Page 96 of Fever Dream
Three years later
It’s Brownlow night—Australian Football’s night of nights with all the accompanying glitz and glamour, where all the teams come together for the awarding of the league’s best and fairest player.
I squirm in my midnight-blue tux, adjusting the crisp black bowtie as my gaze lands on Harrison seated across from me in the limousine.
He’s an absolute delicacy in that charcoal grey tux with its dark shawl lapels, matched with that paisley patterned tie. His curls are artfully tamed in a way that looks completely natural and not as though we’ve spent the last hour being primed and preened by our stylist. Positively edible.
He catches my lustful gaze and sends me back a quick, knowing wink. Honestly, he’s lucky Sonny’s date is sitting beside him, none the wiser of where my thoughts have taken me. How I wish I could breach this divide, straddle his waist and let him undress me in the back seat of this luxurious vehicle.
I’ll have to add that to our bucket list of places to have sex. We’ve ticked off a few already.
“Alright, Callie?” Sonny asks, bumping me with his elbow. The jolt brings my attention away from the eye candy that is my hot boyfriend, and I glance across at my best friend.
“I’m great. You?” I return.
“I’m not the bookie’s favourite to take out this year’s Brownlow Medal,” Sonny returns, brow artfully peaked. “So I’m fine. I thought you might be battling some nerves is all.”
“Well, I was. But then Harrison set my mindverymuch at ease earlier in our hotel room, so I am feeling just grand,” I return, pumping my eyebrows suggestively.
“Casey, seriously,” Harrison mutters.
“Dude. I do not need to picture your sex life,” Sonny adds with a grimace.
“Thank god you were permanently moved to sharing hotel rooms with Harrison when we’re on the road,” Izak adds. “I was sick of the lustful gazes and very notable absences.”
“You’re just jealous,” I chuff, eyeing Harrison who is eyeing me back in that way he does. He might still suffer from all those exhaustingboundaries,the ones I have been slowly but surely obliterating,but I see the way he’s looking back at me. Looks like I might get lucky again later tonight after all.
The limo pulls up at the start of the red carpet for tonight’s Brownlow event. I honestly was feeling fine, but I feel the nerves start to squeeze my gut as soon as I hear the cheers from the fans lining the red carpet. Harrison reaches over and squeezes my hand, holding my eye before he lets me lead the way.
I should be familiar with this by now. It’s the third Brownlow Medal night Harrison and I have been to together, ever since Tottenham released him to the Fever and his permanent residency was granted. But that doesn’t mean we’re not still this evening’s spectacle like we’ve come to expect.
The cameras clamour for shots of us as Harrison reaches out a steady hand to hold my suddenly clammy one and we walk on.
“Casey! Casey!” I hear from the fans lining the walkway and I stop to say hello and let them take selfies of us. Harrison is always a good sport about this sort of thing but half the time the fans want him in the shot too. He always obliges.
We stop at the photo call to pose for pictures, aware that Harrison and I continue to be the mostly eagerly photographed couple of the night. What a shame for all those beautiful WAGs who are constantly upstaged by the man on my arm.
“Casey! Harrison!” we hear as we’re gently directed by the broadcaster to the interview spot where Anna Clementine and Rory Cooney await. Anna and Rory have been hosting the red carpet for as long as we’ve been coming to this event so I am familiar with how this will go.
“Casey,” Anna effuses as she looks us over. “You both look amazing. Who dressed you tonight?”
“Well,” I begin, tugging Harrison closer to the limelight, “This gorgeous drink of water is dressed by Burgess Street. And doesn’t he look divine?”
“Absolutely delicious,” Anna grins. “And you?”
“Also Burgess Street. They look after us well down there,” I reply.
“How are the nerves going, Casey?” Rory cuts in. “The bookies have you as equal favourite with the Dragon’s Marco Robson to take out the Brownlow tonight.”
“Well we do know the bookies aren’t always right,” I chuckle. I was the second favourite to win last year too and ended up coming third. Not that I’m bitter or anything.
“You must be feeling a bit of confidence after your incredible season,” Rory replies. “After you helped the Fever to their highest ever result.”
“Look, I know it’s a cliché, but I certainly didn’t win those games on my own,” I return. “And losing last weekend’s preliminary final to the Dragons is still very fresh and has onlymade us hungry for more. But we’ll be back bigger and better next year.”
“It’s been an incremental improvement year on year since you’ve been with the Fever,” Rory adds. “Missing the finals series by only a game in your first year, scraping into the top eight last year and just missing out on the grand final this year.”
“Let’s hope that improvement holds for next season,” I grin.
