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him, gabbling, trying to keep pace in her high heels and sinking into the turf at every step.
    As he entered the top of the race she felt Kyle thrust her forward and leant down, her arm outstretched towards Cal. She was praying he wouldn’t even notice her, but just as he came level with her he looked up, cracked a smile that instantly dispelled her self-consciousness and grabbed her hand for a second before moving on.
    ‘Perfect!’ she heard Kyle exclaim behind her, but she was only aware of the way her heart was drumming in her chest. And it came to her as she stood there, being jostled by a mob of footy nuts dressed in black and silver, that Cal McCoy was starting to have a very, very disturbing effect on her, and what was worse – she liked it.
    She spent the next two hours in the small suite of rooms under the stadium which had been the operations centre for the shoot. Kyle had wanted to talk to her about their next project – a two-minute ad of the players in the club gym with Merise moving among them as they trained.
    ‘What am I supposed to be doing there?’ she asked.
    ‘Who cares? We’re not shooting War and Peace , Merise. No one’s going to be questioning your motivation. You’re the face of the fan base and you’re getting access to training. It’ll be a blast – a glimpse of the inner sanctum with all those hunks working their abs or whatever, and you moving from one piece of equipment to the next, drooling.’
    Merise lowered her head into her hands – more drooling. She’d look like such a fool.
    ‘Can’t I just, I don’t know . . . look at the honour board or something?’
    ‘No, babe – it’s all about the sexual tension; gotta generate it in spades and that’s where you come in.’
    He finally released her and as she walked through the dim, empty underground car park towards the exit she heard heavy footsteps behind her. A little spooked, she spun around and saw Cal McCoy.
    ‘You’re still here?’ he asked, surprised.
    ‘Yes. No – just leaving,’ she said, relieved, but at the same time feeling awkward.
    ‘I thought you’d have escaped at the earliest opportunity.’
    ‘No. It was fun, and I had a briefing session with Kyle Carruthers.’
    ‘Oh yeah. Cecil B. DeMille. Did you enjoy the game?’
    ‘I loved it.’ Her enthusiasm was real. ‘Wasn’t nearly as boring as I thought it would be.’
    ‘Really?’ He was watching her closely. She felt a generous impulse.
    ‘You weren’t bad either.’
    He smiled and somehow looked younger. ‘Thanks, glad you approved.’
    ‘I think everyone there approved, apart from some of the Brumbies fans, who actually said some very unkind things.’
    He laughed. ‘I’ll bet – no need to elaborate.’
    Three or four other players had now emerged from the stadium and called goodnight to Cal as they walked to their cars, casting one or two curious glances at Merise.
    ‘How come you’re all leaving so late? Is it to avoid the fans?’
    ‘No, not so much that. We have to go through our cool-down exercises, sit with our legs in an ice bath, get some physio if we need it. It all takes a couple of hours.’
    ‘Well, you must be exhausted. I’ll let you get home,’ she said, turning to go.
    ‘Actually, no, I’m so pumped with adrenaline I could run a marathon. I can never sleep after a game.’
    ‘What do you do?’
    ‘I usually go for dinner, to a little Spanish restaurant I know in Fitzroy. It’s quiet – a bit off the beaten track. No photographers and hardly ever any barrackers. Want to join me?’
    The invitation was so casual, so unexpected that she simply said, ‘Yes.’ A second later she half regretted it, but at the same time she realised that she wanted to be with him. They should at least get to know one another, she reasoned. They should be able to work together as professionals without always crossing swords, and without her always feeling that her heart was about to explode.
    ‘Great,’ he said with one of