Behind the Pitch, a novella: Seeking Serenity 1.5 by Eden Butler

Joe staring after me, wishing I knew when I’d be back. If I’d be back.

 
     
     
    I couldn’t go anywhere in this fecking town without seeing Autumn.
    She was in the library. She was sitting in the courtyard. She even walked past the bloody pitch on her way home.
    Not that I’d noticed.
    Much.
    She was at McKinney’s. A bloke can’t have a bleeding pint with his mate without her showing up. Everywhere I go, she’s fecking there. Looking like she did, all pink cheeked and full lipped.
    Freckles covering her face, her neck.
    Jaysus.
    Just thinking of those freckles, and knowing how they scatter down her neck, across her collarbone, to her gorgeous round tits, had me harder than bleeding steel.
    I’ve tried to stay away. It’s for the best, if I’m being honest. Take the book sale for instance, I managed to keep away from her all day, though I will admit I couldn’t keep from watching her. But I managed, you see, and felt right grand about it. But then Joe put her on the spot, asked her about her birthday and what did Autumn do? Bleeding caved. Let him talk her into something she didn’t want any part of. Fecking bitty martyr, that one.
    I told myself I’d hang back. I told myself that if she knew the truth, knew about my family, about me and Joe, then she wouldn’t be too keen on me chatting her up. She wouldn’t want me kissing her. She wouldn’t want me touching her. Christ . Just the memory of what she had let me do to her that night at her apartment made me want to skewer my eyes out every time I thought on it. I wanted to drive the taste of her skin off my tongue. I wanted to give her the space she needed, until Joe got off his arse and told her the truth.
    But stay away from her completely? That wasn’t bloody likely.
    I thought I’d have a nice, quiet night with Donovan. We had a shedload of shite to finish for our Modern Analytics project. So this night out at McKinney’s was meant to be a means for us to bounce ideas off each other. Then Autumn walked in with that skirt curving around her glorious arse, and that fitted shirt showing off her glorious breasts, and all thought of work with Donovan went to hell.
    I watched Autumn down two small glasses of wine. She sat with her back straight, with her beautiful gray eyes flicking up to meet mine in the mirror. She knew I was there. She knew I saw her, but she didn’t speak, didn’t bother to frown at me, scowl, shoot me the bird, nothing. I should have been fine and good with that. After all, I did give her the toss, much as it fecking killed me to do. But to have her ignore me completely? That’s a ruddy load of shite I didn’t want.
    She talked to the bartender, Sam, I think. That tall bastard smiled too much at her, laughed too loud at her jokes, and I had to curl my fists under my arms to keep from reaching out to wallop his face.
    “Deco, come on man, what are you staring at?” Donovan said, punching me on the shoulder to pull my attention away from Autumn.
    “Sorry, mate. Just got distracted.”
    “Yeah, I see that.” Donovan pushed his notebook into his backpack, clearly resigned to my not being able to concentrate. “Stop being a pussy. Go talk to her,” he said, but I waved my hand, dismissing him.
    Then that uppity caffler Morrison ran in and sidled right nearly on top of Autumn. I didn’t realize I was grunting at the pair of them until Donovan jabbed me in the arm.
    “Be cool, man,” he said, nodding toward the bar. Morrison looked right at me, gave me his usual pouncy glare, but Donovan hit me again and I looked away. “You can’t fight him, dumbass. You’re already suspended.” He popped me in the back of the head when I looked over at Autumn again. “Let it go, man. She’s not worth it.”
    “Fuck you, she’s not worth it,” I said, ready to rearrange Donovan’s face. How the hell could he think that? Hadn’t he seen how gorgeous she was? How sweet? How when she smiled every inch of her face lit up? My frown was