The Thrill Is Gone

“Why the fuck are you calling so early?” mumbled Paulina into the phone, eyes filled with sleep as she struggled to stay awake long enough to carry a conversation.

“Good morning to you to, sunshine.” He smiled knowing very well just how pissed off she was. “And for your information, it’s not even that early.”

“Yes, it is,” she glanced over at the alarm clock in her bedroom area, the bright red lights telling her that it was barely a quarter after eight in the morning. “It’s 8:16.”

“That’s not early,” he argued.

“You’re fucking annoying, Callum. You know that?” she rubbed her tired eyes. “What do you want, anyways?”

“Since when are you so bloody rude?” he wasn’t offended, he was amused by her words.

“Since you woke me up before I was supposed to,” she declared. “So what do you want?”

“I wanted to tell ya that the match has been moved up.”

“What match?”

“The rugby match we were meant to have next Saturday. That ring any bells?” he took her silence as a no. “It’s against the team with the bloke that wanted to have a row with you.”

“Ooh, right, right.”

“You remember the match then?”

She shook her head, waiting for him to say something in response, but then she remembered that they were talking on the phone, he couldn’t very well see the gestures she made. “I don’t remember it.”

“How do ya not remember it? It’s all you’ve been goin on about. You know what, never mind, it’s early. That’s probably why you’re minds not working, but, uh, what I was saying was that we moved up the match. One of those blokes just called Terry to ask if the match could be moved up, apparently next week’s not working for them, and since everyone was over at his place, we were like yeah, let’s have the match today.”

“But I wasn’t there. You guys can’t make decisions if the entire team’s not present.”

“We take votes, and since ya would’ve been the only one that said no, we would’ve still moved up the match.”

“Fuck you and your logic.”

He chose to ignore her comment. “So the match is at ten.”

“But I have a guest over, I can’t make it,” she proclaimed, defiantly.

“Bring your bloody guest if ya have to. Just get here. Alright?” he went on. “Or you can not show up if ya like, just know that that bloke’s gonna take it as you being too much of a chicken to face him again.”

“Hey, I'm not a fucking chicken.”

“Not saying ya are, just saying what that bloke might think.” He paused for a moment, letting her anger settle in. “So do whatever ya like. I'm about to have some breakfast.”

“I’ll be there,” she said, grudgingly.

“Before ten, don’t want you showing up right at ten.”

“That only happened once,” she pointed out. “And I busted my damn tire so it’s not like I showed up late on purpose.”

“Sure, sure,” he could imagine the annoyed look that was surely washing over her face.

She held back a few choice curse words. “I'm so gonna tackle you when we’re out on the pitch.”

“Can do whatever ya like as long as you bother showing up on time. Ah. Well, I’ve got to get going. Terry’s in the process of burning eggs and I don’t reckon I want our flat to smell like shit. See you later, then.”

“Bye Callum,” she muttered.

Paulina hung up the phone, resting it on her forehead, and then, she just sort of lay there on the couch, forgetting the conversation that had just taken place. It was still early, far too early to be awake, and she was burrowed underneath a very thick blanket that had her feeling so warm that she never wanted to stand, but eventually, the gears in her mind started turning. There was a match to get ready to. She needed to brush her teeth, have a light breakfast, thrown on her clothes, and oh . . . bloody hell; Harry was lying on the floor beside her. She was going to have to tell him about the match to. Slowly, she turned her head to see him. He was lying on a couple of blankets that had been folded in half to add some padding for his back. His eyes were wide open. They were heavy with sleep, but the important thing was that they were open and he was staring intently at her face.

“So you’ve got a match to get to,” he stated, casually.

“Don’t really want to go,” she said, “But it’s the principality of the matter.”

He shot her a questioning look.

“There’s this guy on that team that tried to punch me the last time we played, that’s actually why we had to stop the match. Things got a little out of hand, but we were supposed to have the rematch next weekend, but one of the guys called and asked if we could do it this weekend, and the guys said yea, so now, I have to go. Well, I don’t have to, but if I don’t show up that jerk’s gonna think that he scared me.”

“And you can’t have that,” he said, knowingly.

“I can’t,” she agreed. “But – never mind, you probably don’t want to.”

“How do ya know if I won’t want to, if you haven’t asked?” he turned onto his side to better look at her.

