Page 19 of Filthy Ruck

“Yes, puppies. Everyone loves puppies, don't they? They're so cute and furry, and they never judge your life choices. I mean, they don't care if you eat Nutella and pickles together.”

He made a face and laughed. “You eat Nutella and pickles?”

I smiled. “Of course not. I'm just saying a puppy wouldn't judge you if you wanted to.” I checked the blood pressure machine. “That's better.” I took off the cuff and gestured for him to sit up so I could listen to his heart.

“I wouldn't judge you either,” he said. “I don't mean about…what you eat. I mean, if that's what you want to do…”

“It's just a job,” I said. “Something to do before I work here permanently. That's all. No big deal.”

“Right, no big deal,” he said softly. “Do you?—”

“Do it outside of the club? Not for money.” I slipped on a stethoscope and pressed the bell to his back.

I probably couldn't hear him gulp through the stethoscope, but I imagined I could.

“So you…go out on dates and shit like that?” he asked. His tone was tentative, but curious. Wanting to know but perhaps not wanting to be offensive. Or perhaps hoping I wouldn't ask too many questions in return.

I should start a blog about my life as a stripper. I could answer all of the big questions I'd been asked before, or the ones people skirted around.

On the other hand, right then, I had more than enough on my plate without taking on another project. Not even one that would reduce the stigma around one of the oldest professions in the world.

“Yes, I do, but you need to be quiet so I can listen,” I said.

He complied for a minute or two, until I stepped away and put the stethoscope aside.

“Your heart sounds good and strong,” I said.

“That's what my mother always says,” he said, his chest puffed out proudly. “That I'm full of heart. The guys say I'm full of shit, but at least my mother loves me.” He looked rueful.

I laughed softly. “Of course she does. You seem sweet.” Especially in comparison to Storm and Dallas. I got the impression Frost was a fraction more innocent than they were. I suspected underneath he was as worldly as me. A guy didn't play a sport like rugby union at a professional level while being sheltered. He'd be used to giving and taking hard knocks, literally and figuratively. I had to give him credit for not letting them wear him down. I hoped they never would, that he was never jaded.

“I am sweet,” he said. “You want to hang out with me some time?”

His words hung in the air for a moment before I absorbed them. Or maybe I was giving him a chance to take them back. He seemed like the kind of guy who lived in the moment, impulsively jumping into anything with both feet. While Irespected that, I knew sometimes it was helpful to have a way out. Spontaneity sometimes came with instant regret.

I gave him a sideways look. “Are you asking Doctor Chelsea, or the woman from Flirts?”

He matched my look. “Are they so different? So far, I've seen a beautiful, intelligent woman who thinks I'm sweet. I'd like to get to know you better.” He must have figured out what my concern was, because he added, “With your clothes on.”

Should I have assumed he only wanted to get me naked and fuck me? Potentially not, but I'd seen it a metric shit ton of times before. What made him any different?

He had a similar reputation to most of the guys on the team: ruck boy, fuck boy. In it for an hour or two, not a lifetime. Us hanging out might be nothing more than a fun roll in the sheets. Okay, I admit that sounded like exactly what I needed. No pressure, no strings. Just fun.

“Sure,” I said finally. “Why not? It can't hurt to get to know the players better.” There were no rules against spending time with them, as long as it didn't get serious. Unless I'd turned into a bad judge of character overnight, there was more to him than a guy who tackled other men for a living.

“It definitely can't,” he agreed. “I have a feeling you're going to be very popular with lots of the guys on the team.” Again he added, “With your clothes on.” But then straight after that, “Or off. Both are good.”

“I see I'm going to have to keep my eyes on you,” I teased. “Now, we should get on with the physical, or Doctor Stuart will wonder what we've been up to.”

“He'll know we didn't get up to anything dirty,” Frost stated. “If we did, I would have made you scream so loud the whole stadium heard it.”

I shook my head at his cockiness and continued my careful physical examination of the muscular prop.

Chapter Nine

Chelsea

“You found it,”Frost said, like he was surprised. It was a cafeteria, not a clit.

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