Page 2 of SCRUMptious

“I hope I haven't rocked the boat too much,” I answered, worried that I'd deviated too far from the prescribed plan. While I knew how to cook healthy food well, I was by no means a nutritionist. I wondered now if Harold cooked the way he did because that's what was best for the players' systems. What if all the olive oil and extra spices I'd used did a number on their digestion or metabolism or something? Wracking my brain, I couldn't recall ever hearing anything like that, but what did I know about an athlete's finely-tuneddiet?

Marla chuckled, an easy-going sound that immediately lessened my trepidation. “Absolutely not. Take a look around. Some of them are going back for thirds.”

I surveyed the men eating my food. The largest ones gathered at a table in the far corner, their faces bent over their plates while their meaty arms shoveled food into their open mouths. I was pretty sure one of them wasn't even stopping to chew before the next bite made its way down his throat.

Following my gaze, Marla said, “As you can see by their size, they eat the most. The one with all the tattoos who can't get the chicken into his mouth fast enough? That's Tadhg. The only time he shuts up is when he's eating. In fact, this might be the longest I've seen him go without speaking. He's harmless, but the quiet is nice.” She flashed me a conspiratorial smile. “And over there,” she added, notching her chin toward the opposite side of the dining hall, “are some of the backs. They're the fastest boys on the team and the ones who score most of our points on match day. You'll want to make sure they're getting enough lean proteins to keep them well fueled.”

I nodded, absorbing her words.

“And this,” she said, smiling at a youngish player approaching us with an empty plate, “is Donal Casey, he plays—”

Donal set his plate aside and held out his hand for me to shake. “Backup to the backup hooker. Good to meet you. Your cooking is excellent, by the way.” He smiled as our hands came together and then his eyes trailed over my body in slow perusal before they finally landed back on myface.

Blanching at his obvious once-over, I pulled away. “Thank you,” I answered stiffly. “I'm glad you enjoyedit.”

His lips dropped from his full, wide smile into a sly smirk. “I did.” He looked out over his teammates. “I'd say the collective silence indicates we alldid.”

I couldn't argue with that. I'd been out here for at least 15 minutes and in that time, with the exception of my greeting, you could have heard a pindrop.

Turning to Marla, Donal continued, “Please tell me Harold's done for and you're keeping this angel of mercy in his place.” He flashed me a quick smile and followed it up with a wink as my cheeks flamed red under his praise. “And she blushes too!” Donal threw his head back with a barking laugh, exposing the long, masculine line of his throat, the tendons stretchingtaut.

Oh shit. No, no, no. Do not stare at his throat.

Look, we all had our thing—that body part on a member of the opposite sex that made you weak in the knees. For some women, it was a man's hands, or his chest or abs, but for me, it was a man's neck and the muscle that connected it to his shoulders. Technically, it was his trapezius, but I just called it heaven. And Donal Casey’s? His was heavenly.

Before I could pull my gaze away, he caught me staring and his eyes danced with obvious delight. “Anyway, it was nice meetingyou …”

That was when I realized I'd never given him my name. “Lauren,” I answered. “And it was nice meeting you too, Donald.”

“Donal,” he corrected, his grin dimming. “Nod.”

“Sorry, I'm terrible with names.” I shrugged apologetically. “Anyway, it was good meeting you Donal,” I repeated, this time stressing his actualname.

Taking a few steps backward, Donal kept his eyes locked with mine. “Yeah, you too.” And then he winked and licked his lips before turning and making his way back to his table, his tight ass high and round in his loose pants.

Holy Christ. The man was sex on a stick and he knewit.

I blinked and shook my head, and when I opened my eyes with a weary exhale, Marla was watchingme.

“Don't let our Donal rattle you. He was born a flirt and he'll die onetoo.”

Keeping my attention trained on Donal's boisterous form so that my employer wouldn't see the lies I was spouting, I said, “I'm from L.A. and have been surrounded by beautiful people my entire life. A little harmless flirting from one of them isn't going to botherme.”

In the normal course of things, that would be the truth. I'd been hit on by actors and musicians many would consider infinitely more beautiful than Donal Casey. And I'd walked away from every one of them completely unaffected. But not Donal. Because yes, to quote Marla, I was bothered.

Hot andbothered.

And in so much damn trouble it wasn't even funny.

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