“I was wondering if, you know if you’re not busy, if you’d want to go to the match with me. There are some benches to sit at, they’re not massive benches, they’re more like simple park benches but you could sit there and watch the match.”

Harry contemplated her offer, his silence unnerving her. “I’ll go on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“We grab lunch after.” He smiled sleepily at her. “It’s Sunday, so I think its only right we have lunch at a pub. What do ya say?”

“As long as you don’t try to make me eat fish and chips, we’re good.”

“Was hoping you’d give them another shot, but I guess ya don’t have to.”

“Good,” she sat up on the couch, holding her hands above her head as she stretched. “I'm gonna go put the kettle on the stove. Do you want coffee or tea?”

“Coffee’s fine, thank you.” Harry followed her example and sat up. “I’ll go put the toast on. Don’t worry; I won’t burn it like last time. I’ve figured out which setting it’s got to be on.”

“It’s about time you did,” she chuckled as she stood up, setting her blanket down on the couch. “You’re seriously the only person I know that burns a bunch of toast, and then gets pissed off at the toaster.”

“I’ll have you know that burning toast is a very common phenomenon.” He stood up and began to fold his blankets.

“Of course it is,” she said as she walked towards the kitchen, her toes curling when they touched the cold hardwood flooring. “I think I’ll make us some omelets. That’ll be good. Do you want bacon? I’ve got some in here.”

“Only if you’re having some,” he replied, nearly finished tidying up his sleeping area.

“I’ll make you some,” she said. “You’re addicted to bacon and I'm not having any this morning since I don’t want to puke on the pitch.”

It wasn’t long before they were sitting at her small kitchen table, having their breakfast as music played softly in the background. It had become commonplace for them to spend Sunday morning’s in that fashion, but usually, they’d wake up late and then rummage her fridge for food. Sometimes Harry would say that they should go pick up crepes from a nearby spot and they’d order them, then pick them up and bring them back to her apartment. Then they’d watch a bit of teli, and at some point in the afternoon, he’d go back to London or wherever it was that he was needed. That was just what they did on Sunday mornings.

After having tidied up the kitchen area, Paulina excused herself and grabbed her rugby clothes to change into. She threw on her tank top that had a built in sports bra, then her spandex underwear that stopped mid thigh, her running shorts, her sweats, and then finally her Stanford shirt. Her hair was put up in a tight bun, that way no one would pull at her hair, and after going back into her bedroom to throw her old soccer cleats into her gym bag, as well as a towel and a change of shirt, she was ready to go. She took a seat on the couch, waiting as Harry slipped into the change of clothes that he’d left at her place. It wasn’t long before he walked out with his toiletry bag in tow.

“Ready to go?” she asked him.

“Yeah, let me just put this in my bag.” He lugged around a gym bag in the car whenever he went to see her, just in case he ended up spending the night. “How far is the pitch?”

“Not that far, it’s like almost two miles.”

“It’s too early to be walking that far,” he grumbled. “How about we take the car, instead?”

“You’re so lazy,” she laughed.

“Sundays were designed for laziness,” he smiled, holding his head up high.

“You, my friend, are mistaking Saturdays for Sundays.” She slung her bag across her shoulder. “On second thought, both days are perfect for doing nothing and recovering from a hangover.”

“We’ve not that in awhile.” He commented as they left her apartment. “Think the last time I got proper drunk was at the club opening in London.”

Paulina pulled a face. “We were so shitfaced that night.”

“You more than me,” he grinned.

“Not true!” she protested. “We were both way drunk.”

“We were, but you were the one that could hardly stand. Don’t you remember you tried to stand up, and ended falling backwards? Happened twice, I believe.”

“I refuse to acknowledge that incident.”

“Well it happened, and Alistair said that you were all wobbly when you were walking down the stairs.”

“He’s exaggerating.”

“If there is one thing Alistair doesn’t do it’s exaggerate.” He followed her down the stairs. “That’s one of the reasons I like him so much.”

“And he’s nice, that has to be another reason.”

“That he is.”

“How long has he been with you?” she asked him, glancing over to her left.

“About five or six years, might be longer even.” He let out a sigh. “He was worried mad when I told him I’d be off to Afghanistan. Tried to trick me into staying, he did. Didn’t work out though, and eventually all he said was, I hope someone runs over your foot so you have to come home.”

“He did not say that.”

“He did, and he had the most serious look ever. That’s just like him though, whenever he gets too emotional, he says things like that.”

