Only the Brave Try Ballet

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The coach approached Grant, his weathered face drawn into a stony expression. ‘Don’t forget you promised me this season would be a winner, Farley. When I agreed to give you a second chance you told me you’d give me a winning season.’

‘I will.’

‘You’d better not have any distractions this time.’ Two hard eyes bored into him. ‘I make it a rule not to give third chances.’

Message received.

* * *

Jasmine and Elise arrived early to the Melbourne Cricket Ground, where all the big AFL games were held, to collect their tickets. As they were gaining access to the most exclusive part of the MCG they hadn’t been able to dress down like the rest of the fans who were streaming into the stadium. Amidst the black-and-green Jaguar guernseys, and the occasional fan sporting the red and yellow of the away team, they looked out of place.

The winter air bit right through Jasmine’s coat and boots, a fine mist of rain dampening her exposed neck. She shivered and huddled closer to Elise. They moved with the crowd, searching for the ‘Members Only’ area.

Following the signs, they eventually ended up in the Long Room, with its floor-to-ceiling views of the ground. It was another world. Away from the crowds and coloured flags of the general admission area. Away from the manic cheering, meat pies and scarf waving. Away from the ‘real’ football experience.

Up here men wore tailored suits and women dressed in all manner of finery, toting handbags that probably cost more than a month’s rent. The sound of dramatic air kisses and tinkling laughter rose above quiet conversation.

‘It’s something else, isn’t it?’ Elise looked around, dazzled.

Jasmine shifted on the spot and removed her coat, slinging it over one arm. She smoothed her free hand down the front of the vibrant emerald dress she wore over thick black tights and boots. She’d changed a dozen times before leaving, even though she knew she was unlikely to see Grant after the game. Still, she’d fussed over endless combinations until she’d ended up back in the first outfit she’d tried on. Last minute, she’d thrown a long strand of onyx beads around her neck to try and fancy up what essentially was a plain cotton dress.

She looked even more out of place here than she had in the crowd. Elise loved being amongst the rich, but Jasmine hated it. Such wealth flung around, while she could barely scrape together enough money to keep her electricity turned on. She felt frumpy and juvenile next to these elegant swans in their silk dresses and needle-thin heels.

Worse, she’d been here before. The glitz and the glamour of the arts world wasn’t so different—though there was a distinct lack of fake tan and fake boobs where ballet and art were concerned.

She’d been on the arm of a wealthy man—the son of a financier—who’d thought his family’s bank balance meant that he owned her, that he could control her as he controlled the investments in his portfolio. His family had money equivalent to the GDP of a small nation.

And it had ended badly...very badly. Her stomach churned.

‘Champagne, miss?’ A waiter held out his silver tray, four delicate flutes of bubbling wine catching the light in front of her.

‘No, thank you.’

‘I will.’ Elise reached for a flute and smiled.

The waiter drifted into the crowd and they found a spot to stand in front of the mammoth glass window. Outside the seats were filling up. A sea of black and green engulfed the stadium, and excitement was palpable in the atmosphere. Inside the clinking of champagne flutes and muted chatter filled the air.

‘I would have thought you’d be OK to have a drink by now.’ Elise took a delicate sip from her flute.

Her blond hair was piled on her head, with wispy strands loose and alluring around her pixie face. A chunky strand of grey pearls offset her steel-coloured eyes. Even Elise looked more as if she belonged than Jasmine did.

‘It’s not like I’m working hard to resist it,’ Jasmine said.

‘You’re missing out—this is the good stuff.’ She winked. ‘The French stuff.’

‘I don’t want it.’

Elise watched her, assessing her as she sipped again. Her tongue captured a stray droplet of the fizzing liquid. Jasmine forced a smile; she didn’t want to ruin what would be an exciting night for Elise.

‘One glass won’t kill you,’ Elise went on. ‘I’m driving, so you don’t have to worry about safety.’

‘I don’t want one.’ She couldn’t keep the frost out of her voice.

Elise sighed. ‘I’m not trying to push you. I’m just saying that it’s OK to let your hair down every once in a while. You know—live a little. Maybe act like you’re twenty-seven instead of seventy-seven.’

‘I’m sure there are seventy-seven-year-olds who are more fun than me.’

Both girls laughed, and Elise hooked her arm through Jasmine’s. ‘Yeah, I’m going to trade you in at a nursing home on the way back.’

The room filled up around them. A woman in a knee-length indigo shift stood next to them. Jasmine was sure she’d seen her in the society pages, possibly mentioned as the wife of one of the Jaguars players. She was so close the headiness of her perfume made Jasmine breathe deep. The scent was rich. Refined. French to match the red soles of her designer shoes.

Elise nudged Jasmine and pointed out another woman who’d walked past—a semi-celebrity, famed for the high-profile sports-star boyfriends she turned over frequently. Her tanned skin glowed as though she’d returned from the Maldives that day. She probably had.

‘Why don’t we sit outside? We can’t take Grant’s tickets and then stay in here all night.’ Jasmine motioned for the door to the balcony. Her chest felt squeezed tight, as though two hands were crushing her ribcage, pushing all the air out of her. She gripped her handbag to her stomach, wishing the swishing sensation would stop.

Mercifully, Elise downed the last of her champagne and they stepped out into the members’ balcony area.

The vibe outside was entirely different, and the din that rose up from the crowd was full of excitement and anticipation. Jasmine’s heart immediately slowed, the pressure in her chest easing as she located two spare seats. She wrapped her coat around her shoulders and crossed her arms as she sat, popping the collar to protect her neck from the chill.

‘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...

FOUR (#ulink_98d7eb13-ec76-586b-b7c1-0e342877ce8b)

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.