Page 6 of Filthy Ruck

I frowned at the email sitting at the top of my inbox. It wasn't there when I started my shift, or things might have gone differently.

“Fuck,” I said under my breath. Shit was about to get really, really awkward.

Chapter Three

Storm

I hitthe ground with a thud. The smell of soil and grass, sweat and blood made my nostrils flare. Blood surged through my adrenaline stream. Pounded.

I shoved Jay off me and jumped back to my feet.

I stalked the couple of metres to snatch up the ball, tucked it back under my arm and turned to the scrum-half. “Gonna have to do better than that.”

His heart wasn't in the game. It hadn't been since he transferred from the Sydney Devils. Jayden Lang was a fucking good player. When he wanted to be.

The problem was, that wasn't often enough. The Smashers deserved a hundred percent, not a half-assed tackle delivered by an under twelve.

“Take a break,” Coach shouted.

“We just started,” I said under my breath, eyes still on Jay and his petulant disinterest.

He responded with a grunt and a glare before stomping off to snatch up his water bottle. He squirted water into his mouth and grimaced as though it tasted bad.

“Give him some time.” Daniel Frost gave me a slap on the shoulder before he too headed over to grab up his water bottle.The big prop made no attempt to keep his voice down. That earned him a glare from Jay. Lucky him.

“It's been three months,” I pointed out.

The first preseason game started on Friday night. The time for pussyfooting around was done. Correction, we'd had no time for that in the first place.

Not to mention, I was only interested in one kind of pussy, and that didn't involve feet.

Usually.

I swallowed down a mouthful of water and allowed my brain to go back to the other night. Panther. I'd bet everything my little kitten had claws. The expression on her face when she came was seared into my brain like it was branded there. The breathy little moans as she slid her fingers in and out of herself.

Thinking about her made me rock hard.

“Some take longer to acclimatise than others,” Frost pointed out.

“You're the weatherman now?” I teased gruffly. “You going to tell me how long it takes before he thaws?”

Him and fucking Atlas Underwood. They were both new to the team. Both former Sydney Devils. They'd finished the last season on the top of the table. Premiership wins under their belts. And now they were playing for the Dusk Bay Smashers. We weren't the bottom dwellers. We hadn't had a wooden spoon in a decade, but we weren't on top either. Both players seemed to take that as a personal insult. Why were they here? The Devils tapped out their salary cap on all the other players. The Smashers were the best deal they could get.

In my humble opinion, they were lucky to be here. If they didn't like it, they were welcome to fuck off. They were already absent mentally. Physically wouldn't make much difference right now.

Frost shrugged. “In his own time. What does it matter, as long as he's performing on the field.”

I cut him a look. That was the problem. If Jay performed on the paddock the way he was at training, we'd be fucked from the first whistle. We were better than that. He was better than that.

“Maybe you should mind your own fucking business, Stormy,” Atlas sneered. “Seems like you have some work to do on your own game, if you ask me.”

“No one asked you,” I told him. “I don't know what they taught you over there at the Devils, but when we play rugby, a knock on isn't allowed.”

I'd watched him since training started and he was sloppy with his ball placement. He could do better than he was. As a player, he was high-profile enough that if the club cancelled his contract, it would make headline news. That would be a last resort, and not a good one.

“Who died and made you a smug prick?” Atlas asked.

I grinned. “No one needed to die. I was born this awesome. Shame guys like you have to work so hard for mediocrity.” I ducked as he swung. His fist narrowly missed making contact with the side of my face.

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