“That was sweet of him, strange but still fucking sweet.”

“It was,” he held the door open so they could step outside. “What’d your parents say when you left for England?”

“Ah, well, my mom was just crying and rambling. So I can’t really tell you what she said, because I don’t know. I can tell you what my dad said, his eyes were all watery and he just told me to remember why it was that I was going to England. And to make sure that I kept a good head on my shoulders. Clearly haven’t followed through on his second advice, but I do well enough. I think.”

“I think you do to,” agreed Harry. “Though I'm sure he’d disapprove of the rugby.”

“Believe it or not, he’s not opposed to it. Back in high school, I played football so he’s used to see me getting tackled.”

“You played football as in American football?”

“Yeah, I told you that.”

“I thought you meant football, as in British football.”

“Well, I played that to. I played both sports.”

He stared at her for a moment before asking. “Is that common?”

“Not extremely common, but there are girls out there that play,” she replied. “At my high school, I was the second girl to play. The first one had played in the eighties. And one of my friend’s cousins plays at our old high school.”

“That’s extraordinary.”

“Is it? I don’t think it is. I grew up with three boys, so girly things were never really an option. If I wanted to play with my brothers, I had to play their games. My mom would play dolls with me sometimes and we’d have tea parties, my dad would join in, but playing with parents isn’t as fun as playing with a sibling. So I’d go out back and get tackled and dirty and bruised. And my mom would scold me, and my dad would tell her to just calm down.”

“Did she scold you like mad at the games?” they reached his car and he held the door open for her.

“She wasn’t allowed at the games.” She paused, waiting for him to get into the car. “She went to my first match, and she lost it when some guy tackled me from the back, it knocked the wind out of me, which was pretty fucking scary, and, uh, well she almost ran onto the field.” Paulina chuckled at the memory. “After that, she wasn’t allowed at the games. It was just my dad and my brothers, and she’d get to go to the soccer games. That was just how it was.”

“Your mum sounds intense.”

“She is quite the character. She can be a complete sweetheart one moment and then just get all fierce. That’s all the women in my family though.” She buckled her seatbelt. “You’re gonna want to make a right at the first light.”

In no time at all, they were walking from the parking lot to the pitch. They’d made a brief detour at a local shop to pick up some Gatorade and water. The guys were already there when they arrived. They were in their shirts, which were extremely short, and doing some stretches. Across the field, was the opposing team, they to, were busy stretching out, and when she looked over, she caught eyes with that Tom fellow that tried to get in a fist fight with her during the previous match. They stared at each other, each knowing that they were going to settle their fight from last time on the pitch, and after nodding curtly at him, she redirected her attention to Harry.

“Sorry about that, I was having an epic stare off with my nemesis.”

“Which one is it?” he asked, looking over towards the group of men across the field.

“The brunette that has no shirt on,” she answered.

“That one?” he said. “Well that’s one stocky bastard, if I’ve ever seen one.”

“He is,” she agreed. “But I have a trick to knocking down guys like that.”

“Do you now?”

“Mhm,” she smiled coyly at him. “If you’re good I might show you it.”

“I'm always good.” He pouted.

“I don’t think anyone that knows you could believe that.” she was mid laugh when someone called her name. “Want to come meet some of my friends?” she asked him.

“Uh, yeah, that’d be brilliant.”

“You’re gonna like them. They’re a lot of fun. They do stupid shit all the time, but they’re good people.” She tugged him forwards, fingers still interlaced.

“About time you showed up,” spoke Terry. “Were beginning to think we’d have to send Callum and Lesedi to fetch you. Ah, you’re new,” he said when his eyes landed on Harry.

“This is Henry,” said Paulina. “Henry this is Terrence.”

“Who prefers to be called Terry,” Terry extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, mate. Must have your handful with this one, here,” he nudged Paulina playfully.

“Good to meet you as well, Terry,” they shook hands. “Reckon I do, but she’s quite fantastic.”

“That’s one way of describing her,” he laughed. “Do you go to university here as well?”

“No, I go to university in London.”

Terry shot Paulina a look that acted as a high five between friends. “London’s brilliant. Was there a few weeks back during our holiday,” he told them. “There are a few benches around here if ya want to have a seat during the match. Also have some waters and drinks in the cooler, if ya get thirsty.”

“Thank you, Terry.”

