s happy all the way up in Cassowary Point.” I follow Sue into the atrium area.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know where that is,” I tell her as she grabs a glass of red wine from a passing server while I take a glass of water.

“It’s up north, in Queensland. Beautiful place, but hot in summer. Canadian?” Sue asks as she grabs a carrot stick from a passing server.

“You know, you’re the second person to assume that today.” I chuckle. “I’m actually from New York, but I grew up in Minnesota.”

“You see, Canadians hate being called American, and we just figure Americans don’t seem to mind.” She takes a sip of her wine, almost dropping her stick.

“Do you need a seat, Sue?” I ask, looking around to see if there’s somewhere to sit.

“No. I’m fine. I need to have my hip done. I was going to have it done before Christmas, but my surgeon was unwell, and then he was away, and I don’t want to miss any of the season, so I’ll wait until October.”

She is clearly into football.

“Sue! ”

I grab Sue’s glass of wine as another woman rushes over and the two embrace like long-lost friends. “How are you? How’s the hip?”

“Don’t talk about it.” Sue then goes on to tell this other woman the same story she’s just told me.

As they chat, I look around the room. It’s not set for lunch, but there are two sets of double doors that possibly lead into a dining area. Purple-and-gold bunting hangs from the ceiling. The walls are covered in photos of players in action, but I had no idea who anyone is.

It’s a strange atmosphere. There are groups of people hanging around together, like the guys who’d been waiting outside. I assume they are groups of sponsors. Then there are others who greet each other as if they hadn’t seen each other for months. If the season ended in September, then I suppose it might be that long for some of them.

“I must introduce you to Paige.” I turn my attention to the now group of older people in front of me when I hear my name. “Paige, this is Norm. He was the captain of the 1963 Premiership team, and I had his poster on my wall at boarding school. Paige is with SleekSpeak and from America.” Sue sounds as if both facts are impressive.

“Have you watched a lot of Aussie Rules?” Norm asks me.

“No.” I shake my head. “Baptism by fire, I’m afraid. I’m assuming it’s something like getting the ball from one end to the other or something.”

“You’re in good hands with Sue, love. She’ll have you cheering loudly and screaming at the umpires before long.” Norm smiles as he pats Sue on the arm.

I should have researched more and watched replays of games or something. Norm makes his excuses, and a woman in a navy pants suit holding a clipboard comes over and greets Sue with a kiss.

“I’ve already checked. Table four,” Sue says.

Her companion discovers she’s sitting with some others at table seven.

“Do you know where you’re sitting?” the lady asks .

“Um no. Sorry, I didn’t know to look.” Have I made a mistake already?

“It’s all good. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Sorry. Paige Larson. I’m here for SleekSpeak,” I tell her, before biting the inside of my cheek. I don’t feel like I belong here. I should have given the ticket to June.

“You’re on table four with Sue. She’ll look after you,” I’m told by the lady with the clipboard.

Sue greets more people, and I think everyone knew about her surgeon’s illness by now. The double doors eventually open. She grabs my arm, and we make our way into the dining room. It’s gorgeous. Each table has a centrepiece with a mixture of yellow and purple blooms, and fairy lights are draped around them, giving an ethereal feel.

I’m introduced to the others who are at our table, including a lawyer who works up in Melbourne and a retired couple who have always supported the Monarchs. There’s more talk about Sue’s damn hip and holidays to the wine regions in France. It is clear I am the youngest person at this table, and I wonder what I have got myself into.

“Morning, folks. I believe I’m blessed with your presence today.” It’s the guy from outside the grounds. Close up, he is even more gorgeous. His eyes captivate me: a true hazel with flecks of green and gold around the iris. I must stare for too long, as he smiles and holds out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Willo. I don’t think we’ve met.” His voice is smooth, his handshake firm, and my mouth is suddenly dry.

“Paige,” I manage to blurt before Sue opens her mouth again.

“And how are the children?” she asks.

Wait, children? I don’t do children. I don’t want children of my own, and I’ve never really warmed to ankle biters. Plus, children usually means you are in some sort of relationship. Even though Willo isn’t wearing a ring, there is probably someone special already in his life.

Geez. Why am I even thinking this? I’m off men. Sure, I can appreciate a good-looking guy in a suit, but I’m not jumping into bed with him.

