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The other women nod their heads.
“It’ll be fun,” Savannah adds. “Men can get manicures and pedicures too, you know.”
“I know.” I look at my fingers. The most that happens to my nails is getting clipped regularly. “I work until midday.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a librarian at the British Library.”
“I’m a trophy wife,” Savannah deadpans before laughing so hard she wheezes. “Just kidding. I’m a primary school teacher.”
“She could be a trophy wife,” Jodie says. “Rob is on the England team this year.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”
Savannah grins. “Yes. It’s the first time he’s been selected, but hopefully, it won’t be the last.” She claps her hands as the teams return to the pitch. “Here we go again.”
There seem to be more scrums in the second half, although I don’t have a clue why. Tanner is one of three men on the front row of the scrum. There are two players behind them and three more in the final row. They seem to lock together by hugging each other and pressing their shoulders into the other team. That’s how it looks anyway. There’s lots of pushing and shoving, and then someone gets the ball, and the game turns from hugging to a violent chase.
With five minutes to go, Harlequins are winning by five tries. I assume that’s close. The scores are much higher than in football, although I don’t know much about that either. A referee declares a penalty, which leads to a scrum being called. The scrum players rush into position in less than thirty seconds. It’s pretty impressive watching huge muscly men move so fast. Plus, with the way they’re bending over, there are some very nice arses on display. Sadly, I can’t see Tanner’s because he’s in the front row. There’s the pushing and shoving. The ball passes to a slimmer guy who starts running, and the scrum breaks apart.
I clutch the scarf to my chest as I see that Tanner is holding his shoulder. Even from a distance, his face looks pained and pale. Even though there’s no blood, the expression on his face makes me think his injury is worse than the odd bloody nose he got in high school. One of the other players checks on him, but he waves them off and moves his hand from his shoulder. Three minutes later, the final whistle is called. Despite Saracens scoring a last-minute try, Harlequins win the match. I applaud and cheer, putting my all into congratulating Tanner’s team from a distance, even though all I want is to know he’s okay.
The cheering carries on long after the players leave the field. Pitch? I still don’t know what the right term is.
“Do you want to go and see Tanner?” Savannah asks.
I blink at her. “I can? I mean, would that be okay?”
“Yes. This way.”
She guides me through the stadium and somehow gets us past security and into the underbelly, where the changing rooms are. I assume it’s because she’s a familiar face, or maybe she has a backstage pass. Are they a thing in rugby? She stops short of bursting into the changing rooms, instead rapping her knuckles on the door loud enough to wake the dead.
Rob opens it.
“Tell Wren his man is okay,” Savannah orders.
Rob laughs. “He’s fine. He’s with a medic now. They need to pop his shoulder back into place, and then he won’t be in so much pain.”
I gape at Rob. “He’s got a dislocated shoulder?”
“Yeah. He’ll be fine.”
That has to be true if Rob is being so blasé about it.
He gestures me inside. “Do you want to come in and see for yourself?”
Savannah folds her arms. “Why do I never get invited in?”
“It’s men only, babe.” Rob kisses her. “I’ll be out soon, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
“Thanks for bringing me here,” I say to her.
She smiles and squeezes my elbow. “No problem. I promise you’ll get used to this. Don’t let an injury at your first match put you off, okay?”
I nod and follow Rob into the changing room, past half-naked and fully naked men, into a back room. We walk through the door as there’s an almighty pop and a loud grunt from Tanner.
