Page 26 of Blindsided By You

I’m jostled out of my thoughts by Nathan at my elbow. He’s slightly drunk and louder than I’ve ever heard him. A group of Kiwi supporters are giving him a hard time, reminding him the score tonight shows how unwise it is to have switched allegiance away from the country of his birth, but it’s all good-natured. He tells me New Zealand is a lot like Scotland—except with better weather—and I think the people are a lot like us too. When it comes to sports, we might be bitter rivals on the field, but off it the friendly banter flows as freely as the booze.

I keep one ear on the conversation, dropping in a small barb here, responding to a bit of winding up from the Kiwis there, but my eyes and mind are elsewhere. I’m still looking for Jenna.

When at last I see her, she’s at the bar, three back in the queue. Any half decent man would make way for her. I feel like striding over and pushing them aside, easing the way through. However, Jenna’s not the sort to want a knight in shining armour, especially here where she doesn’t need rescuing. She’s navigated nights like this many times. She doesn’t need my help.

Again I wonder—whatdoesshe need from me? She’s grateful for my skills as an electrician. She enjoys my company. I know she appreciated my handling of what could have been an unpleasant blot on tonight’s fun with grumpy Duncan. I like to think she got to seemy maturity and the way I have with people, old or young. Nora, poor old Duncan’s long-suffering wife and that young single dad, coping with three lively lads—they all know I’m a good guy, and I think Jenna knows it too. But I’m not sure she sees me as anything more than an amiable rugby-watching companion.

Aside from the fact her father might kill me, other things stand between us. My past relationship to her, as a surrogate kid brother, for a start. I’m baffled by how to take the steps necessary to get us out of that territory, because right now, thoughts of anything more may well feel almost incestuous to her. In that case, the kind of move I’d like to make would be repellent.

Even if she doesn’t see our current relationship as that of family, it’s still looking dangerously like it might get stuck in the friend zone. I’m not sure how to get out of that either. I’ve never had a friendship with a woman. I’ve lived in a world dominated by men for so long. Sure, there were a few women on the rigs, but I tended to steer clear of them, a wise precaution when we all lived in close proximity and there was no easy escape if things went wrong.

Having Jenna as my friend would be a rare gift, and one I’d be happy to share with my sister; but I already know it would never be enough. Watching her pair up with some other guy, having to support her choice to play happy families with someone else—I haven’t got the strength to live through that.

So, somehow, I have to take action, but discovering just what to do and when to do it is more challenging than if someone handed me a copy of War and Peace and told me to read it and write a book review. More frightening than dealing with the twin spectres of Rachel MacDonald and Robbie Sharpe, hovering menacingly atmy shoulder, whispering all the ways they’re going to hurt me if I hurt Jenna.

Nathan breaks away from his post-mortem of the game with the triumphant All Blacks supporters, and nudges me hard.

“So, Geordie, my man, we may have lost the game, but at least you scored a win tonight.”

He wraps a floppy arm around my shoulder and slurs his words. The smell of whisky wafts across. I’m glad I’ve paced myself, thinking it’s wise to keep my wits about me. I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t do or say something stupid or clumsy in front of Jenna, with too much alcohol on board. While it might give me a shot of courage, it could also leave me depressed and wallowing in my doubts. It has that effect on me sometimes. But Nathan’s got nothing to lose. He not only loves to make whisky, he loves to drink it.

“You could call it that,” I say. “Not sure time spent in my company has convinced her, though.”

“Come on Geordie, the woman thinks you’re adorable. She looks at you like she’s looking at a cute puppy.”

I wince. These words are not the reassurance I’m looking for.

“I was hoping for a bit more than a pat on the head and her telling me I’m a good boy.”

His laughter bursts out across the room, and heads turn. Quiet Nathan transforms into a raucous drunk, but anyone can see he’s of the friendly variety.

“Looks like she might need you to be more pit bull than Labrador right this minute.”

He inclines his head towards where Jenna is now leaning on the bar, waiting patiently for a server to acknowledge her.

The sight of a man draped across her extinguishes all my earlier warm, charitable thoughts about our Kiwi brothers. He’s distinctive by his size and his All Blacks supporters jersey. I see her shake him off, but his arm returns. I burn with rage that he should touch her, and then make matters worse by continuing to do so when she’s made it clear his attention is unwanted.

I’m moving in his direction, but Nathan’s arm shoots out in front of me.

“Down boy,” he says. “She’s got this.”

And she has. With narrowed eyes and a defiant shrug, she flicks him off. Words fly from her mouth. I can’t read her lips, but I can see from the expression on the jerk’s face that she’s put him in his place. He sensibly edges away from her. She turns back to the bar, presses her card to the machine, scoops up two drinks and makes her way to a booth on the far side of the room where her father and Grant Darby are still deep in conversation. She places the drinks in front of them with a smile as if nothing’s happened. In her mind, it hasn’t. It’s just me who is all riled up and still considering finding that arsehole in the crowd and smacking him in the face. Only knowing how unimpressed she’d be stops me.

I watch her stroll out in the direction of the sign that says ‘Toilets’. Seeing her casual confidence and quiet competence in every situation reminds me once again: Jenna has her life well under control—why the hell would she want me in it?

Chapter 13

JENNA

I’mstillfumingasI scrub my hands under the stream of water. After all this time, nothing’s changed. Here I am, still the same woman staring back from the bathroom mirror, still getting hit on by jerks in bars. My confidence in my appearance—my unlined face, healthy skin, and curvy body—deflates with each unwanted advance.

Although drunks aren’t especially picky. On nights like this, any unaccompanied woman is fair game, a magnet for unwanted attention. Me. I’m pretty enough to catch their eye, but not so pretty they consider I’m out of their league.

It’s not that I’m incapable of handling them, or that I want someone to rush in and rescue me. I just wish I was one of those other women in the bar, with a steady man alongside, projecting the silent ‘hands-off’ message by his presence alone.

I wouldn’t admit these thoughts out loud to anybody. Definitely not to another woman. Particularly not a younger one like Skylar. I want her to walk with her head high and the ability to tell a guy to fuck off in no uncertain terms. Perhaps my words are less coarse,but they’re equally cutting, and usually prove an effective weapon, although at my age, wielding it has become exhausting.

As I leave the sanctuary of the ladies’ loos, I decide not to go back to the bar. From down the hallway in the opposite direction, the distant sound of a piano lures me with the promise of a more gentle world, oblivious to the rowdy aftermath of a rugby match. The rippling notes are a comforting caress reaching out from the past, as if knowing how much I need a little soothing in this jarring present. I instinctively turn towards the melody.

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