“Luna started school and seems to love it. Jackson just wants to be around animals all the time. He’s up before anyone else, and I have to coax him to school each day. And Billy, well, he’s the academic of the family. High school, next year. Can you believe it?” High school? This guy doesn’t look much older than thirty, and yet, he has a fifteen-year-old?

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” A stunning blonde woman stands at the lectern on a small stage and addresses us all. She looks so put together in a fitted navy skirt suit and sky-high stilettos.

I came here knowing there’d be an open bar, and now I’m reaching for my water glass. It’s like I don’t trust myself to have a drink around these people. Alcohol can mean loose lips and me embarrassing myself, and I’ve embarrassed myself enough in recent weeks.

We listen to the emcee talk about the offseason. It appears she’s a newsreader who’s also the number one female ticket holder. I never knew there was such a thing, and I make a mental note to look up if it is applicable to other sports. Actually, blow that. Why am I even interested? I don’t do sport. There’s just a buzz in this room that has me fascinated. These people are here for a common purpose, and the atmosphere is electric. Sure, there’s a table where the occupants are wearing scarves in shades of blue, definitely not Monarch’s colours, but everyone else is so eager for the game to begin.

I soon discover it’s not the meal people are here for, as one of the people at our table complains that the chicken is tough, and my salmon is cold, but it’s edible.

“So, Paige, is this your first game?” Shit. The hot player is talking to me.

“Um, yes. I won a raffle at work” I cough and reach again for my water glass. Perhaps I should have gone for the white wine.

“Cool. SleekSpeak, right?” Willo asks as he leans back in his chair and turns his body to face me. How does he know that? I must look bewildered as he follows it up with, “It’s on your name card.”

He smiles .

I melt.

His teeth are perfect. Not that white that looks like they’ve been artificially lightened, but that white that shows he takes care of himself. Jesus. I blink rapidly as I stare at him, the most perfect human form I think I’ve ever met. I can’t help but notice the bulge of his biceps through his suit jacket. It must be so obvious that I want to climb this man like a koala in a gum tree. Except I doubt he’ll be able to hold me. Fuck.

I nod. I’ve lost the ability to speak.

“Please say hi to Jenny from me. No doubt I’ll catch her at a function soon.”

“Sure.” My voice actually squeaks as I reply, making me want to bang my head against the table.

“Excuse me,” Willo says as he stands and moves towards the lectern, where he greets someone with a handshake.

I can’t help but look at him as he smiles at this person and then feel the salmon threatening to return the wrong way when I see him kiss our emcee on the cheek.

“Ed’s been dead over thirty years, and I told my doctor this week I’m a born-again virgin, but he could park his shoes under my bed any night of the week.” Nancy, one of the other ladies at our table, fans herself with the menu, and I can’t help but smile.

“Oh, Nancy.” Sue shakes her head. “He’s old enough to be your grandson.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t look.” Nancy wiggles her eyebrows as she sips her wine.

“He’s got children, so he’s married?” I ask no one in particular as I pick at the bread roll I’ve left on my side plate uneaten.

“His wife died, what, three or four years ago?” Sue looks to Nancy, who nods.

“Yeah. Farm accident.” Nancy adds. “I don’t think he’s moved on at all.”

Conversation stops as the emcee again takes the stage and introduces Willo and Andy, one of the assistant coaches from the team. “ Now Lover Boy.” It’s the emcee’s turn to wiggle her brows, and a chuckle flows across the room.

“Please, no, it’s Willo.” A bright shade of pink creeps up the poor guy’s neck at this nickname.

“Okay, Willo. ” She rolls her eyes, and the room laughs again. “When will you be back on the field?”

I’m unsure how to take this humour. It feels wrong to be picking on someone who seems polite and kind and, well, nice. And I know I’ve met lots of people who seem this way and prove to me they aren’t, but there’s something about Willo that makes me want to believe he’s one of the good ones.

“Well, Elysse, I’d be out there today if I had any say in it. Best you ask Andy here.” Willo side-eyes the assistant coach, who holds his hands in the air.

“Nah, not up to me. But Willo has had an amazing pre-season, and we can’t wait until he’s out on the field playing again. Look, if everyone here can keep a secret, and Serpents’ table, block your ears”—the room laughs again—“I think Willo is close to playing, and Gaz and the rest of us know what an integral part of our team he is. So, we’re definitely talking weeks, not months. Let’s just say we’re back down here in a fortnight, and I think the selectors will have a hard time stopping him playing if the medical team gives the all clear.”