“Someone’s thanking Terry?” Callum appeared from behind them. “They clearly don’t know he has no manners.”

“Oi, I’ve got manners, just not for gits like you,” Terry smirked.

“You’re a wanker, Terrence, a bloody wanker. And yes, I am aware of how disgusting that imagery is.”

“Callum, can you stop being a dick for one minute while I make some introductions?” interjected Paulina.

“You think I'm a dick? That hurt, right here.”

“You’ll live.” Paulina scrunched her nose at him. “Henry, this is my idiotic friend Callum. Callum this is Henry.”

Callum glanced down at their hands, before looking back up. “Nice sideburns,” he extended his hand to Henry.

“Thanks, they’ve taken months to get just right.” Harry, again, shook hands.

“I tried growing out my sideburns once. Didn’t work out, they were awful and I was determined to make them right, and then this one here,” he motioned to Paulina, “Stuck gum on them.”

“It was a dare, I had to do it.” Paulina said.

“Dare or not, you ruined my sideburns,” laughed Callum.

“So you’ve got a knack of ruining sideburns,” Harry mused aloud. “I’ll have to start taking your threats seriously.”

“You should’ve been taking them seriously all along,” she smiled fondly at him.

“Oi!” bellowed Graham. “Hate to ruin the moment, but Roger said we’re gonna be skins. Shirts off, wankers!” he bellowed as he pealed his own shirt on, revealing his freckled chest.

“Guess it’s time to get ready,” she told Harry. “That reminds me, there’s a blanket in my bag if you want to lie down while you’re watching the match or if your ass gets tired from the bench and you want to use it as padding.”

“What a Prince Charming you are.”

“I’ve got to take care of my Snow White.” She let go of his hand, and looked up at him. “How’s about Snow give Charming a kiss?”

Harry tilted his head to the right, stifling his laughter as best he could and then leant forwards to press a soft kiss on her lips. “Be safe, alright?”

“Will do,” she smiled and walked away, towards the area where the guys stood.

From his place, Harry watched as she pealed off her shirt, revealing the tank top that was tucked into her pants, she then kicked off her walking shoes, and shimmied out of her pants, letting them drop to her pants. She was left wearing a tank top that was tucked into shorts that were as short as the one as her fellow rugby players wore, and beneath those shorts, there were tight spandex shorts that stopped mid thigh. He’d never seen her in such little clothing. Usually she was in dresses, jeans or had leggings on if her skirts were on the shorter side. Her legs weren’t overly muscular, they were toned from her bike riding, and her thighs touched, there wasn’t that gap that had become fashionable in recent years. His eyes didn’t linger long on her thighs or legs. There was something far more appealing to look at, her derrière. In the few clothes she was wearing, it stood out more than usual, he could see it’s curve, the way it went from the small of her back and then pulled away, before curving downwards. He wondered if he could sit a drink on top of it, he’d have to try it sometime, but not before he tried other things.

“He’s from London then,” spoke Terry as she slipped on her cleats.

“Yeah, he is.” She looked up at him. “Why are you looking at me like that? With that smirk of yours,” she laced up her cleats. “He’s just someone I'm seeing.”

“Don’t believe you,” Terry said.

“Well he is.”

“No offense, Paula, but blokes don’t go out of there way to drive from London to Oxford if they’re just seeing someone.”

“Oh bugger off, Terrence. I thought we were here to play rugby, not gossip.”

Terry chuckled. “We’ll be teasing you about this. Just like we tease everyone else when they’re off with a bird,” he said. “Just because you’re a bird that doesn’t mean we won’t tease you about your bloke.”

“He’s not my bloke. He’s . . . he’s – okay, he’s my bloke, but don’t embarrass me in front of him.”

“Can’t promise ya that,” smirked Terry. “Start stretching out. We’re gonna do warm ups soon.”

“You’re a wanker, Terrence O’Neal.” Paulina declared.

“Love you too, Paulin.”

The match proved to be every bit as violent as she’d anticipated it would. There was yet against an instance in which Tom went at Paulina. Though this time he didn’t take a swing at her, this time he tackled her down. Their brawl didn’t last long, only a few minutes since their friends decided it’d be best to just let them have at it, but Harry didn’t understand why they were letting the pairs fight, so after standing idly by, watching them fight, he ran straight towards them, throwing Tom off of Paulina. Tom rolled a few feet before getting onto his feet. He was about to make a move at Harry, when his own mates stopped him, and dragged him off.

