Workman: Chapter Four - Part Four

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Watching the match with this bunch of blokes was incredible. I’d never felt anything like the camaraderie I was getting here. It was amazing to be part of the atmosphere and connected to so many other men, all of us focusing on the same desire: for England to beat the crap out of those bastard frogs.

And it was a hell of a lot better with Sangeeta there. She wasn’t one of those girly girls who thought sport was dull or stupid; she really got into it. And she wasn’t clinging insecurely onto me either. She got in with John’s mates right away, inserting herself into the circle of banter without trouble, giving it out harder than she took it, establishing herself as a part of the group. She was much more outgoing than I was when I was a woman.

But she didn’t stray too far from me. She was really tactile, making grips and strokes on my thighs as we watched, leaning against my chest when she laughed hysterically, running her smooth fingers down my wrist and snaking her hand into mine, just for a second before pulling it free.

I couldn’t remember having a better night.

I went up for another round leaving Sangeeta with the other men and leaned on the bar while I waited, looked back at them. A little me on the inside whispered that there was something wrong with all this – that I wasn’t one of the men – that I shouldn’t be spending time with Sangeeta knowing that I couldn’t possibly commit to her; but I didn’t want to listen to it. I was just skimming along with the flow right now, feeling really content. It was too much effort to worry about things when it was such a good night. There was plenty of time for regrets later.

I was getting really peckish so I ordered a ranch burger and potato wedges and the nachos that Sangeeta said she wanted then carried the tray of drinks back to the table, joining with the crowd in a roar of triumph as England scored another try just as I was setting it down.

The food came ten minutes later and we tucked in. I shoved the food in my mouth, keeping my eyes on the game but when I went to grab a wedge I found a nacho in its place. I peered at Sangeeta suspiciously. She was pulling an absurdly innocent face but there was a potato wedge in her fingers.

“Hey. Are you stealing?”

She popped the wedge in her mouth and looked at me with the same innocent expression, just a trace of a smirk. “Me? Of course not.” She reached gingerly down to my plate and snatched up another wedge, whipping it back up to her lips.  

“Hey!” I grabbed her middle with both hands, tickling her stomach and under her arm and she curled up in giggles.

“Stop it! Stop!” she cried, laughing, but I went on doing it.

“This is what you get for being a thief!”

She squealed louder and her foot came up, knocking the table. We both froze, comical expressions on our faces as John gave us a humourously stern look. Sangeeta and I looked at one another through the side of our eyes then grinned broadly.

“Truce?” she asked.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you can be trusted not to steal anymore of my wedges.”

“Deal,” she said, reaching onto my plate and boldly lifting another wedge to her grinning mouth.

I smiled and took another swig of my beer.