Cheers sound around the room. Willo and Andy play a game called celebrity heads, where they both have a name clipped to a headband attached to them and have to ask questions to guess who they are meant to be. It’s all fun and good natured, and they both laugh when Willo guesses he’s the captain of the team.

Before long, people start moving outside. I wasn’t going to stay for the football game, but I feel like I’m involved in something special. Sue and Nancy take their seats in the grandstand in front of the room we’ve been dining in. I follow and sit towards the end of the row, leaving a seat on the end.

The players from both sides run through enormous banners that have a verse on them about their club. The Monarchs have a witty rhyme about being crowned kings, and the Warriors are congratulating a player for reaching 100 games. As I look around at the players, I’m amazed that these guys are wearing no padding or protection, just shorts, a tight sleeveless jumper, and cleats. I can see some of them chewing on mouth guards, but that’s it.

A coin is tossed, and the crowd cheers when the player from the Monarchs points to one end of the ground.

“We won the toss.” Willo sits down next to me, and my heart starts to race. I try to pretend it’s the thrill of the game and the atmosphere in the stand, but I know it’s this hot guy sitting next to me.

“Why did he point to that end?” I ask.

“That’s the end we’ll kick to in the first quarter.”

“Is there a good end and a bad end?” I should have read more about this game before I came. He must think I’m an idiot.

“Not necessarily.” Willo shakes the hand of someone walking up the steps in the grandstand and nods towards them but doesn’t stop talking to me.

“There could be a bit of a breeze flowing that way.” Willo shrugs.

I turn my attention back to the game. There are no national anthems. The players have taken their positions, and the referee holds the ball above his head and blows his whistle. A loud siren sounds, and the referee throws the ball into the ground.

I’ve never seen anything like it, but I have no idea what’s going on. Someone dives on the ball and looks like he’s trying to punch it out, but someone holds on to him from behind. The referee blows the whistle before a player throws the ball to him. This time, he throws it in the air, and two tall players try to tap it. Someone in a Monarchs’ jumper comes out of the mess of players with the ball, running with it. He bounces it a couple of times and weaves his way around defending players before kicking it towards the goalposts.

Now I’m confused, as there are two tall and two short posts, the taller pair in the middle. The crowd screams as a Monarchs’ player launches himself onto the shoulders of a Warriors’ player and catches the ball in midair .

“Silver, you beauty.” Willo leans forward in his seat, his large hands clapping.

The catch is replayed repeatedly on the big screen at the other end of the ground.

The player, who I now know is called Silver, stands in front of the goal, not too far out. There’s a Warriors’ player standing in front of him, waving his arms in the air. Silver takes a few steps in and kicks the ball straight through the middle of the two tall posts. The umpire down that end waves his fingers in the air as if he’s measuring something and then waves two flags. The ball goes back to the centre and again is bounced on the ground.

Somehow, thoughts of leaving evaporate. I’m caught up in the screams of the crowd and the way Sue constantly yells at the referees telling them to do a better job. I have no idea what is happening for the next couple of hours, but the Monarchs win by over fifty points. I feel like I’m part of the victory celebration, cheering on a team I’d never really heard of before today.

A song is played around the ground to the tune of “Go Tell it on the Mountain”, except they talk about telling on the plain and how the Monarchs will reign. Well, that’s what I get from it. The crowd sings along, and people clap in time to the beat.

“What did you think?” Willo asks me as the crowd sings the song again.

“I have no idea about anything that’s happened, but everyone’s just so happy. I record these reels and put them online, mainly for folks back home, and I can’t wait to tell them about my first Aussie Rules game.” My hands are clapping, and my smile is a mile wide. “I mean, I get that we won.”

“We thrashed them.” Nancy bumps my shoulder with hers, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Well, make sure you tag me, as I’d love to hear your opinion on the game.” Willo’s eyes have a sparkle in them as he again shakes more hands. “Lovely to meet you, Paige. Nancy, Sue. No doubt I’ll see you both around.”

This game just goes to show just how different Australia can be, but it’s been so much fun, and I hope I get to watch another game sometime. And it’s not just that I got to gaze at these guys in short shorts and tight jumpers with the most amazing arm porn I’ve ever seen, but also, I met some genuinely lovely people. But it’s Willo who’s stuck in my mind. It’s not just that he seems like an all-round lovely guy, but he’s hot as fuck. I’ve sworn off men, otherwise, I’d be lusting after him big time—not that he’d ever give me the time of day. But it’s nice to dream.