“You alright?” inquired a worried Harry. “Do ya need to go to the hospital? We can go. I’ll drive ya right now. Bleeding hell, that wanker did a number on you.”

“I'm okay, Harry, really, I'm alright.” Her face was held gently in his hands. “He just did the one punch, I’ll have a purple cheek for awhile and a busted lip, but that’s small stuff. Give it a few days and it’ll be like it never happened.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, thinking that maybe she was acting tough so as not to worry him.

“I am,” she smiled brightly, flinching when her lip stretched too much. “How about we go get that lunch now?”

“You’ve got to get cleaned up.”

“Is that the polite way of telling me I smell?” she teased.

“Well ya do smell, won’t lie there, but reckon you should get cleaned up so your lip and knees don’t get infect, they’re all bloodied up.”

“You do raise a good point,” she said. “Well, I’ll see you guys on – are we still meeting Wednesday? Yeah? Alright, well, see you guys Wednesday. Probably sooner if you’re roaming around Rhodes House. Bye!”

Harry also offered his farewells to the group of sweaty men and the pair made their way back to the car that would take them back to the apartment. When they got there, Paulina jumped in the shower and Harry sat on the couch, watching television. A half hour passed before she walked out of the bathroom, dressed in a tank top and mesh shorts that fell just above her knee. Her first aid kit was in the kitchen cupboards, she hadn’t moved it since the time when she had to clean Graham up after his incident.

She was halfway back to the kitchen when Harry asked, “Need help with that?”

“Yeah, I could use some help,” she was initially going to tell him no, but the look in his eyes told her that he wanted to be helpful.

“Come over here then. Get comfortable on the couch and let me have a look.”

“I hope you’re better at cleaning scratches than you are at making tea.”

“Luckily for you, I am.” He told her, sitting down on the coffee table in front of the couch. “I’ve had my fair share of injuries, and since I didn’t want to get scolded for most of them, I learned how to take care of myself. Alright, put your foot on my thigh.”

“No, I have nasty feet.” She blurted out.

“You do not have nasty feet.”

“Yes, I do. Let me put some socks on. Should’ve put some socks on right away, but – what are you doing? Put my foot down!” her leg had been picked up and placed on his thigh.

“Quit your whining.” He ordered, playfully. “Your feet aren’t even –” he grabbed her foot and lifted it to have a better look. “Your little toe doesn’t have a nail.”

“It has a nail, it’s just small.” Paulina mumbled.

“It’s a little nub, that’s so weird.”

“Well if it’s fucking weird, don’t look at it.”

“Someone’s defensive about her little toe.”

“I just don’t like feet. They gross me out, and I feel like everyone else is as grossed out by feet as I am.”

“Don’t reckon that’s the case. Feet are feet.”

“They’re nasty looking.”

“Your toe’s odd, but not nasty. I’ve seen worse. Come to think of it, my feet are loads worse than yours. Want to see them?”

“Noo!” she protested.

“Fine, I’ll keep my socks on, for now, but one day you’ll see them.” he smirked at her as he dabbed rubbing alcohol onto a clean towel. “That match was quite exhilarating, nearly lost it at the end though. When that bloke tackled ya down,” he began to disinfect her right knee.

She hissed, but then regained control of herself. “You didn’t nearly lose it, you actively lost it. I almost thought you hurt him with the way you tackled his ass down.”

“Well I had to be rough with him, didn’t want him to hurt you.”

“No?” she smiled coyly.

“Of course not,” he looked up at her.

“Why didn’t you want him to hurt me?”

“You know why,” he muttered, returning his gaze to her knee.

“Do I? Cuz I can’t remember.”

He let out a sigh. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” he waited for her to say no and then gave his response. “I'm very much keen on you, Paulin, very much keen.”

Paulina didn’t reply by speaking, instead she leant forwards, lifting his chin upwards so that her lips could meet with his. She’d intended to snog him, have a proper make out session, but her lip soon began to ache and she was forced to pull away.

“Fucking lip,” she muttered as she covered it with her tank top, letting the fabric stop the bleeding.”

“Won’t be able to snog today,” Harry stated. “S’alright though, we’ll make a proper lazy day out of today.”

“Thought you might have to go home soon?”

“With you the way you are?” he shook his head. “No, I'm afraid it’s my duty to look after you.”