Saturday games had long been a favorite. Something about the sunny Sydney air, crisper afternoons and spirit got me. I'd rugged up for the occasion. Packed up an insurmountable snack pile. And rustled up a jersey to wear.
As tempted as I'd been to wear Iggy's never-returned hoody, today called for a more pulled-together fit. Black jeans, a blazer and the jersey over a long-sleeved tee - cozy and somehow ready to be interviewed all in one. If the interview was for ESPN or SSENSE.
The boys were playing their closest rivals UNSW. A bunch whose parties and egos overlapped. And that meant we knew the team well and in turn, they knew how we moved.
It was past half-time now. 1-1. As I sat on the raised seating behind the team subs, I surveyed the game beyond following the ball. Kenji up back. Miles and Jasper running wild amongst the middle. Shifting their formation with swaying intention. A sea of jerseys breezing from one throw in line to the other. Steering the ship, a certain brunette.
A vision in our home colors no matter the sweat-stained, sun-torched state of him. Bold blue and once-white stripes encasing his athletic form. Darting about the field with an accuracy and mastered aggression that earned him every glare from the grandstand. Iggy up front drove the game, at least from my sheltered perspective. Sure my other favorite numbers were doing well. Kenji blocking many a defensive push, Miles pairing up with Iggy in the midfield and Jasper earning his post game kiss from Summer (if her cheers across the pitch were anything to go by).
As I took in the game beyond a singular, all-consuming, golden-booted force, I recognised a few faces on the other team. UNSW was just down the road and the crossover of our parties unending - whenever I did attend. Faces I'd seed in passing at one of Prescott's events, even if they were too often commiserating not celebrating.
They smiled with a familiar sense of knowing in passing. A tight nod as they streamed down the sideline, a flex of smile as they stole their focus away from the game for only a moment in recognition. But in honesty my focus was elsewhere. And his run on the ball proved UNSW could use some of my focus on a certain someone.
Briefly interrupted only by the team returning to the sheds aka locker rooms for half time. A warm smile and wink earned from my housemates, with a special little heart beat pat from Miles. Iggy bore his trademark smirk as his eyes coasted by my own, fixing for a moment on the jersey I'd pinched to wear today. A hand-me-down from Kenji's impressive sportswear collection, this one a fine vintage Italy jersey from their 2006 World Cup win. And more importantly, in harmonious colors to the team at hand.
Curling my hand behind my ear to coax my hair back into place and give at least a little cover to my floating north flush. In doing so, an unexpected couple of players entered my line of sight. Prescott and Leary. Bearing their own mischievous look of collusion. Nodding their heads at me with a quiet confidence they knew I wasn't in on the joke. Causing a tightening of my throat for but a moment. Until their smiles broke free and they waved with polite power my way. Flailing arms perhaps more apt, much to the chagrin of Iggy. Who rolled the boys into a reaching hug slash headlock to calm them down.
And when they disappeared into their strategy session I pondered yesterday's middle school esque rendezvous. Iggy had been the ultimate gentleman since our rekindling. All good night messages and morning adorations, post practice meals and evenings talking late in the car. Reliving it now did nothing to ease the rose-tinged cheeks, a mere look had brought about. Nor dull the warmth they now brimmed with. Physically we toyed with the boundaries of kissing alone, akin to your first boyfriend or girlfriend. Both scared if we moved too fast, the feeling of fizz that zinged our limbs would fade out. A tension tightrope we walked hand in hand.
The tiny little antagonist within me used this fresh green pitch as a metaphor, I was being played no doubt. This was all truly too good to be reality. And it took every morning mirror affirmation and sweetly bestowed cheek kiss to keep this fear of abandonment at bay. Or at least hushed versus kidnapped and gagged. Shaking my brain to rid the doubt from my mind, the figment of all my overthinking returned to the field. With a winning gleam in his eye.
>>>>>>
Iggy took the game to a stunning 2-1 with an almost unbelievable run down the right. Bouncing it off Jasper's foot in the center for a glorious assist. Tapping it onwards and into the top right corner with an effortless accuracy. I roared with applause in line with the bench. But Iggy and Jasper's shared celebration only elevated my unbounded grin. The two gents flying arms spread wide in tandem, as if perpetual copilots on the field.
The remaining game failing to mirror the excitement of that moment and the game dawdled towards full time. My thoughts of coursework and this new thing of sorts keeping me far too occupied.
And it was only at the point of sportsmanlike handshakes that I dizzied myself out of my overthinking daydream. Instead, bringing familiar faces into my orbit, albeit briefly. I noticed a boy I'd kissed at a tennis party years prior nudging his friends arm to identify me. He wasn't bad looking by any stretch, all green eyes and sandy blonde hair. Recalling the freshman memory tilted a shiver up my spine. Flimsy hands. Eager lips. And no return volley. By me, as per.
However, my attention now was focused on the man of the 90 mins. As he came towards me with celebratory charm and a shyness melded together. See, middle school energy.
Dripping in hard-earned sweat, he still looked magnificent. Sinewy calves tucked into shorts just long enough for me to imagine what hung beneath. His hair mopping up a game's worth of triumph but yet alarmingly styled still. Did he just wake up looking like a breakfast buffet? The evidence suggested yes.
"Good game, Iggy. I mean it, that cross was meteoric." I smiled with genuine adoration, as the gent consuming all my thoughts towered over me.
"Thanks H, does that mean I'm your favourite player?" He added cheekily, masking his surprise at the positive open. Leaning in a little closer and running the hem of my jersey between his fingers.
"You rank, sure." I managed to get out without an audible gasp.
"That actually sounded like a compliment, have I misread something?" He leaned back in toying quiz, disappointing letting go of my clothing.
"I can compliment Vallis, it's just a power I employ sparsely." I replied tightly missing his presence immediately. The cautious dance we did played on, and I wished for a crescendo once more.
"Read anything good lately, Harper?" Iggy said abruptly. Mopping up his sweat-drenched hair and sweeping it back with a distractingly smooth motion.
"Aside from books so big you can't move them from the library, no Iggy I haven't." Allowing my eyes to refocus after the transfixing hair move. Turning my eyes with query to the man in front of me. Eyes abeam, almost mischievous. "Why on earth do you ask?"
"No reason." Iggy airily replied, as if to invite greater suspicion. "I've heard great things about those books, worth rereading in fact." Shrugging as if this absurdity was nonchalant. I bookmarked this conversation for further examination, at face value I was totally perplexed.
"You know burning books is a bad thing right? Fascist even." Giving him a quizzical look in return. All but turning my head on a lateral axis.
"I didn't burn any... forget it." Rolling his eyes in playful knowing. As if he knew it would all make sense soon enough. I wasn't so sure. "I'll catch you later alright?" A light smile masking his nervousness as he spoke. I lessened the curious squint in reply, without loosing any actual curiosity.
Iggy stepped forward and planted his lips on my cheekbone. Eyes skimming my own before settling on their destination. A soft brush of lips on my skin, fluttering my heart beat as if it were much more. And the flush that followed, bloomed big.
The faces that I'd made eye contact with on the field earlier faded into background flurry. A soft utterance of 'well that was unexpected," fell into background noise.
And though blissfully confused by the interaction, the innocence of it all tugged at my internal strings. A whimsical disillusionment that this was really happening. No less that it felt astoundingly right. Somehow he'd figured me out and I felt empowered to do the same.
YOU ARE READING
Closing Arguments
Romance"He should never have hit you, but winding him up like that..." "Like what? Talking about being your partner, working with you, spending time with you. That's no fabrication, H. We are going to be spending a whole lot of time together this semester...
