Page 30 of Hit For Six
‘Did you just refer to my stadium poster?’
Monty held a finger up and began to blink rapidly, glad that Squiffy was not in his orbit, lest he freak out his new friend with completely the wrong body language.
‘No, no.’ Lola blushed, spilling a nervous giggle. ‘Figment of your imagination.’
‘Okay, well, the other night was the best conversation I’ve ever had. Panama hat prick aside,’ Monty about-faced, not wanting to get ahead of himself but, damn, he knew what he’d heard.
It was unofficially official. Lola found him sexy! He hated that poster in the corridor with a passion, though. They’d better let him re-do his photo for the stat intros they’d be showing on all the future televised games. Preferably without him looking so smug.
‘It was a totally one-sided conversation and I can only apologise again for bombarding you with mystuff. I can’t even really blame alcohol. All I had was a mini bottle of champagne. You’ll have to fill me in on your life story as we walk.’
‘No fair.’ Monty shook his head and smiled knowingly, relieved to have come up with an excuse to procrastinate a little longer. ‘I’ll be needing me some champagne as well for that.’
He winked in response to Lola’s frown. She locked the front door and they stepped out onto the pavement, trading a lingering look that was loaded with the unspoken. She blew at her fringe and her hair fell just so, conveniently covering her eyes. He’d take that as his cue to make platonic smalltalk. He was getting ever finer attuned to the ebb and flow of their connection, adept at reading the subtle– and not so subtle– hints.
Victoria Park was a bit of a trek from Lola’s place, and it was a bit crazy walking the streets of Bath feeling like a giant tortoise as he and Lola swapped stories about the city and pointed out their favourite haunts. Monty was relieved when they finally arrived and he could shuck off his bag and shrug his shoulder muscles. He should have brought his plastic portable wicket but it looked like a child’s toy and he’d wanted to impress. The real deal was deceptively heavy when you factored in the rest of the kit. He got the rest of his paraphernalia out then did some lateral squats as Lola watched on, hands on hips. She had no clue how motivational she would be as a fitness instructor. He’d do a thousand push ups for her if it meant he’d get to look into those deep green eyes. Lola Smith would never need fake eyelashes.Not that Monty considered them a necessity for anyone. But Lola’s made a mockery of all the beauty industry’s attempts.
‘My other thought was that we could practise in my garden,’ he said when he’d got his breath back. ‘But I didn’t want to annoy the neighbours.’
‘I see.’
Lola furrowed her brow, puzzled.
‘Yeah, it’s a bit of a weird set up. Not a commune as such, but–’
‘Are you trying to entice me back to your place in a similar manner to the way you invited yourself to mine? Not sure I do cults, Monty.’
Lola took off her jacket, looped it over the low branch of the oak behind them, and slanted herself against the tree trunk. If only Monty had kept up his artistic skills instead of feeling as if he’d regressed back to drawing stick men, he’d have captured her in an oil painting titledExtreemely Perfect.
Was he that transparent, though? He turned his back to busy himself putting on his protective gear. It was mean of him to give Lola the impression that he lived in a hippie-dippie clan. But the Crescent did come with a long list of community rules. He might not be blue-blooded but he kind of knew how the major royals felt. The C-shaped architecture wasn’t so different to another C: the Crown. No wonder it had the word Royal in its formal name; the Crescent had to be preserved at all costs. Including its velvety green front garden.
‘I don’t have any pets that need sitting, so not exactly,’ he mumbled, strapping his pad to his thigh and securing the helmet to his head. His garb was probably a braggy charade when he was knocking a ball about with a beginner. Then again, Lola was a mystery. That catch the first day he’d laid his eyes on her had been a peach. ‘And I’m not going to get ahead of myself yet but I wondered if you might be up for dinner tonight? As a thank youfor doing this?’ He turned now, his facial expression shielded by his helmet. Which was totally fair dos when Lola kept hiding behind that beguiling fringe. ‘It’s quite tiring. You’ll need the sustenance.’
‘But I’m doing this to thank you for minding Squiffy.’ Lola bit her lip in contemplation. ‘So where will it ever end if we keep thanking one another for thanking one another?’
‘Okay, okay.’ Monty laughed. ‘Rumbled. I’m just going to say it as it is. I would love to take you out for dinner… at the very least. This is my formal invitation, though I have not a bugle to announce it.’
Lola let him stew for the longest time over her RSVP. He might have seen the mirth dancing in her eyes, but Monty was beginning to think that he truly had pushed it too far, that his luck finally had run out. Especially by paperclipping ‘at the very least’ on to his invite.
‘Then you’re going to need to play your very best… at the very least.’
She flashed him a cute demi-smile. He tried to read more into it but her eyes were stubbornly poker face now.
‘Fine.’ The butterflies were back to doing acrobatics in his stomach and he didn’t want to think about the rest of his anatomy for fear he’d lose all control. ‘Bowling first. Which means you’ll need to bat.’
He tipped his head in the direction of his beloved Kookaburra bat with its iconic bird profile. It was a tad heavy for a woman but he’d never had the need to buy any female kit since none of his exes had been interested in the game. He should have planned this better and asked London if he could borrow a lighter version from the stadium’s store cupboard.
‘I’m going to be absolutely rubbish.’ Lola huffed as if she’d eavesdropped on Monty’s mind chatter. ‘You do realise that?’
‘I’ve seen you in action, sweetheart.’ He winced. Should he have taken the liberty with that endearment? ‘You can’t get away with making wild claims like that.’
‘Let’s get this over with.’
‘Erm, Lola. You could show a little more appreciation for my sport.’
She shot him a sultry look then skulked to the stumps to grab the bat. He’d asked for it. He hadn’t prepared her for today. There hadn’t been any need for today. He could easily get away without the practise– just like everyone else who was on holiday. But Lola didn’t need to know any of that.
Monty started her off with a light underarm bowl to get her used to the game and Lola, who was holding the bat in an ungainly manner– which was putting things politely– over swung for the ball and landed thud on her backside. Now she looked like a dangerously pouty teenager, hands splayed on the grass, refusing to cooperate. Oh, bollocks. Things were not getting off to the best start. Never mind dinner, she’d bite his head off and chew it up in a minute, and he’d thoroughly deserve it.
