Page 20 of Lime Tree Hill

She opened her car door and made her way to the pavilion, where Tim met her with a tight hug and his usual smile. “You ready for this?”

“I don’t know about that.”

He looked her up and down. “Well, at least you’ve dressed for the part. That’s a plus. You look fabulous.”

“Stop it. I wasn’t going for fabulous. I’m channeling ‘committed team member.’” She scanned the grounds. “Where do we go?”

Tim cocked his head toward his team. “And see the guys in red shirts over by the tree line? That’s the opposition.”

When Tayla looked in their direction, her gaze landed on a familiar face she’d never expected to see. And even worse, that face was staring at her. “You can’t be serious! Mitch is on their team?”

“Yep. And the guy next to him is Luka O’Leary. They’re both strong players. Mitch played rugby at provincial level before he screwed his ACL.” As she went to turn away, Tim grabbed her by the arm. “I know you have a history with your fake husband-to-be, but?—”

“I do not,” she whispered with purpose. “I wish everyone would stop saying that. And I’m not playing touch with Mitchel Harrington, on or off the field.”

Tim kept walking, his hand firm on her lower back. “History, schoolgirl crush, lust fest. Whatever you choose to call it, you had it all right. And I’ve never known you to be a quitter. Come on.”

As they drew closer, Mitch and Luka strolled toward them. The men shook hands.

“Tim. Good to see you, mate.” Mitch turned to Tayla and smiled as if their conversation at Norman’s cottage hadn’t happened. “Tayla, this is Luka O’Leary, a close friend of mine.”

Luka offered a warm smile along with a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you, Tayla.”

She returned the gesture. “You too.”

“Right,” Luka said, “I’d better go warm up.”

As Luka jogged back to his team, words went back and forth between Tim and Mitch. Tayla hadn’t realized the men knew each other so well.

Mitch looked Tayla up and down. “So you’re joining the game?”

“Just filling in. I’m the bench babe.”

According to Ruby, a moment was longer than a minute. Whereas a minute was sixty seconds, a moment was at least ninety.Mitch stared for a moment. Long enough for her to prickle under his heated gaze.

“Nice,” he eventually said.

With that one word branded on her skin, he also returned to his team, yelling, “Let’s get this party started.” He clapped his hands like he was amped up for a Rugby World Cup match against Australia rather than a ‘friendly’ game of touch.Great.

True to Tim’s prediction, Tayla sat on the bench for the first three-quarters of the game, but then one of the other girls tagged her on. Tim had been right when he’d used the bike-riding analogy, and it didn’t take long to find her flow. Mitch kept his distance as he concentrated on the game, but just as she was about to run across the line and score a try, he lunged forward to touch her. She stumbled, and before she knew it, he was on top of her—hard muscles everywhere—and she was eating a dirt sandwich.

“Harrington,” the referee yelled, “what are you doing? Get off her.”

Mitch sprang to his feet and helped her up, his eyes full of amusement. “Shit, sorry. Are you all right?”

With the wind knocked from her sails, she pushed his hand away, her breasts tightening behind the stretch of her sports bra as the force of his body lingered on her skin. She closed her eyes briefly, the sounds of whistles and shouts from across the field fading as she struggled to catch her breath—to calm her reaction. “I’m fine.”So not fine.

She limped back into position, and as the referee blew his whistle, Tayla was ready to go. Or so she told herself.

They lost twenty-four to thirty-eight. It didn’t sit well with Tayla. She liked to win, especially against the likes of Luka and Mitch—those ‘accomplished at everything’ types who strived forexcellence and looked good enough to melt your panties off while doing it.

As she took a seat in the pavilion with her teammates, still stiff and sore from her encounter with Mitch, Tayla expected to hear his booming voice above the others around them. But he was strangely quiet. She wished she could say the same about his stare. That was as noisy as anything. Every time she glanced his way, that stare dared her to hold his gaze and not let go.

He rose from his chair and walked toward her. Certain men own a room; Mitch was such a man. People watched him, respected him, and his easy sexuality was constantly on display. He stopped at her side and crouched so they were at eye level, his half-smile holding her captive. “Can I get you a drink?”

Tayla held up her beer, her hand tight around the cool glass. “I’m fine. Tim just got a round in.”

He pulled up a chair next to hers, uninvited. But that didn’t matter. There was no stuffy ceremony in the Clifton Falls Sports Pavilion that evening. Over the next hour or so, her lovely neighbor, as her mother often called Mitch, engaged the table in relaxed conversation. Tayla downed one beer and then two more. By the time the band started, alcohol buzzed pleasantly through her veins.

---